Axel carried Thea effortlessly into a quiet, dimly lit room down the hallway. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable, though his grip on her was firm yet oddly gentle. Her pale form felt too light in his arms, like she might disappear if he loosened his hold. He laid her carefully on the bed, pulling the soft covers over her as though protecting her from a cold that didn't exist.

Without a word, Axel called for a physician to check on her. The urgency in his voice betrayed a flicker of concern, one he didn't want anyone to notice. When the physician arrived, Axel watched silently from the corner of the room, his arms crossed over his chest. He asked only one question: "Is she in danger?"

"No," the physician replied after a thorough examination. "She just fainted—exhaustion, stress. She needs rest and care."

Satisfied, Axel dismissed the man, his tension easing slightly. He sank into the sofa beside the bed, leaning back but never taking his eyes off her. Thea's face was still pale, her breathing steady but shallow. He wanted to touch her—wanted it with a fierce, almost desperate yearning that unsettled him more than he could bear. This woman, so distant and unknowable, stirred something in him he couldn't quite name. She was a stranger, and yet there was something about her that made his hands ache to reach out, to trace the lines of her face, to feel the smooth curve of her lips beneath his fingertips. But he had no right to take from her, no right to ask for anything, yet the need burned in him like a fire he couldn't extinguish.

Without a second thought, Axel leaned forward, his hand trembling as it hovered above her face. His fingers brushed lightly against her lips, as though afraid any deeper contact might break the fragile illusion of control he desperately clung to. The touch was fleeting, barely more than a whisper, but it lingered—like the echo of a touch he could never forget.

A strange warmth radiated from her, subtle but undeniable. It unsettled him, as though the brief contact had awakened something inside him that he couldn't silence. The softness of her lips beneath his fingertips sent a jolt through him, leaving an unfamiliar sensation that he could neither comprehend nor shake. He pulled away, his breath shallow, and the room seemed to grow colder despite the warmth of her presence.

Axel sat back, annoyed with himself. She's just a pawn in this game, he reminded himself. Nothing more.

Hours passed before Thea stirred, her lashes fluttering as she slowly regained consciousness. When her hazel eyes finally opened, they immediately sought out her surroundings. Seeing Axel seated on the sofa, his figure framed by the golden glow of a nearby lamp, she froze.

"Where am I?" she asked, her voice soft, trembling slightly as she averted her gaze.

"This is your room now," Axel replied, his voice steady, almost detached. "You'll live here, with me, from now on. We're engaged."

Her lips parted slightly as if to respond, but no words came. Axel continued, his tone clipped, as though reciting a prepared speech. "You can arrange the room however you like—make it yours. But understand this: we'll share a house, not a bed. We are bound only by this contract, nothing more."

Thea's hands fidgeted with the blanket, her knuckles white. He caught the subtle quiver in her fingers but pressed on.

"You'll have everything you need," Axel added. "Money, clothes, food. As a member of the Ashbourne family, you'll be provided for. If you want something, you need only ask."

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the room. Then Thea raised her eyes slightly, just enough to meet his. There was no gratitude in her gaze, only quiet resignation.

"I need nothing," she said firmly, her voice low but unwavering. "We're just... contract items. You don't owe me anything."

Axel's brows knit together, but he didn't interrupt.

"I'm thankful for the food and the roof over my head," she continued. "But that's enough. I don't expect more because there's nothing more to expect."

Her words landed heavier than Axel anticipated, stirring something he couldn't quite name. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his piercing eyes fixed on her.

"Good," he said after a long pause. "Then we understand each other."

But even as he spoke, a strange tension lingered between them, an unspoken unease that neither acknowledged. Axel leaned back, his posture relaxed but his thoughts anything but. For the first time in years, he felt something he hadn't expected: doubt.

Thea turned her head away, gazing at the plain white ceiling. Her voice, soft but firm, reached him one last time.

"This is all temporary," she said. "Just a year. I'll endure it. After that, I'll disappear ... as if I were never here."

Her words struck a nerve, though Axel didn't let it show. Without a response, he stood and walked to the door, pausing for a moment before looking back at her.

"Get some rest," he said curtly. "You'll need it."

With that, he left, closing the door quietly behind him. But as he walked away, the memory of her trembling voice and those resolute words echoed in his mind, refusing to be ignored.  

The next day dawned with a surreal stillness, as though the world itself had paused to acknowledge the strange union about to be captured. Preparations for the marriage photo shoot were already in full swing by the time Axel stepped into the garden. The space had been transformed into a breathtaking scene—white roses intertwined with ivy, delicate arches framing the lush greenery, and sunlight filtering through the trees like golden lace.

Axel adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit, one of the finest. It fit him perfectly, emphasising his broad shoulders and lean frame. He looked every inch the groom, though his expression remained composed, a mask he had mastered over the years.

Then Thea appeared.

The sight of her stopped him cold. She wore a wedding gown unlike anything he had expected—a vaporous masterpiece of silk and lace that seemed to float with her every step. Her bare shoulders glistened in the sunlight, her long, loose curls cascading down her back like a dark waterfall. She was stunning, heartbreakingly so. Axel felt an unfamiliar weight settle in his chest, like he was sinking, drowning in the vision before him.

The photographer began directing them, capturing the façade of a happy couple. Thea stood stiffly, her movements mechanical, her eyes distant. Axel's jaw tightened, but he played along, offering her his arm and guiding her through each pose with practiced ease.

Then came the moment she was instructed to place her hand on his chest.

Thea hesitated, her hand trembling slightly as she complied. Her palm rested over his heart, and she startled at the steady, rhythmic beating beneath her fingers. She felt her own heart respond, a faint echo in her chest. For a fleeting second, the weight of the moment threatened to overwhelm her.

"This is just another bad moment in life," she told herself, closing her eyes. "If I don't pay attention, I can endure it."

But the tears came anyway, silent and unbidden, sliding down her cheeks. Her head lowered in quiet despair as a sharp ache pierced her thoughts: "What if I had been a loved bride? What if this smile, this day, had been real?"

Axel saw the tears. They caught the light like fragile crystals, falling against her pale cheeks. His gaze softened, lingering on her trembling shoulders, her bowed head.

For a moment, he felt an overwhelming urge to lift her chin, to wipe her tears away and kiss her until she looked into his eyes and saw something other than pain. The desire startled him, but even more, the regret he felt for her suffering caught him off guard.

But then her words from the previous night echoed in his mind: "This is all temporary. After a year, I'll disappear as if I were never here."

And so, he stayed still, his hands clenched at his sides, watching the woman before him break quietly under the weight of their shared charade.