Slater had just arrived home. He pushed the door open gently, but the creaking sound of the hinges was audible in the silence of the house. His face looked crumpled, his body utterly irritated, exhausted, weary, listless, and utterly exhausted. Today felt like the longest day of his life. His jacket was wrinkled, his tie loose, and his shirt sticky with sweat and city dust.
As soon as he entered, his eyes immediately fell on Seveline—his wife—who was sitting relaxed on the living room sofa. Her legs were stretched out, her phone in hand, her eyes focused on the screen, her fingers dancing nimbly.
"Did you get home earlier?" Slater asked, his voice deep and flat, trying to hold back his irritation.
Seveline simply nodded slightly, not even looking up. She didn't even say hello. She just briefly touched the screen, then sank back into her own world.
Slater took a deep breath. He set his briefcase on the side of the shelf, untied his tie with slow movements, and then kicked his shoes, which felt like stone weights, lightly onto the carpet. Without another word, he walked upstairs, his steps heavy and lazy.
After his shower, Slater came back downstairs, his hair still slightly damp and his clothes more casual. The scent of soap still enveloped his body, but its warmth wasn't enough to ease the fatigue in his heart. Seveline remained in the same position—a pose that barely changed.
Slater walked to the dining table, hoping for at least a bowl of soup or a plate of warm rice. But reality told otherwise. The table was empty, not even a spoon on the table.
"Aren't you going to cook dinner?" Slater asked, his voice starting to rise slightly, clearly containing a hint of irritation.
Seveline finally turned around, her face blank. "Just buy some outside. I just haven't eaten yet," she replied curtly, without the slightest expression of guilt.
Slater gritted his teeth softly, his tongue moving in his mouth, holding back the surge of anger that threatened to explode. He stared at his wife for a few seconds without saying anything. Then, with calm but imposing steps, he walked closer to the living room, approaching Seveline.
His eyes were fixed on hers, as if he wanted to say so much... but his tongue wouldn't move. Something was beginning to crack between them—and Slater felt it more clearly that night.
"Are you going to continue acting like this?" Slater asked, his voice firm but still holding back his emotions.
Seveline finally turned her head, this time truly looking at him. Her face remained calm, but those eyes—those usually cold eyes—were now starting to show a hint of emotion. She leaned back, staring at Slater with a raised eyebrow.
"Why?" he replied briefly, his tone flat but filled with a hint of challenge.
Slater took a long, deep, heavy breath, then rubbed his face with both hands before finally looking at his wife.
"You're a wife," he said, quieter but clearer. "Your duty is to serve your husband. I'm not demanding that you cook, clean, or do any housework. That's not it. I just need you to... serve me."
The words hung in the air, striking a silence between them.
"But you haven't done any of those things in the week we've been married," Slater continued, his voice now laced with hurt that he disguised with anger. "You've been so incredibly reluctant to be touched. We're like strangers who just happen to be living under the same roof."
After that sentence, silence fell again. But this time it was different. The atmosphere became heavier, sharper.
Seveline stared at Slater's face for a moment. Her eyes blinked slowly, and without a word, she finally turned off her phone. That small movement—pressing a button on the side of the phone and setting it on the table—signaled that Slater's words had penetrated her wall of indifference.
Their gazes met. This time, there was no screen to stand in their way. Just two people who were supposed to love each other, but now they were lost in an invisible distance... yet it felt so real.
Seveline slowly got up from the sofa, leaving her phone on the table. Her body movements were calm, but her eyes were piercing, piercing Slater.
"What do you expect from a marriage you've planned yourself?" he asked, his tone cold yet hurtful. "This is all for the sake of gaining a position of leadership in your family, isn't it?"
Slater froze, his jaw clenched.
"I accepted this marriage because of your perfect looks," Seveline continued, taking steps toward Slater. "I have to maintain my dignity as an actress. What would they say if their idol married an ugly man like your adopted brother?"
His words were sharp, like a knife being slowly cut into Slater's chest.
"So, don't expect anything from me but profit. If it weren't for your looks, I wouldn't have accepted your proposal. There are plenty of billionaires out there who would want me as their wife."
He paused for a moment, catching his breath, before stepping closer until he was only a few feet from Slater's face.
"And one more thing..." she said, this time in a tone almost whispering but more insulting. "You should be thanking me. Before you got that position, I was the one who supported you. You were living in my house. So behave yourself... and don't act like you're my husband. I hate being bossed around!"
His eyes stared at Slater sharply, full of anger and cold superiority.
Without waiting for Slater's reaction, Seveline turned and walked out of the living room. The steady sound of her footsteps echoed on the floor, while Slater stood there, frozen, watching the back of the woman he married walk away... carrying with him the remnants of his recently shattered hopes.