I sank back into the luxurious, cushioned armchair, feeling the soft resistance of the upholstery against my back, while the intricate pattern of the rug beneath the ornate table blurred into a swirl of colors. Every detail of the room—the gilded edges of the furniture, the crystal vase reflecting slivers of afternoon sunlight, the faint scent of polished wood—should have comforted me. Instead, it pressed down, heavy and suffocating. The clatter of the teacup against the saucer was sharp, sudden—a jarring note that broke the fragile silence. I had made a mistake. A huge one.
"I know you and Eiser's marriage was one of convenience," a voice echoed in the room, calm but laced with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. My eyes lifted slowly. Standing before me was a woman whose presence seemed to command the space effortlessly, her gaze unwavering, sharp yet tinged with concern. "Let me… see Eiser, please."
I closed my eyes for a brief, reluctant moment. She already knew more than she should. She knew the truth about the fragile, tangled threads of my current life, and somehow, that knowledge weighed heavier than any lie I had ever told.
"So you know," I murmured, my voice steadier than I felt, "that Eiser and I are in a marriage of convenience. What's important is… he's my husband now." My words hung in the air, deliberate, unwavering, a statement of fact rather than sentiment.
I glanced toward the master suite where Eiser lay. His dark hair contrasted sharply against the white pillow, the faint line of his jaw softening even in rest. A slight 'TWITCH' crossed his face—a fleeting disturbance, yet enough to remind me that he was restless even in sleep. It wasn't just my husband who carried tension; I could feel the undercurrent of anger radiating through the space, impossible to ignore. And… Leinz's fury, simmering beneath the surface, was far from resolved.
I had planned to untangle that knot slowly, carefully, to navigate each complication without triggering the inevitable explosions. But today, my patience had faltered. The reason? An unexpected collision with a figure I had not dared anticipate—Victor.
Victor. Just the thought of him tightened something deep inside me, like a fist clenching around my heart. Seeing him again was a punch to the gut. The harsh scar etched across his face, the casual, almost careless way he held a cigarette between his fingers—it was all exactly as I remembered. Dangerous. Intense. Untamed. And, most painfully, unchanged.
I realized with a sting that neither of us had softened with time. My letters, carefully penned and sent in the quiet hope of rekindling something, had gone unanswered. He hadn't moved on, but neither had I. The echo of the past loomed between us, unavoidable and raw.
Leinz, Victor, and Serena. Three names. Three forces. Three hurdles. None of them simple. None of them forgiving. My chest tightened as I considered the intricacies of each relationship, the delicate balance required to navigate them without causing irreparable damage.
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to think, to plan, to remind myself of the one rule I had long depended on: control. One step at a time. Carefully. Methodically. Avoiding mistakes like the one I had just made. For all the complexity of the challenges before me, all I could do was resolve them step by step, with precision and restraint.
Yet, as I looked around the opulent room, with its gilded furniture and silent witnesses in the form of crystal and porcelain, I knew the truth: this path would demand more than caution. It would demand cunning, endurance, and a resolve that I could feel hardening in my chest with every passing heartbeat.
I retreated into the small dressing room tucked within the master suite, the gilded furniture and excessive opulence of the space suddenly feeling suffocating. The gold filigree of the mirrors, the soft shimmer of silk drapes, the faint scent of polished wood—it all pressed down on me like a physical weight.
BANG! BANG!
I slammed the ornate closet doors shut with more force than necessary, leaning against them as my heart pounded a furious, uneven rhythm. My palms were slick with sweat; my breathing came in harsh, panicked bursts.
What was that? Seriously, what on earth was that?
The memory of the words I had just spoken leapt into my mind, unbidden and accusatory: "He's my husband now."
What nonsense had I been spouting just moments ago?
A wave of mortification swept over me, hot and inescapable. My body shivered despite the warm room. "AHHHH! Husband, my ass!" I whispered fiercely, clutching at my gown as if it could absorb the shame radiating from my chest. Goosebumps prickled over my skin, crawling like tiny, accusing fingers. How had such outrageous words escaped my lips? How had I dared to claim that?
I remembered, bitterly, the cold, distant reality of our arrangement. That clinical, calculated agreement, made under the relentless pressure of my grandmother's authority, had always made my blood boil. And yet… for all the frustration and rebellion, that agreement existed. A mutual understanding masked as obligation. Forcing me into a marriage against my will, then expecting me to act like it was natural?
