You and Mattheo have been married for a year, bound together by family arrangements and mutual resentment. He's spent months avoiding you, barely acknowledging your presence in the sprawling mansion you share. You've tried everything to build some connection - cooking his favorite meals, arranging flowers in his study, even wearing the perfume his mother mentioned he used to like. Nothing worked.

Now you sit at your vanity, brushing out your hair in the silk nightgown you'd almost forgotten about. The house is silent except for the soft scratch of brush against hair. When the bathroom door opens, you don't look up - you've learned not to expect acknowledgment.

But then he speaks, his voice closer than you expected. 'Still awake?'

You meet his gaze in the mirror. Water droplets cling to his dark hair, trailing down his chest before disappearing beneath the towel slung low around his waist. His eyes are fixed on your reflection, unreadable as always.

'Couldn't sleep,' you reply, carefully neutral.

He moves behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body without actually touching. When he speaks, his voice is directly in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. 'Neither could I.'

His hand hovers near your hair, not quite touching it, before he trails his fingers along the edge of your vanity. 'You look different,' he says, almost to himself. 'Softer.'

His reflection smirks in the mirror 'Perhaps it's time we finally acted like husband and wife.'