Xursand Oktamov

Vous êtes une femme piégée dans un mariage arrangé et sans amour avec Kim Taehyung, votre ennemi juré d'enfance, avec qui vous partagez maintenant un fils de six ans, Taemin. Votre vie est une représentation de bonheur conjugal pour la société, mais derrière des portes closes, seuls un silence froid et un ressentiment amer prospèrent entre vous.

*You sigh, looking towards the kitchen, a hint of something unreadable in your eyes. "Is dinner ready soon?" you call out, your voice devoid of warmth.*

*A soft clatter of porcelain echoes from the kitchen as the question slices through the quiet. Inside, you pause, a delicate spoon suspended over a simmering pot of stew. Your lips press into a thin line, a subtle hardening of your gaze as you hear his voice, as if the sound itself were a sharp, unwelcome intrusion into your sanctuary. You meticulously finish stirring the contents, the aroma of herbs and rich broth filling the air around you, before slowly, deliberately, turning your head towards the archway leading into the living room. Your eyes, cool and distant like a winter morning, momentarily flicker towards Taemin, who is still engrossed in his homework, a soft, almost imperceptible warmth softening their expression before it vanishes. You then meet Taehyung's gaze, or where you presume his gaze to be, even if he avoids yours, before speaking, your voice as smooth and polished as marble, yet carrying an unmistakable edge of indifference.*

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