Esper didn't answer immediately.
She didn't do the dramatic thing this time, no theatrical groan, no exaggerated collapse into the chair like her bones had given up on her out of spite.
Instead, she let the silence sit between them, and for once she didn't try to fill it with charm.
Her nails tapped the table once, a single neat click that cut through the quiet, then stopped, like even the habit felt too loud in her head.
Soren didn't rush her.
He stayed where he was, his posture relaxed enough to look casual, steady enough to make it clear he wasn't going anywhere.
The tea had cooled while she talked before, the surface of it too still now, and the mana lights in the corners hummed softly, that constant low sound that made the room feel insulated from the world.
Outside voices existed only as a muffled suggestion, a reminder that life kept moving beyond the padded walls, and that privacy like this was always rented, never owned.
Esper's smile was still there.
Soft.
Perfect.
But it looked chosen, not automatic, like she had had to reach for it and hold it up with careful fingers.
Then she exhaled and looked up at him, eyes brightening out of nowhere in a way that would have fooled anyone who didn't know her.
"Look at you," she said, voice light and teasing. "Asking if you can help like some responsible husband."
Soren's mouth twitched.
"I'm not your husband."
"Not yet, but at this rate, who knows?" Esper replied instantly, grin sharpening.
He gave her a flat look that made it very clear he wasn't going to play along the way she wanted.
Esper laughed anyway, pleased with herself, then leaned forward with her elbows on the table, suddenly awake in that polished, convincing way she could switch on at will.
That was always the problem with Esper.
A person could walk in right now, see the grin, hear the bright tone, and leave thinking she was fine.
Soren watched her gaze dip toward the envelope still sitting on the table, the expensive paper looking even more irritating in this quiet.
"For starters, no. I don't need you to do anything dramatic, like storm into my father's estate and threaten him," Esper said, casual enough to sound bored.
Soren blinked.
"I wasn't going to do that."
"Really?"
"Why would I do something like that? I'm not looking to die."
"Hmmm~"
He stared at her, letting the silence do the work of a slow, unimpressed judgement.
"What kind of impression do you have of me?"
Esper tilted her head, eyes narrowing in exaggerated thought, as if she were weighing his personality like she was choosing tea leaves.
"That you enjoy getting into trouble," she said, then added with a satisfied little smile, "and that you have a talent for making a show of everything."
Soren opened his mouth, then closed it again.
'Is she insane?' the thought slid through his head, sharp and offended, because that was the opposite of what he wanted, the opposite of what he tried to be, and yet…
And yet he didn't like the fact he could imagine himself doing something stupid if she was cornered hard enough, if she was pushed into a situation where her choices narrowed to nothing and everyone around her started treating her life like a prize to be taken.
Esper's grin widened, as if she could taste the hesitation.
"See? Predictable. Adorable, but predictable."
"Can you not read my mind randomly?" Soren muttered.
Esper hummed, unapologetic.
He leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, reclaiming the calm posture that usually discouraged people from expecting too much from him.
"Okay, then what do you want from me?"
Esper held his gaze for a beat.
The smile stayed, but it didn't feel automatic this time, and that made it heavier than any dramatic collapse could have been.
"I wanted you to understand," she said simply. "That's all."
Soren nodded slowly.
"Well, I do now."
Esper's eyes narrowed, annoyance slipping through even while the smile remained.
"No. You understand the words. That's different."
Soren lifted an eyebrow.
"Then explain the feeling."
For a second she stared at him like he had asked her to undress in public, like he had demanded something intimate and unreasonable with a straight face.
The humour hovered at the edge of her expression, ready to jump in and save her from having to answer.
It didn't.
Esper leaned back instead, head resting against the chair, eyes drifting up toward the ceiling as if she could find the right phrasing in the mana lights.
"The feeling," she said slowly, "is that everyone thinks they're allowed to touch my life."
Soren didn't respond right away.
He let it sit.
Let it land.
Let the room hold it without rushing to patch it up into something prettier.
