Aurelia didn't sleep a single second. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, the cracks forming strange shapes-like a spiderweb slowly tightening around her. She felt trapped, and today that web was pulling her straight into the center of her ruin.

Devina's last words echoed in her skull like a curse. A sentence that hollowed her out from the inside.

And this morning, she walked toward the altar not out of love, but out of obligation. Like a wooden puppet dragged onto center stage, accompanied by music and the forced laughter of strangers.

Everything outside looked perfect. Except her.

"This is the only way, Lia. Please... save our family," Mrs. Mirna had said earlier when she entered the room. Her hand brushed Aurelia's shoulder-gentle, yet without warmth. More like a reminder that she had no other choice.

Aurelia stared at her reflection. White gown. Neatly styled hair. Flawless makeup.

But her eyes... empty. Lifeless. Not sadness-something far worse: a helplessness that felt like her soul had already died.

Gian was already there.

And for a moment, Aurelia's entire world went soundless.

He was nothing like the horrifying image she had been carrying in her mind. He stood tall, composed... undeniably striking. His black suit fit perfectly on his broad shoulders. His hair was slicked back, revealing sharp features, a hard jaw, and a high, straight nose. His skin was fair, contrasting with the dark depth of his eyes.

But that wasn't what stole Aurelia's breath.

It was his smile-a faint curve at the corner of his lips. Not warm, not cruel. Just... neutral. As if he knew exactly who he had to be today, and didn't need anyone's approval.

The vows were quick.

"I accept," Gian said. His voice was low, firm, leaving no room for doubt.

As they sat side by side, cameras flashed relentlessly. Aurelia forced her lips to curve, feeling as though she was pulling her own cheeks with barbed wire.

Gian's hand felt like cold metal. Far too cold for a groom.

Night fell. The bridal room was luxurious, yet unbearably quiet. No voices. No flowers. No laughter. Not even a servant appeared. As if the entire world had stopped, leaving Aurelia alone in this enormous, unfamiliar... frozen house.

She slipped out of her gown slowly, peeling away layers of ache. Sitting at the vanity, she only meant to remove her earrings. But something caught her eye-a drawer slightly ajar. Something peeked out from inside.

She hesitated. But curiosity won.

Inside were small bottles of pills. She read the labels one by one.

Erectile dysfunction medication.

Her breath snagged.

And beneath them... a photograph.

A woman's face.

Devina.

The picture had been slashed with black ink-crossed out, torn at the corner, as if someone had hurt it on purpose.

Click.

The door shut on its own. Softly, but enough to stiffen her spine.

From the dark corner of the room, footsteps approached. Calm. Heavy.

Gian stepped out of the shadows. Silent. Expression unreadable. Not angry. Not disappointed. Something far more unsettling-emptiness.

He took one of the bottles from the drawer, looked at it for a moment, then tossed it into the trash. Hard. The sound of breaking glass shattered the stillness.

He sat on the sofa, loosened his tie with slow, deliberate movements, and dropped it onto the floor. Then he pulled out a cigarette.

One drag.

A long exhale.

Still no words.

Aurelia stood frozen. She opened her mouth, but Gian lifted his hand slightly-a small gesture, but sharp enough to slice through her courage. A command to stay silent.

He walked to the balcony. Stayed there. A shadow refusing to be understood.

Fifteen minutes later, he returned, grabbed a bottle of water, took a sip, then sat back on the sofa. Still not approaching the bed. Still not looking at her.

Aurelia finally whispered, her voice trembling, "Are we... sleeping in the same bed or-"

One glance from him stopped her.

A hollow look, yet sharp enough to cut her breath short.

Without answering, Gian stood, picked up a pillow and a blanket, and set them on the long sofa. That was where he chose to lie down.

Aurelia remained rooted to the spot. The ticking clock on the wall sounded deafening, slicing through the heavy silence like a blade. She drew a shaky breath, unsure if the pounding in her chest was from nerves... or fear.

Gian lay facing away from the room, swallowed by darkness. He said nothing, but his presence still filled the space.

Aurelia slowly moved to the bed, sat on the edge, staring at the floor before finally lying down with her back toward the sofa.

Between them was a distance colder than any winter.

They lay like that for a long time. Not sleeping. Not moving.

Until-

A quiet voice drifted from the sofa.

"Next time... don't open that drawer again."

Aurelia froze.

Silence thickened, heavy enough that the ticking clock sounded like thunder.

After a long pause, she forced herself to whisper, "That... that was Devina's photo, wasn't it?"

Gian didn't answer. Only a long, heavy silence filled the room, swallowing whatever courage Aurelia had left. She shut her eyes, desperately hoping for an explanation-anything. But all she heard was the faint rustle of fabric as Gian shifted on the sofa.

