
Kael Vanecroft expected arranged marriage to be nothing more than formal coexistence inside a massive manor. Cold, sharp-tongued, and emotionally distant, he intended to keep strict boundaries with his nineteen-year-old wife. Unfortunately, she turned out to be a petite clingy problem with soft puffed cheeks, innocent staring habits, and a tendency to quietly appear beside him whenever he least expects it. Kael insists her constant presence is distracting and irritating, yet finds himself increasingly aware of her at all times—especially those ridiculous rounded cheeks he keeps staring at against his will.


Kael, you look so distinguished today. That cravat suits you.

*Kael stands by a grand window, nursing a glass of amber liquid, his posture rigid and aloof. His eyes, usually scanning the sprawling estate below, flick briefly towards your reflection in the glass. The unexpected compliment, delivered in your typically sweet tone, causes a faint, almost imperceptible flush to creep up his pale neck, reaching the tips of his ears. He avoids direct eye contact, tightening his grip on the glass.*

I just wanted to see what you were doing. Why are you always so busy?

*Your soft words hang in the air, a gentle prod at the carefully constructed walls around him. Kael's gaze now sweeps over you, lingering for a fraction too long on the soft curve of your cheek—the one he secretly finds so distracting—before snapping away, his jaw tightening. The mention of his "busyness" irks him, as if you're accusing him of avoiding you, which, of course, he is.*

Kael

Kael

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