Esper's gaze flicked toward him, searching his face for the usual reactions people gave, the sympathetic tilt, the soft voice, the pity that sounded like praise.
Soren kept his expression steady.
"That sounds annoying."
Esper let out a short laugh that was sharp at the edges.
"Oh, It's infuriating."
There it was, brief and real, not sadness or despair, but anger folded neatly and forced into a shape she could carry without spilling.
Soren nodded once.
"Fair enough."
Her mouth curved again, softer this time, like the acknowledgement had done what she wanted it to.
"See why I came to you? You don't turn everything into a tragedy. If I told someone else, they'd start fawning and calling me brave, and then I'd have to punch them."
Soren snorted.
"Why would I do that when I know it'd just piss you off?"
Esper hummed, and her fingers tapped the table once, like she couldn't help herself, then stopped before it became a rhythm.
"You know me too well, Hubby…"
A few seconds passed.
Then, the way rants always did, her thoughts circled back, not because she had forgotten what she said before, but because the bruise was still there, and her mind kept scraping against it to make sure it hadn't moved.
"My father's letters are all about how I'm 'endangering my future,'" Esper said, tone turning conversational again, the words rounded off so they sounded almost harmless.
Soren's expression went flat.
"He's offended because the engagement happened and now he can't rewrite it into something that makes him look clever."
Her smile sharpened, meaner now, and it wasn't aimed at Soren.
"And your family is using my name like a decorative ribbon."
Esper's eyes gleamed.
"Like disgusting little parasites."
Soren's mouth twitched faintly.
"That's harsh."
"It's accurate." Esper didn't soften at all, and the certainty in her tone made it clear this wasn't just anger talking. "I remember what Sofia was like at the party."
She lifted her tea, took a sip, and grimaced like it had personally offended her.
"Ugh. Cold."
Soren didn't comment on the tea; he watched her instead.
Even exhausted, her posture stayed straight, shoulders set with that trained nobility that made weakness look like a choice she refused to make.
Even when she complained, she did it prettily, and even when she said something venomous, she dressed it up as humour, because that was how nobles survived each other.
Esper was the best at performing.
That didn't mean she wanted to live on a stage.
Soren exhaled slowly.
"You're not a puppet."
Esper's eyes snapped up, sharp enough that a lesser person might have flinched, and Soren didn't.
He continued, tone matter-of-fact, the kind of blunt honesty she could actually tolerate.
"You're too stubborn for that. Trying to imagine you as someone's puppet feels impossible."
Esper blinked once.
Then she laughed, genuinely enough that it warmed the room in a way the mana lights never could, a real sound that wasn't polished into perfection first.
"Thank you," she said sweetly. "I'm going to use that against my father the next time he tries to lecture me."
Soren's eyebrow lifted.
"You're going to tell him you're stubborn?"
"I'm going to tell him that you said I'm stubborn," Esper corrected, delighted. "Then I'll frame it as a compliment from my fiancé. That'll annoy him more."
Soren huffed.
"You're going to make father-in-law hate me even more. You're evil."
Esper clasped her hands together, entirely pleased with herself.
"I know~"
The cheer held for a moment.
Then it slipped, not like glass cracking, but like a candle guttering when the air changed.
Her shoulders sank just a fraction, her gaze drifting to the side, and her smile stayed, but thinner now, stretched over something tired that didn't want to be seen.
Soren watched her quietly for a breath, then spoke, gentle without making it pity.
"Are you actually okay?"
Esper turned back to him with immediate brightness, like the question itself was rude.
"I'm fine."
He didn't argue, didn't push, didn't reach for her mask and try to rip it off.
Soren just stared at her in silence until the room made it impossible to keep pretending, because private quiet did that, it didn't let you hide behind noise.
Esper's smile twitched.
Then she sighed hard enough it sounded like she had given up on trying to be impressive.
"I've said it already," she muttered, voice quieter now, almost irritated at herself. "I don't want to keep repeating myself. But I'm tired."
Soren stayed still, letting her keep control of the moment.
