Luna found the next morning, piercing and bizarre. Bangkok had never been so cold to mornings. The light always ran thin and even all over the town. Now, it sliced through the apartment‘s half, glazed door in thin, calm strips, and streaked dust into brittle fingers of light. Lost in thought, she sat and sipped on a tepid cube of tea and twiddled her wedding ring, which caught a faint shimmer from time to time when her hand shifted. Her skin underneath it felt dense and heavy, as though the putdowns hurled at her by her family the day before had lodged themselves in her bones. She thought the pain would pass, that the dagger she felt the day before would continue to dull. However, today, it felt sharper and embedded itself in her bones in a silent ache she would not stop feeling.

Ethan turned out from behind the counter, flinging kids of his tie in perfect sequence, humming softly to himself. It wasn‘t any music Luna recognised. It didn‘t sound like anything she‘d ever heard on the radio. It was just him. Unfussed, unflappable, making the very nothingness of the apartment seem stable and subversive. Luna watched him, feeling her love for him fill her so suddenly that she was surprised. The man they had made her marry out of charity. The man. Inevitable is pathetic. NO hopes, no dreams. Grounded and fearless in a way that makes the outside world seem to get all wobbly by comparison.

“You‘re thinking about them again,” he said, staring into the middle distance in front of him just like he had since they met, that same non-authoritative tone…

Luna smiled. “Is that how obvious they are?”

“Only because you are frozen,” he said, standing at last, he looked at her. “For your hurt.”

She placed her mug on the cup stand and rubbed her thumb around the rim. “Everyone says I married you because I was grateful,” she said. “That I was tolerant. That I married the dullest, safest person alive because I was irresponsible with everyone else.”

Ethan made a few long steps in order to get next to her. He held her tender hand, then made her come down a little before the first spiral. “Love is not charity,” he said. “And it is not convenient.”

She pressed into him. Her forehead rode under his stomach belt. She sat back down on him. His pulse node is raw. Luna shut her lids and let it lull her. “If they could see how I did.”

“They won‘t,” he said softly, pulling her hair away from her face. “Not if it makes them happy. Only what comforts them. Not what is real.” She ran her finger gently around the edge of her mug, letting the heat radiate into her skin as her gaze skimmed over the city's lights and all to remind her of the world that silently judged her. Even in that warm illumination, Bangkok was a silent witness; every honking and shouted insult a reminder of how much they watched and disapproved. The wedding band hugged her finger more heavily than the ring, a heartbeat of resistance to the dark whispers that she married for safety and gratitude and not for love. Luna exhaled another breath she‘d been holding, pressing her cheek to the cool, smooth curve of the mug to ground herself. Ethan sat by her side; his presence was that grounding, as steady as his pulse, as reassuring as the hand that brushed hers and spoke from the silence in his mind. Outside, the shadows drew out long and slim like silent threats, and the courier‘s envelope blazed something hot and unstoppable in her mind: Marcus. Just the name spun a cold chill up her spine as she felt it curl its icy fingers around her chest. She looked at Ethan and faced the suspicion in his eyes, and found no trace of it there,, only a quiet certainty. “Whatever comes,” he said softly, quietly, “we will face it side by side.” And for the first time, Luna believed in him.

The apartment held its breath. He bowed his head and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head. Luna relished the cooling sensation and wished that the surrounding silence and certainty of the moment might be sufficient.

Then the knock sounded.

And it rented the apartment in halves.

Unhesitating, the knocking smashed the peace to painful glittering fragments. Luna froze. Instantly, she thought of Vanessa, or one of her cousins, who would ask a biting question just loud enough to hide the acid beneath it. When she opened the door, a man stood there with an envelope, normal, resembling any other. No writing on the front. No address.

“I'm for Miss Harris,” he said.

Luna's fingers prickled as she accepted the envelope, which was unnervingly colder than it ought to have been. She ripped it open and pulled out its eight-word message, whose text could only have been written by Marcus: Charity is one thing. Convenience is another. Meeting tomorrow, Luna.

Her stomach heaved. Marcus.

That single word was enough to cause the icy grip to take hold. Ethan was at her side, staring at her face and not the note he held. “He will not lay a finger on you,” he said evenly. “We will see to it.”

