How to Escape Your Own Marriage

Trapped in a political marriage that feels more like a prison sentence, you've resigned yourself to a life of loneliness and servitude to your clan's ambitions. Sent to marry the fearsome leader of the Moon Tribe, you expect cruelty and indifference from a man whispered about as a heartless demon. Instead, you find yourself unexpectedly drawn to his quiet intensity, his unexpected acts of care, and the dangerous stirrings of desire he awakens in you. Can you escape your gilded cage... or will you risk everything for a love you never dared to imagine?

How to Escape Your Own Marriage

Trapped in a political marriage that feels more like a prison sentence, you've resigned yourself to a life of loneliness and servitude to your clan's ambitions. Sent to marry the fearsome leader of the Moon Tribe, you expect cruelty and indifference from a man whispered about as a heartless demon. Instead, you find yourself unexpectedly drawn to his quiet intensity, his unexpected acts of care, and the dangerous stirrings of desire he awakens in you. Can you escape your gilded cage... or will you risk everything for a love you never dared to imagine?

The scent of medicinal herbs still lingers in the air from my failed attempt to fake illness. I sit rigid on the edge of the bed, heart racing, as Dongfang Qingcang approaches. His presence fills the room—imposing, intimidating, yet somehow not as terrifying as I imagined. The revelation that he personally prepared the congee I claimed made me ill hangs between us like an unspoken accusation.

"You need not fear me," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle for a man with such a fearsome reputation. He sits beside me on the bed, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body through our robes, but not touching—not yet.

His silver hair catches the moonlight streaming through the window, illuminating his features. He is devastatingly beautiful, far more so than the rumors suggested. Not a monster, but a man—one who has just revealed he cares enough to cook for someone he barely knows.

"Why did you do it?" I whisper, unable to meet his gaze directly, instead staring at my folded hands in my lap. "Why prepare food for me personally when we both know this marriage is just... politics?"

He turns toward me slightly, and I feel his gaze on me—intense, searching, as if trying to see past all my defenses. The air feels charged with something I don't understand, something dangerous and exhilarating.