Vivian
The apartment was quiet.
Too quiet.
No distant music from the outer courtyard. No ceremonial drums. The celebration had ended with the sun.
And yet, the silence inside still felt heavier than the fanfare that had filled the house for seven days straight.
Vivian sat by the window, arms folded in her lap, jaw tight. The soft gold threads of her evening robe caught the lamplight in thin arcs. She hadn't removed her makeup. Her earrings still glimmered—like they were waiting for an event that never came.
Across the room, Ethan sat at the low table, reading a scroll by the gentle flicker of a hovering lantern. His outer robe was gone. His collar open just slightly.
He looked... serene.
And that infuriated her more than anything.
She stared at the polished stone floor, then back at him.
"Why did you protect him?" she asked, flatly.
Ethan didn't look up right away.
He made a small note in the margin of the scroll. Rolled it forward slightly.
Only then did he say, without looking at her, "Because it was the only move that made sense."
She didn't blink.
"He insulted you. He insulted me. Walked into my house. Our celebration. Bearing my crest on a personal gift."
"And I didn't let him stain the floor with blood," Ethan replied calmly. "I would have thought that would please you. I'm unclear why it doesn't."
Vivian's spine straightened. Her voice sharpened.
"He should have died for such an action. That wasn't mercy. That was submission. Are you the kind of man who kneels when he should strike?"
Now he looked up.
Not angry.
Not defensive.
Almost... amused.
What in the name of the gods is this man playing at?
"I didn't submit," he said. "I presented."
She narrowed her eyes. "To whom?"
"To everyone," he said simply. "To your father. Your brothers. The staff. The empire. But most of all... to you."
Her breath caught.
Only slightly.
She didn't respond.
Ethan set the scroll aside and stood, walking to the nearby shelf where he began organizing diagrams and talismans—precise, methodical.
"I didn't defend Jin Xun as a person," he said. "I defended the structure we're standing on."
Vivian frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means I know where I am," he said, turning to face her. "I married into House Li. Your house. You're not just a daughter—you're the heir. Everyone knows it. Your father's made it clear. Your brothers see it—even if they haven't said it out loud."
He stepped forward. Not close. Just enough to lower his voice.
"I'm not here to challenge that. I'm not here to win your heart. Or anyone's approval. I'm here to ensure I don't become the reason this house fractures."
Vivian stared at him.
"You think you could break this house?"
"I think the wrong kind of husband could," he said. "If you had someone who draws blood over pride, who can't tell the difference between offense and opportunity... yes. That would be a problem."
He gestured to the window, where the lanterns had begun to dim across the outer courtyards.
"You've spent your life proving you should lead. And you will. I'm not going to be the fool who poisons your rise because I couldn't handle someone you like showing up with a love letter, bad vibes, and poor timing."
He paused.
"You don't need my protection. But you do need your house to remain unshaken. You can survive scandal—but perception has a way of catching up to reality. What I did? It praised your house. Made people talk. Made it look like you're the kind of heir whose husband kneels instead of draws blood. When it's on your behalf."
The words settled like dust.
She hadn't moved.
Because somehow, it was easier to let him talk than interrupt.
He walked to the sideboard, poured a glass of water, took a single sip.
Then added, more quietly, "You're wondering how I could allow another man to pursue my wife. The truth is, I don't care. I didn't come here for love. I came for resources. Infrastructure. A place to work—not to rule."
She blinked. He doesn't care?
Her voice was soft. "What kind of man doesn't want beauty?"
She gestured to herself.
"What kind of man doesn't want power?"
She gestured to the room.
"What kind of man lets his wife be courted in front of him?"
He shook his head.
"I want neither your beauty, nor your power, nor to interfere with your lover. I married you because it got me what I need."
She considered that. "So you don't want me. You don't want power. What do you want?"
He smiled. "Purpose."
She sat back.
Processing.
And in the stillness, something shifted.
Not affection.
Not understanding.
But a small, flickering pause in her certainty.
He wasn't trying to win.
He wasn't trying to lose.
He was building something—and she wasn't the center of it.
And that made her angry.
"I won't be humiliated," she said at last.
"I won't humiliate you."
"You'll stay out of my way?"
"I'll hold the foundation steady."
"You'll never come to me drunk, trying to 'experience my superior body and technique'?"
Ethan cocked his head.
"What a strange thing to say. Superior technique? Someone is confident." He smiled slightly. "Vivian, I promise I won't covet your superior body. Trust me—I can 'get my jollies' elsewhere, if needed. Some purchase required."
She didn't understand what that meant.
But it sounded insulting.
She stood there a moment longer.