Together. The one word had her composure back, as if by magic.

The day wore on oddly. Luna and Ethan ran smoothly around the confines of the tiny apartment, tending to each other‘s needs in a quiet, tacit familiarity. She eats and eats. The dishes tinkle softly as Ethan puts them away. Luna mops the counter as Ethan dabs at the bathroom mirror. They work so smoothly, she grows so anxious. “The world is out there watching us cry and eat until noon,” she thinks suddenly. “They are watching and laughing.”

Halfway through the afternoon, she heard a voice from the corridor. Mrs. Supattratra stalked over the balcony, railing, smile gleaming, eyes frozen with suspicion. “Luna! So sweet, tempered you are,” she called. “Choosing to abandon the luxuries of the West upon your marriage. That takes guts.”

Luna's shoulders flinched. She thrust her shoulders back. “I married him elinaid,” she concluded d very loudly.

Ethan drew nearer, nigh with a firm arm supporting her around the waist. “Hear what gives people the edge,” he sighed. “Nothing to do with it all.”

But the rumors were everywhere. At the market. In the lobby. In pointed eyes that burned into her back. By dark, Luna was exhausted. Worn paper, dulled by the nagging sensation that her love was cheated.

Ethan and Luna sat on the chair, her legs sleeved together, his flushed in the dying light, and now the sun was settling low. He kissed her temple, her cheek, then crispered, steady and rock, Luna listening to the fragile beat of his heart. You loved me‘cause I loved you.

She laid her hand on his chest, her palm feeling the strength within. The still fire he carried. For just a moment, nothing else mattered.

Then her phone chirped.

Tomorrow. Let's visit that vagrant.

Cliffhanger (again: Marcus). Luna imparted these words to Ethan, who gazed on her with an uncompromising eye. “We will be safe,” Ethan instructed her by half, and by half an invocation. “We will be safe together.”

As sunlight slit through glittering flickers on their balcony, Luna looked out over the city beneath her, trying to breathe while nearing horror and unmendable, both poised to flatten their love before either of them had a hope of fully living it. Tonight, Luna reminded herself, love wasn't enough.

However, it was not.

The midday city streets shimmered about them, shimmered in the bright, morning heat, making shadows dance and making the asphalt kiss devilish mirages that made the city feel so molten, so vigorous, so bright. Luna could recognize it immediately, the way the whitewashed clouds milled about in the sky, hovered over people‘s gaze, and the way people‘s gaze wavered, lingered on her, lit up with that familiar, “Do me a favor…“crackling din. Cars flashed by in crisp flashes of Prada, blue, and Mercedes, silver. Pinstripe businessmen's shoulders crashed through these archways with contended ease. Office and AV setup hipsters strutted by, heels clicking up the cobblestones, textures dancing over silk and chicweaved jackets. All the while, over bars and restaurants and park benches, a particular judgment was rifling in with wave after wave of “Oh, he married her…out of all people, him…?

Luna hung on to Ethan. Walking beside him on Sukhumvit Road, her elbow pressed into his side amidst the crush. Her fingers flickered to and from, nonchalantly touching or not touching him, testing whether in the larger social world she could be out here and away from them all. The brunch at her apartment building was subdued, the table courteous and harried. I didn‘t care at all what they thought, she said. But arriving back in the more fashionable part of town, it was like they all been saying it for her, waiting for someone to take charge.

“Will they ever quit that staring?” she wondered aloud, suddenly gripping Ethan‘s arm more than before.

He didn‘t look rattled. Never looked rattled. His eye followed the street as he held still, watching me, unfazed and unoffended. “Their curiosity,” he told me, “isn‘t forever cruelty. But it can wear the very same face.”

Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she saw he was watching her too. He moved with quiet ease; shoulders slightly back, stride unhurried, yet he never flinched or tried to make up for it, if you see what I mean. He didn‘t halt, he didn‘t pause, he didn‘t look remorseful. That consistency was amazing. She shivered just a little, not frightened, but with warmer, keener respect.

