I stand beside the wide glass wall of my office, watching the city glow under the pale morning sun. Light pools over the skyscrapers, soft clouds drifting lazily across the sky.
My reflection stares back at me—tired eyes, a forced calm—and behind it, the door clicks open.
Arem steps inside.
He doesn't speak at first. I can feel him hesitating behind me, the weight of his worry pressing against my back. He finally tries.
"Sir…"
He stops.
Of course he does. He already knows the answer he doesn't want to hear.
I turn away from the window and walk toward the couch, grabbing my coat and slipping it on. Arem's eyes follow every movement, sharp and searching.
Only when I begin fixing my cufflinks does he finally speak again, voice low.
"Sir… do you really agree to that forced marriage?"
I exhale, long and tired. He's always like this—worrying too much, caring too deeply.
"Yes," I say quietly.