And what? A marriage we mutually "agreed" to?
CLENCH.
What a load of bull—! The pure frustration throbbed behind my temples, my fists tightening as if the act could squeeze some sense out of the chaos in my head. The drivel I had blurted in the heat of the moment, the ridiculous insistence that this man was my husband now… it was unbearable to think about. Unbelievable.
Not only had I lost all semblance of dignity, now I faced the prospect of spending another uncomfortable night with Eiser—alone in the suite, sharing an existence that felt entirely alien to me.
And on top of that…
A helpless, almost pathetic expression crossed my face as I thought of the man resting in the next room. Sick. Vulnerable. Helpless in ways that made me stiffen and then falter. I've never taken care of a sick person before. I've faced political maneuvers that could topple governments, brokered hostile business deals, and stood my ground in the sharpest verbal confrontations—but this… this was different.
It required tenderness, patience, care—things I wasn't trained for. Things I wasn't prepared for.
"What do I do? Seriously, what do I do?! Help me, teddy bear!"
I yanked the stuffed animal perched on the nearby bench, clutching it like a lifeline and shaking it desperately. SHAKE, SHAKE. The fabric in my hands couldn't answer me, of course, but I needed something—anything—to anchor me when the world felt like it had tilted too far.
This wasn't political strategy. This wasn't negotiation. This wasn't some battlefield I could dominate with words and cunning. No, this was domestic, intimate, and deeply personal. Being forced into it with a man I barely knew, forced into care and closeness I didn't understand—especially when he was ill—made me feel utterly, completely lost.
---
Victor stood rigid on the cobbled street, the city's towering architecture pressing down around him like silent witnesses to his fury. Every detail—the glinting wrought-iron lamps, the shadowed alleyways, the faint hum of life in the distance—seemed irrelevant compared to the storm raging inside his chest. His subordinate approached quickly, panting, his polished shoes clacking against the uneven stones.
"I'm sorry, Sir Victor. Lady Diah seems to have left the hotel through the rear exit," the man reported, voice anxious.
Victor's lip curled almost imperceptibly, a flash of cold disdain crossing his features. "That's fine. Leave her be," he said, measured, but every word dripped with lethal patience. "She knows she's got nowhere to run now that she's back in Meuracevia."
His gaze fixed on some invisible point in the distance, his mind already dissecting possibilities, calculating outcomes. Every step, every corner, every second could be a threat—or an opportunity. Nothing escaped him. Nothing.
He got into the sleek black car parked nearby, the expensive leather seat cool and familiar against his back. The car's interior smelled faintly of leather and polished wood, a scent that would usually soothe him, but today, it did nothing to temper his mood. The subordinate seated next to him offered a report, hesitant and wary.
"Oh, and… this is the report regarding the purchase of that land in Santoria Blue," the man began. "Unfortunately—"
Victor's blood ran cold before the explanation even landed. He snatched the documents, eyes scanning the words with a precision honed over years of ruthless calculation. His chest tightened, every nerve sparking with sudden, furious awareness.
"I TOLD YOU WE NEEDED TO BUY THIS LOT NO MATTER WHAT!" he roared, his voice reverberating off the car walls, deafening in its intensity. "I even told you the exact date the land would be deregulated and available for sale! How could you let it get stolen from right under my nose?!"
The subordinate flinched, eyes wide, shrinking back as Victor's words sliced through the confined space like a blade. "I-I'm sorry, sir. We made preparations for the sale immediately, but the other party… they were one step ahead—"
Victor slammed a hand on the leather armrest, silencing him, the veins on his temple pulsing with barely contained rage. His mind raced. "Practically nobody knows about this lot… Who beat me to the punch?"
Then, realization hit him like a physical blow. His dark eyes narrowed into deadly slits. "Serenity."
The report crumpled under his hand, paper torn and useless. The Serenity family? Again? Every encounter with them felt like a calculated challenge, every move deliberate, designed to push him to the edge.
"SO THAT BASTARD EISER IS MESSING WITH MY PLANS AGAIN!" His voice was a roar, reverberating through the car, cutting through the tense silence. Four years ago, Eiser had left the family by his own volition, married in haste, abandoning any consideration for Victor's schemes. At the time, Victor had dismissed him—thought him inconsequential, reckless. But now? Eiser was back, and his moves carried intention, precision… audacity.
