Vivian
The rest of the ceremonies for the final day had been canceled.
Thank the gods. She just had to get through this final lunch, then it would be done.
The salon was warm with mana-laced perfume and too many voices.
Silk robes rustled. Laughter floated like spun sugar over lacquered tea tables. Beneath the arched skylights, sunlight refracted through enchanted glass into soft-edged color, casting a golden glow across the polished floor. It was the formal morning gathering of the wedding cycle—a sendoff for noble daughters and distant cousins who'd flown in for the weeklong celebrations.
Vivian Li sat near the head of the chamber, poised, perfect, and slowly, irreversibly unraveling.
She held her teacup with practiced stillness, its contents untouched. Her mouth was shaped into a quiet smile—one she'd crafted over years of diplomatic duels and courtship wars. But her ears burned with every word that floated past her.
And they were all talking about the same thing.
"Did you see how he moved during the fight with Nathan? Like he was thinking faster than the blade."
"I heard he never even trained in Li style. That was all instinct."
"He didn't blink when Lord Li raised his blade. He knelt. In full view. Didn't ask for a thing."
"And that gift? The transmission stone? My father said Master Zhou created new tech to accomplish it. Created it himself."
Vivian sipped her tea.
Swallowed air.
Set the cup down without a sound.
Across from her, Lady Ji of the Skyglass Temple leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. Her voice was low—but not low enough to be missed.
"Vivian, dearest... will your marriage remain unsealed?"
The room paused.
Not silent.
But quiet.
That particular kind of quiet noblewomen excelled at—like a breath held just behind a fan.
Vivian turned her head slowly. Her expression didn't change.
Ji tilted her head, eyes bright. "You've been so reserved. So dignified. We all understand these matches start cold but… surely you don't intend for it to remain that way."
Vivian smiled politely. "I don't discuss my private affairs at state brunches."
A few elegant laughs followed. The moment diffused.
But not erased.
The attention hadn't shifted away from her.
It had shifted toward him.
The most vexing part? She didn't know who to be angrier at.
Ethan—for quietly becoming desirable.
Or herself—for failing to stop it.
She had designed this marriage with precision. Boundaries. Clarity. No expectations. No entanglement.
And yet now, she was being asked to justify her choices.
Not because they cared about her.
Because he had made himself impossible to dismiss.
Was it out of the question for him to just act normal? Act arrogant. Act entitled. Boast. Slap someone's face. Do something that might help her get the narrative back on track?
No such luck.
Ethan didn't fight for attention.
But he was everywhere now—praised in martial circles, gossiped about in academies, discussed at sector councils.
He didn't even try to take power.
Power was gravitating to him.
Another voice, closer:
"If you don't want him, someone will petition."
Vivian blinked.
Luli, her youngest handmaiden, flushed instantly. "Forgive me, my lady. I didn't mean—"
"You were speaking the truth," Vivian said flatly.
That was the problem.
She'd drawn the lines.
Declared the boundaries.
But now... if Ethan accepted a concubine, it would reflect poorly on her.
Not him.
Her.
She was Vivian Li. If her husband turned elsewhere for affection—or alliance—it would be read as weakness. As a power imbalance.
As a failure to secure what was already hers.
And she wasn't just talking about sex.
The noble houses loved to posture as paragons of restraint, but behind closed doors they might as well be brothels for all the self-control they practiced.
No, she was talking about connection. Acknowledgment. Real affection.
If he found that elsewhere—especially with someone from another Tier 1 house—it would be catastrophic.
A political imbalance.
A public stain.
A personal failure.
And she knew, deep down, it was not only possible—it was likely. He had already said so. It was one of the first things he'd told her:
That she was free to seek others.
That he would do the same.
It was a strange thing to say.
Almost like he expected her to have someone in mind.
She remembered Jin Xun.
She hadn't thought about him—not truly—since the courtyard.
Until now.
His voice. His gift box. The way he'd looked at her like they still shared a secret—like the marriage was just a detour.
It wasn't just awkward.
It was infuriating.
He hadn't known her father would be there. But he had known it would be a public gathering. Knew that her marriage was political, complicated, and required by her station.
But he'd come anyway—and acted in a way that could not be ignored.
Jin Xun might as well have dry-humped her in the courtyard.
And all that could have been forgiven.
But he hadn't come to offer affection.
He'd come to provoke.
Not her.
Ethan.
To shake him.
To challenge him—subtly, yes—but to suggest, without words, that she was still in play.
Vivian's knuckles tightened on her teacup.
What once might have felt romantic now felt...
Stupid.
Arrogant.
And almost fatal.
If Ethan hadn't handled it with perfect restraint, Jin Xun would be dead—and her house would bear the shame.
Yes, there would have been fallout. A fracture between her and her father. Their relationship—already a web of pride, power, and restraint—might not have survived Jin Xun's death.
In that way, Ethan hadn't just defended her honor.
He had preserved it.
Preserved her relationship with her family.
He had done what no one else in that courtyard—including herself—could do.
He had stopped a disaster.
And he'd done it with a bow.
A loud burst of laughter broke her focus.
Lady Ysabel of the Crimson Basin—gorgeous in deep red, glowing from her latest cultivation breakthrough—was leaning close to one of the Li cousins, whispering behind a fan and looking directly at Vivian.
Another noblewoman, pale and ice-sharp, smirked beside her.
Vivian's stomach turned.
She rose.
Slowly. Smoothly.
The room quieted as the highest-ranking daughter of House Li stood without announcement.
She offered no excuse.
Just a faint smile and a single nod to the hostess.
"I'll excuse myself now."
She didn't wait for acknowledgment.
She left.
But she didn't feel like she was escaping.
She felt like something was unspooling behind her—
And she couldn't yet see what shape it would take.