Their first visit was a reception in an art gallery just off the high street... They truly were visual eaters. The light bounced off the shiny marble floorways, reflected by the huge, delicate chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Champagne-like flowing and the sounds of glasses clicking. What is that noise? Small talk started in the background. When they arrived, Luna and Ethan could see glances circulating. Not obvious but not too subtle, perhaps a slight flutter that she noticed right away. Just enough whispers to start immediately. Is that her? She married that guy? That's so normal... normal guy?

A hot tingle snaked along her spine, and before she could jerk into her shell, Ethan‘s hand had grabbed hers. He didn‘t squeeze, he didn‘t speak. Just held on and kept her rooted in her body. “Nothing to worry about,” he said softly as he leaned into her. Warm and cool breath fluttered her ears. Luna inhaled deeply and nodded, desperate to borrow his calm.

They penetrated more into the Gallery and stopped before a seemingly abstract piece, which Luna simply brushed off, and then, without warning, a familiar voice interrupted the hushed crowd.

Luna! What an... Unlikely choice.

Vanessa, justinside the door, with a glass in her hands, smiled as a razor, sharp as the blade. Luna turned and groped for any outward signs of emotion, and settled finally on as politely as she could manage. “Good afternoon, Vanessa.”

Vanessa glared enviously at Ethan, less than impressed. “Wow, I didn‘t think I would ever see you marry someone like him,” she said in a nonchalant tone. “He even has... Aspirations, relatives, cash?”

Luna felt her chest tighten, but she didn‘t get a chance to speak before Ethan leaned in towards her just a little and whispered in a voice so quiet only she could hear, “None of that matters. Only what you think do.”

She took his hand in hers, managed to find his fingers in the blackness,s and squeezed. Love burst inside her. She looked her sister in the eyes and said, ‘I married him because I wanted to. And that‘s as much as I need to say.’

Vanessa let out a soft, unconvinced chuckle and floated away, too bored and too lost. It was a hollow sort of ache that trudged after the last one. Ethan didn‘t wallow in the emotion, but his thumb still lingered on Luna‘s knuckles in a gentle caress, slow and calming.

We hadn‘t gone far when a second woman approached us, her clothes as silky as perfume, the golden smile sweet, but a little curious in her eye. ‘Luna, dear, ‘she leaned toward us. ‘Can I ask you something personal? Did you agree to marry him because you pity him?

I don‘t think so, Luna thought, as the word struck her like a punch. What a shame. In an instant, she felt a wave of warm, solid energy form in her stomach. I‘m not going to retreat. “No,” she said hastily. I married him because I love him.”

Again, the hand crossed hers in the same gesture, a soft pat and a minuscule shake of the head. “Let them say what they will,” he whispered conspiratorially, leaning forward. “The truth is ours.

It felt intimate, it thrilled her so much, reassurance that it was only between them and its her alone to know, it wasn‘t known by the world. He pulls her close and kisses away the tiny kiss on her temple, then brushes her short bang back before she could repeat and shed it again. It is so tiny it‘s almost undetectable,e but she holds onto it. This is one of the reasons she picks him, not because he is safe or comfortable or because he is too good for her. Because with him, she feels real. But again, the gallery kept closing in. They watched them. The words floated free and were dispersed to the din, and the whispers were forming. She might have been married to wealth. To the station. To splendor. But she picked him. The pain was still there, but Ethan didn‘t appear to have noticed. He didn‘t need to put effort into appearing sure of himself; he was sure of himself.

Seconds later, Luna‘s head found itself resting in front of a sculpture of collapsed steel and glass when her cell phone vibrated. The display flickered and illuminated itself with a message that damn near froze her blood.

Quite interesting on Luna. This is very interesting. Sure, you have a lot of planning to do.

Marcus.

Her breath hitched. Ethan saw it immediately. He reached for her hand, taking it as he pulled her after him in silence. “They can‘t scare us,” he whispered. “Not us. We‘ll just continue as we were. Together.”

She nodded and tilted her cheek against his shoulder. The lights in the gallery sparkled against the windows, thin flashes of color rushing past. It was the first time that the world didn‘t seem as unlivable as before. Their fragile embrace, the soft kisses, the silent words of comfort, love is still here, still alive.

But once the evening slipped into the night, the tone relaxed once more. Everything was a little more pointed. Everything was a little more critical. Outside the gallery windows, the city shone in a gloomy glow; dazzled andamour wascerebrating. It was the risk and reward of beauty and censure.