What could he possibly be planning?
Victor's eyes fell to the deep blue reflection of his suit in the window, his face grim, hard, almost sculpted in controlled rage. "If you keep provoking me like this, Eiser," he murmured under his breath, voice low and lethal, "I'll have no choice but to respond in kind."
Finally, turning his attention back to the subordinate, he let the cold, calculating side of himself take over. Business fury had passed; now was the time for personal inquiry, for strategic investigation.
"What was the name of the girl Eiser married?"
---
Victor's subordinate, visibly relieved to redirect attention from the disaster of the lost land deal, swallowed nervously and responded to the question about Eiser's wife.
"Oh… Do you mean Lady Serena Serenity?"
Victor repeated the name under his breath, low and dangerous, a growl that seemed to scrape against the edges of the car interior. "Serena Serenity…"
He turned slightly, the sharp afternoon light catching the pale, piercing glow of his eyes. There was no warmth in them—only calculation, precision, and a barely contained hunger for control. His scar, faint but visible, seemed to deepen the severity of his expression, marking him as a man to be reckoned with.
"And while you're at it," he added, leaning forward, voice cold and deliberate, "look into that Sera woman… the one who won the piece I wanted at auction." His command was not a request; it carried the weight of a man who expected absolute obedience. "Do some digging on her. Every detail. Everything."
Victor's frustration was tangible, almost radiating from him like heat. "How can there be so little information on her, given the amount of money she moves around? Who is that woman? How is it possible that she operates in the shadows like this?"
A chilling, predatory smile stretched across his face, the scar on his cheek enhancing the sinister intensity. He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing, mind already plotting, already connecting dots that no one else could see. Outside the car window, the background shimmered—a shadowy bird soaring against a tempestuous, multicolored sky, as if the world itself mirrored his dark, obsessive thoughts.
"So you have a new bird you cherish," he muttered, voice low, almost a whisper of menace. "Looks like it's time for your big brother to lay a hand again." His lips twisted, thin and cruel. "Simply breaking her wings won't suffice this time, Eiser. Nothing short of wringing her little neck will satisfy me."
The animosity that had simmered toward Eiser now found a direct target: Serena Serenity. Every calculated rage, every personal vendetta, every ounce of frustration now focused on her as much as her husband. The threat was clear, cold, and palpable.
DU DUN.
🍵 A Meager Attempt at Care – Expanded
Meanwhile, I had managed, after several moments of frantic pacing and muttered self-recriminations, to pull myself together. Panic solved nothing. Strategy, planning, composure—those were my tools, even in this domestic battlefield.
I changed into a loose, comfortable robe, the fabric soft against my skin, and let down the elaborate hairstyle that had felt like a crown of chains. Each strand falling free reminded me I needed to approach this moment with care and humility.
Holding a small, unglamorous bowl of steaming contents, I approached Eiser's room. The gesture felt almost laughable to me—a woman accustomed to boardroom confrontations and political maneuvering reduced to carrying a meager offering of homemade remedy.
"Well…" I muttered under my breath, adjusting my grip on the bowl, careful not to spill a single drop. "I brought things I recall my mom using whenever I fell ill and she took care of me…"
The words sounded fragile even to my own ears, a small attempt at comfort against the magnitude of what I had claimed earlier. I knew it was an entirely inadequate offering. I was a novice at this, completely unprepared to navigate care, attention, and emotional nuance at the bedside of a man I barely knew.
Yet… Eiser was my husband now. Not just in name, but in responsibility. And that responsibility, however reluctant, however clumsy my attempts, was mine to bear.
I took a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs with resolve. The steam from the bowl swirled like a faint mist around me, carrying the scent of care and hope, however modest. I steeled myself, each heartbeat echoing my resolve, and prepared to face the man who, thanks to my impulsive words, now expected me to act like a genuine wife.
---
I lingered by the doorway of the master suite, gripping the small bowl in one hand and a damp cloth in the other. Everything I had gathered to tend to a sick person felt absurdly insufficient, my best efforts reduced to a MEAGER collection of simple items that barely qualified as care.
"Well… I brought things I recall my mom using whenever I fell ill and she took care of me…" I murmured to myself, a low, almost desperate justification, as if saying it aloud would somehow make my actions less ridiculous.