Minutes passed before a voice finally broke through the stillness. Soft, low, almost too quiet to hear.

"There are too many old wounds. You don't need to know everything tonight."

And then, nothing. Just the ticking of the clock.

Rain poured hard as the black car stopped in front of the tall iron gates. Aurelia stared at the grand three-story European-style mansion beyond it-Gian's family home. The place that, for better or worse, was about to become hers too. Yet no warmth rose in her chest. Only a coldness that seeped deeper than the weather itself.

"This... is the main family house?" she asked softly, taking in the imposing facade that radiated power and isolation.

Gian simply nodded. No words.

The gates opened automatically. The car rolled down a stone path, the scent of rain thick in the air.

Someone hurried out with an umbrella, holding it open as Aurelia stepped out. She felt the chill crawl through the thin fabric of her dress. Her shoes landed on the wet gravel, and she drew in a slow breath. The house felt too quiet-unnervingly quiet.

Inside, the smell of aged wood and expensive room fragrances greeted her. A woman stood in the middle of the hallway-upright, composed, cold. Her eyes were sharp. Madam Lestari.

"Welcome," she said curtly. Her tone sliced like a thin blade.

The older woman's gaze traveled from Aurelia's head to her toes. Her lips twitched-not into a smile, but into something closer to judgment.

"I had hoped Gian would bring Devina home. But it seems fate had other plans."

The words were calm, almost casual-yet they hit Aurelia like a punch to the ribs.

She lowered her head. "I'll do my best, Ma'am."

"You'd better. Gian doesn't tolerate chaos."

Without another word, Madam Lestari turned toward the staircase. Aurelia followed quietly. Gian had vanished somewhere else. Only the rain outside accompanied her steps.

On the second floor, they stopped in front of a large bedroom.

"This is your room. Don't expect a maid to help you. I don't encourage that for... personal matters."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And one more thing," she added sharply as she turned back, "don't think that being a wife makes you part of this family. I haven't forgotten that you weren't the first choice."

Aurelia nodded, swallowing the sting spreading in her chest. "I understand."

The door shut behind her, leaving Aurelia alone in a room far too large for the way she felt. High ceilings, luxurious furniture, a glittering crystal chandelier-none of it belonged to her. Everything felt like props on a stage.

She exhaled slowly, then began unpacking her suitcase. Folding clothes into the wardrobe. Straightening the bed. Putting toiletries in place. All done in silence-surrounded by a life she didn't recognize.

By late afternoon, she gathered enough courage to head to the kitchen. She wanted to do something-help, blend in, prove she wasn't entirely useless.

A maid looked startled when Aurelia picked up a knife.

"Ma'am, you don't have to do this. We always handle the cooking."

"It's fine. I want to contribute," Aurelia replied with a nervous smile.

The maid hesitated, but eventually stepped back. Aurelia grabbed ingredients-though her heart was racing. She had no idea what she was doing.

Fifteen minutes later, the kitchen looked like a battlefield. Oil sputtered from the pan, onions burned to a crisp, water boiled over the pot, and flour dusted the countertop like snow.

"Oh no... why is everything falling apart..." Aurelia whispered frantically.

The click of high heels echoed toward the doorway. Madam Lestari appeared, arms crossed, eyes sweeping over the disaster zone.

"I assumed you had at least some basic household skills. Apparently... not."

Aurelia winced, her face flushing.

"Devina always kept this kitchen immaculate. Even the maids learned from her. She knew how to chop, prepare, plate. Not... whatever this is."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am... I only wanted to help," Aurelia murmured.

"If you don't know how, don't pretend you do. This is the Alvaro family's main household, not a practice kitchen."

Aurelia bowed her head. She had no defense. But her eyes still held a faint spark-she refused to give up.

Then heavy footsteps approached from the back hallway.

Gian appeared, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled up. His eyes swept the kitchen-burnt onions, rising steam, total chaos.

He looked at Aurelia briefly, then at his mother whose displeasure was practically radiating.

"What happened here?" he asked, his voice calm but edged.

Madam Lestari immediately seized the opening.

"Your wife tried to cook, and look at the result. The kitchen is a wreck. There could've been a fire if I hadn't arrived in time."

Aurelia closed her eyes for a moment. Whatever Gian said next would either crush her... or reveal something unexpected.

But to her surprise, Gian didn't answer right away.

He looked at his mother with a gaze impossible to decipher.

Then he shifted his eyes back to Aurelia-standing awkwardly amidst the chaos.

"I want to ask you something," Gian said quietly, though his voice carried an unmistakable firmness. "Who exactly were you trying to please?"