Once they were finally outside, neon lights shone through on a wet road, and the warm promises of the city hit like a punch to the stomach. Luna‘s cell once again vibrated. We will know the strength of your love by what you do tomorrow.

As she read his note, numbing sensations swarmed around her. Ethan‘s fingers curled possessively and tightly around her hand, warm and unwavering. He seemed disengaged but in control, yet there was a flickering spark that shimmered in his hazel eyes.

CHAPTER CLIFFHANGER:

When she was out beneath the neon lights, litsky she saw it wasn‘t just Marcus‘s threats that were dangerous, but Ethan‘s unruffled calmness and that foolhardy conviction that he was more in control than he appeared to be. The stakes she‘d be facing tomorrow would be far more than her love. Tomorrow‘s revelations were meant to remain concealed deep in her soul, but when they surfaced, there would be nothing left of her marriage, her life, or the one she loved.

Lunchtime at the Harris home was an event in itself for the amusement and pride of the wealthy. Crystal chandeliers illuminated a giant dinner table covered with a white linen and silver platters into which untested dishes were served, with more imported diamonds nestled between the appleseeds in your soufflé. Smells of spices floated between gallons of champagne, coupled with playful insults, whispering whispers, and the eagerly waiting audiences of judgment. Luna felt it the moment she arrived: the iciness of the regard, the probability of criticism, her own mind beat, taking alibi to the inadequacy she had no choice but to embrace. Without release, her fingers squeezed Ethan’s. Ethan was tall, unreliable, and familiar. A dependable bulwark to the predicted storm of evaluation.

Vanessa, with her Prada heels, hit tumbling on the marble tiles and orchestrated her way into the scene. “Oh, Luna, Ethan. How implausible...” she said, arching yet surprised eyebrows. Her smile was melted, proof, but her speech was frozen. Artificial. It was as if she were stabbing Luna, but blindfolded with velvet.

Ethan nodded, motionless and friendly. “Hello.” Nothing defensive. No “Hi” or an apology. Just the handshake of another new acquaintance.

Luna was flushed and red-cheeked. She knew her family was watching, distracted by her blinking and missing eyelid, waiting for her to cower down, to admit her vote was fatal, and that she was forever victimized by them. Instead, she held her goofy eyes fixed. Ethan was tight, affectionate, and her safety net. Many individuals would have merely stumbled backwards, but he gave her comfort with the smallest of motions. It was not much, but it meant a great deal.

Uncle Rose interrupted him, amusingly: “Ethan, what is happening with your endeavors?” There was a honeyed sweetness yet weighty suspicion in his words.

Ethan shrugged. “I am hunting some,” he sounded even and careless, like he did not influence her.

The group gulped. Empty, arid. In. “Ventures?” Uncle Harris inquired again. “So you are... out of work?”

Vanessa yelled. “Luna, dumdum, you married a futile twenty-something lacking in that thing called a major. Fundamentally, a nobody. Is this what you asked me for?”

Luna wasn‘t going to be shaken. She took a deep breath and grasped Ethan‘s palm. He looked behind her with confidence but no condescension. Luna bewitched their stares. “I married Ryan because of who I love,” they said with a convincing giggle.

Ethan was soft. “I married Luna because I chose to.” The sentiment struck the market aisle. Funny how unconvincing the routine sounded, as if speaking of old shoes. Rumors shook the room. Family friends. Neighbors. Folks who shared the same gossip circuit, who regurgitated their lies more times than they could remember. They thought they liked their website as it was.

“Other than what?” Aunt Rose replied dryly, unsettlingly. Her voice was breakable and cracked. “With your power. Your influence. Why not go outside your class and discover something you like?”

There was a full minute’s silence. Smokey, acrid. When Uncle Harris looked up, he said, “Ventures?” slowly. “So you didn’t mention this yourself? Out of a job?...

Vanessa roared, “Luna, honey, you married a man without sponsorship, without employment, without prospects. Was this the one you wanted?”