Eiser lay sprawled awkwardly across the sofa, still asleep, the shadows under his eyes deepening with discomfort. Even in his disheveled state, he managed to look impossibly handsome, a reminder that appearances often betrayed reality.
Why is he sleeping on the sofa? That can't be comfortable. My eyes swept over the suite, noting the ample beds, the soft linens. The choice baffled me, and I frowned, suspicion rising with each glance.
The reason, I realized, was simple—and infuriating in its mundanity. He's nursing a headache brought on by meeting his ex-lover.
A quiet sigh escaped me, involuntary and slightly exasperated. It's none of my business, and I don't even know why I'm bothering to do this myself… I rationalized quickly, trying to anchor my awkward sense of duty to something concrete, something logical.
CLACK!
I set the bowl down on a nearby table. The sound echoed more sharply than I expected, cutting through the thick silence of the suite.
My gaze shifted back to Eiser, and I caught myself hardening my expression into a slight, pointed GLARE. Well, fine. I'll save your neck this time… in exchange for you eating that peach for me at President Harold's.
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. The bargain existed only in my mind—a silent internal contract dictating my actions. I was caring for him not out of concern or affection, but as a transactional gesture, a way to maintain leverage and demonstrate the semblance of a functional marriage to the household staff. It was strategy masquerading as domesticity.
I dipped the cloth into the cool water and wrung it out slowly, deliberately. Hesitation tightened my chest as I raised it to place the compress on his forehead. My heart thudded in a way entirely unfamiliar, a rhythm not of anger or fear, but of awkward intimacy I wasn't prepared for.
I reminded myself again that this was purely rational, a solution to a logistical problem. But as my fingers grazed the warmth of his skin, I felt a dangerous narrowing of the distance between us. What had been a convenient, almost mechanical arrangement began to shift, threatening the fragile boundary I had built around my composure.
This isn't care. It's politics. It's negotiation. It's survival. I repeated it like a mantra, forcing myself to believe it, even as a subtle, unbidden awareness tugged at the edges of my mind: that perhaps the line separating duty from something more personal was far thinner than I had ever anticipated.
---
I shoved my internal bargain to the back of my mind. This was not the time for scheming or rationalizations. The task in front of me—ridiculous as it was—demanded attention.
"First… let's check if he has a fever…" I muttered to myself, as if speaking aloud could make me braver.
I leaned over the sofa where Eiser lay, still unconscious, pale against the crisp white pillow. His dark hair fell across his forehead in a way that made him look impossibly delicate, despite the awkward sprawl of his body. With the gentlest touch I could manage, I pressed the back of my hand to his forehead.
Too warm. My suspicion confirmed itself in an instant.
As I withdrew my hand to grab the wet towel, a strong, unexpected hand shot out and GRABBED my wrist.
"Oh—!" A sharp flinch escaped me as I recoiled instinctively. My robes rustled around me, and I nearly toppled over—but he held fast. Then, with a sharp TUG, I was yanked forward, stumbling onto the sofa right next to him. My robe pooled awkwardly around me, an ungraceful heap of fabric.
Eiser's eyes—light blue, impossibly sharp, and far too observant—flew open. For a moment, the world froze.
We stared at each other, one set of eyes wide with startled surprise, the other blinking slowly, as if trying to piece together the absurd tableau before him.
BLINK. BLINK.
Then he slowly released my wrist. His voice emerged, low, raspy, tinged with both confusion and suspicion.
"I asked what you were doing." His gaze tracked from my hand to the small bowl and damp cloth nearby. A pause. "A wet towel… Could it be… was she planning to nurse me back to health?"
A blush crept across my neck, sudden and flaming. Panic surged, fierce and immediate. No… impossible. I had to cover up, to reclaim some semblance of control.
I scrambled upright, distancing myself from him as much as possible without tumbling off the sofa. My arms flailed slightly, as if gesturing my innocence could somehow erase the moment.
"I WAS CHECKING IF YOU WERE DEAD OR NOT! WHAT'S IT TO YOU?!" I shouted, defensive, my voice cracking under the weight of embarrassment.
I jabbed a finger at him, accusingly, my dignity forgotten in the chaos of the moment. "You were lying there motionless! Now that I know you'