Then walked through the door and shut it behind her.
Daniel didn't move.
He simply turned back to his scrolls.
And went back to work.
***
She hadn't moved in over an hour.
The candles had burned halfway down. Her robe hung loosely off one shoulder, and the silver ties of her belt lay undone beside the vanity. Her earrings were tucked neatly in a velvet dish. Her comb rested on the floor where she'd set it down and forgotten to pick it back up.
Vivian Li sat motionless at the edge of her bed, staring at the empty space beside her.
Where her husband might have been.
If they had been a real couple.
She stared at the spot.
Not because she wanted him there.
Not because she missed him.
But because she couldn't understand him.
"I came to your family for... purpose."
He had said it so simply. As if that kind of man existed. As if someone could marry her—be bound to her in blood and title—and genuinely not care about possession. About status. About her.
She had dismissed suitors for wanting too much.
For trying too hard. For begging with smiles or threats.
But this?
Ethan Zhou didn't try at all.
He didn't want her acknowledgment, her love, or her influence.
He just wanted to be left alone.
And that made no sense.
She stood abruptly, crossing to the mirror with swift, silent steps. She stared at her reflection, backlit by moonlight.
The woman in the glass was immaculate. A living fairy.
The heir to House Li.
The daughter of a general and a strategist.
A face and figure known across the empire for its beauty, its grace, its control.
Not a hair out of place.
Not a flaw to be found.
She was not a woman men ignored.
But Ethan wasn't just ignoring her. He was avoiding her.
He had never even tried to look in.
Never tried to woo her. Or possess her.
He should've made a move. Any move.
Should've tried to assert himself. To claim something—her time, her attention, her body.
She had expected him to push for something eventually. To misstep. To become jealous. To seek advantage.
That's what all men did.
That's what all men wanted from her, at least.
Instead, he had turned her father's blade away from Jin Xun—the one man who stood in his way. He had done it not to save face.
But to avoid scandal.
For her.
For her house.
For her family.
Not for himself.
He had lowered himself for her.
And he had done it without hesitation.
She replayed that moment again—now burned into her memory.
Jin Xun, walking into the courtyard with a lover's box.
At her wedding celebration.
Smiles and arrogance and certainty.
He had been so sure of himself. So sure of her.
And if her father hadn't been there, maybe she could have controlled the outcome.
Maybe.
But with Zhenhua watching?
Even she couldn't disobey.
Ethan could have destroyed Jin.
No one would have stopped him. Her father had offered it.
One nod. That's all it would've taken.
But Ethan had knelt.
Not out of fear.
Out of strategy.
To protect her name.
To protect his role.
And yet... not once had he looked to her for approval.
He wasn't asking to be seen.
He was making sure she didn't have to look.
That her foundation—her leadership and judgment—remained unmired.
Vivian sat again.
Slower this time.
What kind of man does that?
What kind of husband refuses to take what's his?
Was he really that disinterested?
Really that detached?
Or did he simply believe she wasn't worth the trouble?
That thought stung.
Sharper than she expected.
Because if he didn't want her...
Then what did he want?
Stupid.
He told you what he wanted.
Purpose.
But what purpose? What the hell was so important that he cared nothing for one of the most beautiful desirable women in the Empire??
Maybe he is gay.
She could understand lust.
She could understand ambition.
She could even respect the occasional need for political positioning.
But he didn't want her body.
Didn't want her favor.
Didn't even seem to want a deeper claim to the house.
He wanted space.
Resources.
A lab. A hall. A place to build—what?
Weapons? Technology? Legacy?
Was that his purpose?
He had asked her father for a quiet corner of the city. For funds. For help. For connections.
All while nobles across the empire whispered his name like he was the next blade-saint to rise from obscurity.
He's not even supposed to be a warrior.
She pressed her palm against her chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath her fingers.
It wasn't anger. Not anymore.
It was imbalance.
The foundation she had built was shifting beneath her.
Quietly.
Without permission.
She had thought she'd been given a husband she could set aside.
Instead, she'd been given one who refused to orbit her at all.
And now?
The household had begun to shift around him.
Not because he asked for power.
But because he acted like he didn't need it.
Her hand fell to her lap.
Her jaw clenched.
She had told him—don't pretend this marriage is something it's not.
And he had said, calmly:
"I never have."
Then why did it feel like she was the one pretending?
She stood again, slower this time.
Crossed the room and stopped at the doorway leading to his study.
It was quiet.
No footsteps.
No rustling scrolls.
No flickering crystal light.
Just silence.
And behind that door?
A man who had no claim on her heart.
And yet had somehow made himself unavoidable.