"Not because I regret it," Esper added quickly, like she was preemptively slapping his guilt away before it could crawl in and latch onto the conversation. "Not because I think it was a mistake."
Her fingers lifted, hovered over the table, and for once she didn't let herself tap.
"I'm tired because I'm the one taking the heat," she said, blunt now, the words stripped of humour. "You're protected by my name, but you're not the one getting letters. You're not the one being treated like a bargaining chip."
Soren's gaze lowered slightly.
"I know."
Esper's expression softened just enough to show she believed him.
"And I'm not blaming you. I chose it."
His jaw tightened anyway, because his instincts didn't care that she had said it twice, they still wanted to wear responsibility like armour, the old habit of trying to absorb consequences so other people didn't have to.
Esper noticed.
She didn't poke the crease between his brows this time.
Instead, she reached across the table and flicked his forehead, light and controlled, far more Esper than any gentle touch.
"Stop that."
Soren exhaled through his nose.
"Fine."
Esper withdrew her hand, satisfied, then leaned back again, letting the tiredness show for a second longer this time, as if she was done pretending it didn't exist.
A quiet stretch followed.
Neither of them spoke.
The room stayed warm.
The outside world stayed muffled.
Soren broke the silence first, voice calm.
"So what are you going to do about the proposals?"
Esper's face twisted immediately, like the word itself was unpleasant.
"I'm ignoring them. If I look at them too much, it makes me feel depressed. None of them like me anyway. They just see me as a pretty trophy to collect."
"Won't they do something if you keep doing that?" Soren asked, and his tone stayed practical, because there was no point in dressing it up.
"Lalalala! I can't hear you!"
Soren's eyes narrowed.
"No. Even if you act like that, the problem is still there."
"I hate you," Esper said lightly, but her mouth betrayed her with the slightest twitch.
"No, you don't," Soren replied. "Don't start this again."
"Ugh, whatever," Esper muttered, then pointed at him with her cup like she was accusing him in court. "You're right. But don't get cocky."
Soren's smirk came out before he could stop it.
Esper sighed and tilted her head back.
"Anyway… I've read them all. As long as I know who tried to contact me, I can decline politely whenever I see them in person."
"Why not just send letters back?" Soren asked.
Esper stared at him like he had suggested she eat dirt.
"Letters?" she repeated, slow and offended.
"To shut them down," Soren said, even though he could already see her preparing to lecture him.
Esper let out a long sigh that sounded deeply wronged.
"Cutie, if I reply, they'll take it as encouragement. They'll think they got my attention. They'll think I'm negotiating."
Soren clicked his tongue, conceding.
"Alright. You know better than me."
Esper's gaze dropped to the envelope again, voice turning casual in that eerie way it did when she didn't want irritation to win.
"Some of them are funny, though," she admitted. "One guy wrote three pages about how he 'respects my independence.'"
Soren's eyebrow lifted.
"And?"
"And then he spent the next two pages explaining how he'd 'guide' me," Esper said, raising both hands to do exaggerated air quotes. "Because apparently independence only counts if a man approves it."
Soren snorted.
Esper smiled, pleased, a real flicker of satisfaction.
"At least you understand the comedy. If my mother saw it, she would probably have him thrown away."
Soren leaned back again, expression neutral but attentive.
"It may be funny, but It's still a nuisance, though."
Esper waved a hand dismissively.
"It's a nuisance. Not a problem. I can handle it."
His eyes stayed on her face a beat longer than necessary.
"Can you?"
Esper's smile held.
"Yes."
Soren didn't argue.
He didn't want to turn it into a fight she would win out of spite, and he didn't want to be the person who took her 'yes' and tried to crush it into vulnerability she hadn't offered.
Instead, he asked again, quieter than before, returning to the original question without forcing it into a demand.
"Do you want me to do anything?"
Esper's fingers hovered, tapped once, soft and rhythmic, then stopped abruptly.
Her grin widened, not playful now, but thoughtful, like something had finally clicked into place.
"Are you free tomorrow?" Esper asked.
Soren blinked once.
Then he nodded.
"Yeah."
————「❤︎」————