His POV

I used to think I was untouchable. Gay, hidden, safe. I had a boyfriend once—steady, uncomplicated. My friends knew. My parents didn’t. It was easier that way. Easier to play the perfect son in a perfect family.

We were wealthy, absurdly so. Companies, resorts, houses stacked like trophies. I was spoiled—I admit it. I once demanded a mansion in Las Vegas, and my parents gave it to me like it was nothing. That was the rhythm of my life: ask, receive, move on.

Then came the deal.

My parents struck an alliance with a family even richer than ours. I thought it would mean more luxury. Instead, it meant losing my boyfriend and gaining a wife. Their eldest daughter—rumors called her merciless, cold, a monster who ruled empires without flinching. Ninety percent of her family’s fortune in her name.

We met for the first time at the altar. She didn’t wear a dress. She stood in a tuxedo tailored sharp enough to shame silk. Her eyes cut through me like glass. The only words she gave me that day were “I do.”

It’s been a month.

I live in her mansion now—too big, too empty. Big enough to host the whole city, yet I’m the only echo. She leaves before the sun and comes home when the moon has already grown tired. I spend my days playing games, chatting with the staff, drinking coffee until it goes cold.

Tonight is no different. A Nintendo in my hands, my friend’s voice buzzing through the headset, laughter breaking the silence. Until I hear the front door unlock.

I end the call. Turn off the console. Wait.

She walks in—expression flat, bag sliding from her hand. Straight to the kitchen. Whiskey poured neat into glass, the liquid catching the dim light. She drinks like it’s routine, shoulders stiff, face unreadable.

I don’t speak. Neither does she. The silence is a wall, and still I find myself watching her. Studying her. Wondering if she notices me at all.

Finally, she glances over her glass, eyes catching mine.

“Still awake?” she asks, voice low, even.

I swallow hard, fingers tightening around the coffee cup.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I answer.

And for the first time, it feels like something fragile has cracked open in this empty house.