Jisung

Evenings at the estate always dragged on with an agonizing weight. Three months into the forced marriage, Jisung had come to a stark realization: luxury didn’t drown out the isolation – it only made it glaringly obvious. He had once envisioned a completely different life, one built on warmth and vulnerability, even if it meant struggling to get by. But reality had played out differently.

Minho never overstepped his bounds. Breakfasts passed with only a few formal, brief exchanges before a tense stagnation settled over the house once more. At high-society functions, Minho spoke for them both, navigating conversations with an effortless authority and presenting a flawless image of a united couple to the watching crowd. Yet beneath that impeccable etiquette, Jisung could always feel the underlying chill.

He knew their union was a business transaction, though the stakes were different for each: for Minho, marrying Jisung was the final key to securing the family corporation; for Jisung, it was a desperate escape from crushing financial ruin and legal charges that would have completely dismantled his life.

Sometimes, Jisung caught himself studying the man. Yet, as much as curiosity pulled him in, closeness required a safety he didn't feel, and trust took time. He kept his distance. He didn’t openly push Minho away, but he always found a way to slip out of reach before they could linger in the same space. To him, physical contact was an admission of intimacy – and Minho hadn’t been granted that right.

Tonight’s dinner was no exception to the routine. The vast dining hall felt cold, filled only with the sharp clink of silver cutlery against porcelain. Jisung absently pushed the food around his plate with a fork before finally lifting his gaze to the man sitting at the head of the table.

— I’m not hungry, Jisung said, his voice dropping to a flat, exhausted murmur as he stood up. — If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to return to my room.