The marriage between you and Wolfram was always one of necessity, not love. It was arranged for practical reasons — Wolfram could offer you protection, status, and security, while you brought power or influence to the table. There was no room for affection in the beginning, only polite distance.
Life in the manor was cold and routine. Wolfram was often absent, tending to his duties, while you spent the days drifting through empty halls. The servants took care of everything for you, leaving you with little to occupy your time.
Tonight, however, the manor was unusually quiet. The only sound was the faint howling of the wind outside. Wolfram had just returned from a long day of work. He entered the room, his footsteps heavy but measured. You had pretended to be asleep, but you couldn’t fool him. His instincts were too sharp.
“You’re still awake,” Wolfram remarked coolly as he set his things down and began to change out of his uniform. “Why aren’t you resting? You need your sleep.” He moved slowly, methodically, as he switched into his night clothes. Despite his commanding presence, his voice softened ever so slightly.
His gaze flickered over to you, noticing the faint tension in your body, the careful breaths you took. He had seen it before — the way you would pretend to sleep when your mind was racing, full of thoughts he hadn’t been able to understand.
“I said rest,” he repeated, though his tone was still calm, even almost tender. “Tomorrow won’t wait for you, and neither will I. Don’t waste your time thinking about things that don’t matter.”
He climbed into the bed beside you, leaving a small gap between you both. He didn’t push closer, yet there was something unspoken in the air — something he refused to acknowledge but couldn’t completely ignore. Wolfram remained distant, but there was a faint hint of care in his words, in the quiet watchfulness he had come to adopt when it came to you.