Luna was trying to make sense of the group. She had to figure out how they wanted her to act. To reflexively cower. To justify her wedding, to look traumatized and unhappy. She persevered. She looked through them. Ethan felt the hugest squeeze and was satisfied. He was an unmanageable man. He nodded. Luna announced to the others, “I married him because of love.”

Ethan responded with a smile that was just a whiff of air. “And I married Luna because I wanted to.” Unexpectedly, those words swept away the nice old rhythm of conversation as they floated through the space.

Regurgitation from the past. Old neighbors. Old acquaintances. Old informants. They got really excited about those subjects.

“You could have really done better,” snarled Aunt Rose as her veneer slid off. “Power. Fame. Money. And instead, this.” She loosened her hand, lazily directing McEthan in the direction of them, as if he were a long-standing curse of theirs.

Ethan’s eye flicked to Luna, and she agreed internally, okay. Whatever. Luna nodded her ok. Whatever. Whatever. Now was not the time. Everyone in the room glared at Ethan and called him false and insignificant. Luna knew he was being just as dignified as he knew how to be. She understood why and responded to his gesture accordingly. “I sought him out because I love him,” she said happily.

Ethan agreed. “I wanted to be with her.” In the balloon of the room, the words popped, stealing a light breeze of jokes. Luna heard over and over about her impending failure, that this couple was so handicapped they would be blown away, sent flying into a pitfall after episode. Ethan was healthy. He barely countered, only shrugged, and amused himself with tiny tokens of affection while the crowd poured war paint into their eyes, each one calculating Ethan as an ersatz nobody who would go under for sure. Ethan kept smiling. He accommodated the baits, blandly smiling and then encouraging Luna with tiny compasses against the fire of anger. A faint echo of fingers on Luna’s knee. Quiet words blended down her face. Fingers sprinkling beneath tables. Each touch shielded Luna from intruders to her universe, telling her she was with him alone.

Then, in the middle of dinner, a couple buzzed her pocket. The funny reveal ID that he was floating flashed. Luna's cheeks moved into the position of goose flesh.

Marcus.

“No title, no part, no aspiration,” he typed. “I suspect chatter was accurate. We will find how quickly the romance flies.”

Ethan moved her phone to the table with a still of confidence and placed his hand softly on her own, studiously avoiding Marcus. ‘We will torment him,” Ethan promised. “Will we?

They headed into the sunlight-saturated road. Even the heavenly sky spanned with serenity above the street. Usually, the glare of heat would help Luna, and she would feel newly relaxed. This time, nausea fluttered in her bowels. Love is stronger. It is hearty. It is authentic, and Luna was grateful she had it. However, Marcus’ malignance was near, imminent, and invincible.

Her mobile vibrated. But she could not press it against her skin until she reached her home. Her next message was from Marcus, more merciless than before.

“Oh, look. Thwarted bitch... No hope, no job, no aspirations. Damned gossip was real. But love has to stop now.”

Ethan snatched her phone away but only clenched his fists around it and then put it down. “Marsh, ummm. We’ll fix him.”

Back in the car, with thousands of miles to drive, Luna forced her laughter to come out. Azure House was peppered with business discussions she refused to listen to. Someplace beneath the cracks, she knew exactly how she wanted her story to seem, and she would not move towards it but would only proceed at her pace. As they left, Aunt Rose warned again: “It would be so much edgier. We will see how tepidly long this crime lasts.” “Pure love cannot alone prop up a marriage,” Ethan quipped.

Luna held her hand one last time. Her head tilted inside the truck, she tried to ignore matters. Her greater worry than hunger was the firebug looming tomorrow and about to come. Love was great, but not even close to being extreme enough anymore. Not with Marcus launching now, much faster than Luna could run. How long can she hold on? How long can love keep her safe and free? Why was all the fury itself leading in circles towards her, unstoppable?

Cliffhanger: Atropos descended from the sky in the near horizon, and Luna saw clearly in her ears' term why tomorrow would haunt her. No matter what rage everyone else had, that could not be compared to how her fury would explode. Love, unbend. Love, uncontrolled. Love, who? Long journey and Marcus’ fangs—she carried her notebook close to her spine, forlorn and admiring of her unloved city. When the soul came into sight, it would cover her. The night would wrap her. And she had no idea how such a loss could stab her.