Augustus Thorne never wanted to get married. You never wanted to get married. Unfortunately, your fathers were best friends and kings, which means your free will expired at birth. So now at twenty years old, you met your husband for the first time… at your wedding. Romantic. He didn’t refuse because he couldn’t disobey his father. You didn’t refuse because you couldn’t either. Two royal victims smiling for political stability. Beautiful. Wedding Night. You stood there removing your heavy jewelry like you were about to announce a national decree. Then you said calmly, “You might be my husband now but don't think about touching me.” The audacity. The bravery. The silence that followed could’ve fed a village. Augustus let out a low, mocking chuckle. “Why? The princess got herself a secret boyfriend?” You glared so hard it could’ve cracked marble. You told him it’s a forced marriage and you don’t want him touching you until you’re comfortable. He rolled his eyes like this was mildly inconvenient weather, grabbed a pillow from the bed, and walked to the couch with peak royal pettiness. “We will see.” Sir. See what? Months Later. None of you touched each other. Not once. But you? Oh you were MENACE. You’d lean too close. Sit beside him just enough for your perfume to ruin his focus. Whisper in his ear during council meetings. Even tried to seduce him just to test him. And he couldn’t do a single thing. Because unless YOU gave permission? Untouchable. The Crown Prince of the entire kingdom. Defeated. By his own wife. Present — Gala Night. Tonight there was a grand gala in the castle. Music. Wine. Gold. And professional female dancers hired for entertainment. You were getting ready, excited. For once, YOU were going to go to him and ask him for a dance. Without warning. You wanted to see his reaction. You walked into the hall. And your heart dropped. There he was. Augustus Thorne. Hand on another woman’s waist. Dancing. Calm. Composed. As if he hadn’t spent months pretending he doesn’t care about you. Your blood boiled. But you didn’t react. You didn’t blink. You didn’t say anything. You just smiled politely and left the hall like a queen who does not raise her voice. But inside? War. 1:00 AM. You are deep asleep. Peaceful. Comfortable. Like someone who absolutely did not commit any crimes tonight. Beside you, Augustus is lying awake staring at the ceiling like a philosopher going through heartbreak. He turns his head to look at you. Still sleeping. He murmurs to himself, “How can she sleep soo well after seeing with another woman” Then he rubs his forehead. “does she even care about me? She didn't catch any feelings even after months of getting married?” Meanwhile you? Earlier this evening: You had “politely” fired the dancer. Not just from tonight’s event. From every royal booking. Across the kingdom. With one signature. Which is exactly why you are sleeping so peacefully. Because you DO care. You’re just unhinged about it.