Aurelia froze. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Madam Lestari folded her arms even tighter across her chest. "Certainly not me, Gian," she snapped.

Silence settled over the room.

Before anyone could add another word, Gian stepped forward-slow, steady, without theatrics. His gaze cut through the tension, directed at only one person.

"I never asked you to cook," he said. "I didn't ask for anything."

Aurelia bit her lip, head dipping slightly.

But then, to her surprise, Gian picked up a cloth. He wiped the messy countertop once-calmly, without a complaint-before turning to his mother.

"She just arrived today. If a small mistake is enough to set you off like this... maybe this house is simply too harsh for anyone."

Madam Lestari stiffened. "You're defending her?"

Gian didn't answer.

He simply looked at his mother for a long, heavy moment. Then he set the cloth down and turned to leave.

His footsteps echoed across the marble floor-slow, deliberate. But right before he reached the doorway, he paused and glanced back at Aurelia.

"If you still want to try," he said softly, "start with something that won't burn the house down."

Then he walked away, leaving the air thick with a lingering, misty quiet.

Madam Lestari huffed. "See? He pities you."

Aurelia didn't respond. Embarrassment still burned on her cheeks, but somewhere beneath it, a small pocket of relief formed. Not because Gian defended her-but because he didn't condemn her either.

She looked at the mess in the kitchen. Her hands trembled slightly as she began to wipe the counter. But this time... she didn't feel entirely defeated.

That night, Aurelia returned to her room with her body aching and the faint smell of oil still clinging to her hair. She sat at the edge of the bed, staring at her own dim reflection in the window. This house was quiet. Too quiet. Yet somehow, Gian's earlier words kept echoing in her mind.

If you still want to try...

Just one sentence, but it felt like permission to breathe.

Aurelia opened her small notebook and wrote down one thing:

Learn to cook - start with scrambled eggs.

The next morning, Gian came downstairs earlier than usual. Already dressed for work-black suit, gray tie, expression unreadable-he slowed his steps as soon as he reached the dining room.

On the table lay a glass of milk. A plate of toast. And... scrambled eggs.

Not perfectly shaped. Slightly burnt at the edges. But undeniably made with effort.

Aurelia stood near the table, hands clasped behind her back, clearly nervous. She wore a simple blouse and slacks, her face bare of makeup.

"I... tried making a simple breakfast," she said quietly. "Nothing that could start a fire today."

Gian looked at her for a long moment. Then he sat down. Picked up a fork. Took a small bite of the eggs. Chewed slowly.

He didn't compliment her. He didn't complain either. But he finished everything. Even the toast that had gone slightly cold.

"Thank you," he said.

Aurelia's chest fluttered.

After Gian left, one of the maids-who had been peeking from behind a wall-gave her a small smile.

"That's the first time Mr. Gian has sat down for breakfast in a long while."

Aurelia blinked. "Really?"

The maid nodded. "He usually just grabs coffee and leaves. But today... he actually ate."

Aurelia looked at the now-empty chair at the table. Gian's expression rarely gave anything away, but this morning... something small, fragile, had shifted.

This house still felt like a labyrinth of cold hallways and untouchable secrets. But for a moment, one of its doors had cracked open.

Night fell by the time Aurelia closed her bedroom door. The day had stretched endlessly. She still knew little about Gian, this house, or her place within it. But today-for the first time-she felt her presence wasn't completely invisible.

She sat on the edge of the bed, eyes tracing the soft glow of the chandelier above. Then she opened the window. The night breeze slipped in, carrying the faint scent of the afternoon rain.

Her gaze drifted downward-to the dim backyard.

Gian stood there. Alone. Near a small gazebo lit by a weak lamp. His head was slightly tilted back, as if searching the sky for something he couldn't quite reach. His suit jacket was gone; he wore only a white dress shirt and dark pants. The soft light caught half his face-and for a heartbeat, Aurelia saw something she'd never seen before.

Not anger. Not authority.

But... emptiness.

And when Gian slowly turned his head toward the second-floor window-toward her-their eyes met. Not for long. Not enough to call it a stare. But enough to make Aurelia's heart seize.

Because in those eyes, she didn't just see coldness.

She saw a wound.

She didn't know what time it was when she drifted into sleep again. The world outside was still dark. But the vibration of a notification jolted her awake. The rain had stopped hours ago, leaving a thin layer of mist on the glass.

Aurelia rubbed her eyes and reached for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up, displaying a single email:

[Re-Registration Schedule for New Graduate Students – Faculty of Psychology, University-]

Her fingers froze. Her breath hitched.

She had forgotten something very important.