Chapter 0.77 : my husband

The scent of dew-laced roses and ancient stone greeted her as golden sunlight slipped through the sheer curtains, painting her room in muted shades of morning.

Rina opened her golden eyes slowly, lashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks as the haze of dreams peeled away like old silk.

Her crimson hair spilled across the pristine bed like wildfire, tangled and soft, glowing faintly against the charcoal velvet of the pillows. The room around her—vast, cold, beautiful—was carved from smooth black **obsidian**, a signature mark of House Rotschy. Everything here glittered like secrets in the dark.

Above her, a crystal chandelier sparkled faintly with morning mana, capturing the breath of daybreak in every facet. The scent of roses drifted in from the open balcony window, mingling with the subtle chill of the northern air.

She sat up.

Her head throbbed softly—not painfully, but enough to remind her of the wine, the nerves, the games.

She was still wearing her wedding dress.

A crimson-black gown of sheer lace and delicate embroidery clung to her skin. Around her neck, a choker of darkened lace wrapped tightly, like a whisper of restraint. The diamond ring—his ring—gleamed on her left hand like a silent vow.

Rina stared at it.

It didn't feel real.

Was she really married?

Had it only been hours ago that she stood beside Jin Rotschy—her now-husband—in that ceremonial hall beneath the eyes of her mother and his?

Had she really heard those words from her mother?

Had Jin really asked those questions?

She squeezed her eyes shut.

She didn't want to think about the dinner. Not about the biting words. Not about Jin's smirk. Not about the silence of Lady Naoko as she watched it all unfold with that eternal, unreadable gaze.

Rina slipped off the bed.

Her bare feet met the cold floor, sending a soft shiver through her spine. She padded across the room toward the private marble bathroom and caught her reflection in the mirror.

Her lipstick was smeared slightly, her eyeliner faintly smudged beneath tired eyes. She looked older. Not in years, but in weight—weight she had not carried the day before.

Without ceremony, she washed her face. The water was cold and sharp.

She brushed her teeth slowly.

Then, fingers trembling just slightly, she unzipped the back of her gown and stepped out of it.

The moment the fabric left her skin, she exhaled.

As though shedding something heavier than lace.

She slipped into the bath, its warm embrace soothing the lingering aches from a sleepless night. Steam curled around her, fragrant with lavender oil, and for a moment, she allowed herself to float—eyes closed, thoughts scattered.

Afterward, wrapped in a plush towel, she moved back into the room and dressed carefully.

A simple, elegant white dress that hugged her softly and ended just above her thighs. It left her shoulders bare, skin pale and soft beneath golden light. Her hair, still damp, framed her face in wild, fire-red waves. On her neck, she clasped a gold phoenix pendant—the symbol of House Amberhart—and around her wrist, a matching gold watch.

She slipped on her wedding ring.

Then perfume.

Then light makeup to chase away the last traces of the previous night.

She took a long breath before opening the door and stepping into the hallway.

The air was colder outside her room—refreshing and clean, filled with the scent of incense, stone, and morning. Mana danced in the air like invisible threads, tingling against her skin. The corridors were carved with strange, ancient symbols that pulsed faintly in shades of blue and violet.

Despite having lived here for three days now, she still felt like a visitor lost in a labyrinth.

The Rotschy estate was *massive*.

Larger than anything her family estate offered. Larger than she had imagined.

Her footsteps echoed softly as she walked, the sound absorbed by velvet carpets and polished obsidian walls.

She could only navigate the basics—her room, Jin's, the dining hall, and the kitchen.

That was all.

Everything else felt like forbidden territory, watched by ghosts.

She remembered last night. How she had followed Jin to his room, expecting—*hoping*, perhaps—that he might invite her to stay. That they would share the wedding night, even if in silence.

But he hadn't.

He had said nothing.

He'd simply allowed her to go.

Rina remembered the little white packet her mother had handed her hours before the ceremony.

> "You may not love him now, Rina," Lady Amelia had whispered, her voice calm, "but you must be prepared. You're a woman now. A wife. And if something happens tonight… well, this is your body, your choice. But don't be foolish."

Her mother's words still lingered in her mind.

And in a strange, shameful way—**she had been relieved** that Jin hadn't touched her.

No pressure. No force. No expectation.

Just… space.

She walked on, her thoughts a storm of gratitude and confusion, until—

**Ssssszzzt.**

The sound of sizzling.

Her stomach betrayed her first, growling softly.

Drawn by the smell of butter, herbs, and roasted mana-rich vegetables, her feet carried her toward the kitchen. The door was ajar, and light spilled through.

She stepped in—

And there he was.

**Jin Rotschy.**

Cooking.

Wearing fitted black clothes that clung to his lithe frame, black gloves hugging his long fingers. His midnight hair was tied back lazily, a crimson ribbon binding it at the nape of his neck—his sister's ribbon. And on his left hand, beneath the glove, the shape of their wedding ring pressed faintly through the leather.

He was beautiful.

Not in the fragile, delicate way some men were—but in the sharp, haunting way of a fallen angel. His skin was milk-white, flawless. His lashes were dark, long, and swept upward like something carved by a divine hand. His lips—

She had to stop looking at his lips.

He glanced at her.

Eyes the color of fresh blood and old promises met hers.

And then—he smiled.

Not a cruel smile, not a mocking one, but something… gentler. Still teasing, still playful, but soft around the edges.

> "Good morning, my dear wife," he said, his voice smooth and quiet, like silk over fire. "Did you sleep well?"

Rina froze.

For a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

He had never called her that before. Not "Rina." Not "Amberhart." But **"my dear wife."**

The words felt warm.

Too warm.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

Her cheeks flushed again, not from alcohol this time, but from something far more disarming.

She stepped into the kitchen without answering, her hands gripping the edge of her dress, and her golden eyes avoided his as she whispered—

"…Good morning, Jin."