My eyebrows shot up.
You mean… him?
I immediately sprang to my feet and scooped Momo into my arms. She hated that. Wings flailed. Feathers puffed. Clucks turned aggressive.
"Momo, calm down," I hissed.
She did not calm down.
Mrs. Darcy only sighed and leaned back into the elegant couch like this was her everyday life.
The golden-patterned wall Mrs. Darcy had casually called an elevator slid apart, and two figures entered the room.
One was pushing the other in a wheelchair.
And holy cow.
They were both ridiculously good-looking.
The man pushing the wheelchair was the first thing my eyes latched onto.
He had dark skin the color of polished wood, and a jagged scar slashed across his cheek, so close to his mouth it looked like it had tried and failed to steal his smile. His hair stopped me completely.
It wasn't short. It wasn't long in a normal way either.
It fell in thick, rope-like strands, neat but wild, pulled back like each one had been shaped on purpose. I had never seen hair like that before. It looked heavy. Strong. Like it could whip someone unconscious if he turned his head too fast.
Then my gaze dropped.
To the man in the wheelchair.
He was glaring straight at Momo.
Like… murderously.
Momo noticed.
Because my fearless, peck-first-ask-later chicken suddenly went very, very still. Her feathers smoothed. Her clucking died in her throat. She tucked herself closer into my arms like she'd just remembered fear was a thing.
I blinked.
Was… was Momo scared?
She had once chased a goat twice her size. She had attacked a mirror. She had screamed at the moon.
And now she was silent.
An uncomfortable chill slid down my spine.
Then I felt it.
That gaze.
Heavy. Sharp. Burning.
My instincts screamed before my brain caught up, and I looked up.
Straight into the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen.
Not just blue, no. They were like the ocean when the sun hits it just right. Deep, endless, with a hint of green hiding underneath, like secrets buried where no one could reach them.
I forgot how to breathe.
A dark mask covered the right side of his face, smooth and stark against his skin. But it didn't hide everything. Burn scars crept up his neck, disappearing beneath the fabric of his clothes, tracing along his jaw in angry, uneven lines.
My chest tightened.
What happened to him?
Then I noticed his hair. Blond.
My eyes widened.
Blond. Just like Mrs. Darcy's.
Oh.
Oh. Could this really be… my husband?
Something wild exploded inside my stomach.
Butterflies? No.
Horses.
A whole stampede of them, galloping wildly through my insides. He looked like something beautiful that had been dragged through fire and survived.
I was still staring, fully, embarrassingly ogling, when he suddenly tilted his head.
And that's when I realized.
He wasn't just looking at me.
His gaze was pinned on me.
The intensity of it hit like ice water; so sharp, so full of hatred, and beneath it… something empty. Hollow. Like whatever had lived there before had burned away.
I immediately stood up straighter.
His eyes flicked briefly to Mrs. Darcy.
Then he spoke.
"What is this?"
His voice was hoarse. Cold. Detached. Like each word hurt to leave his throat and he resented them for it.
My first thought?
Oh boy. My husband already hates me.
Mrs. Darcy rolled her eyes and stood up. She placed a firm, elegant hand on my shoulder.
"This," she said smoothly, "is your wife."
Her voice didn't waver. Not even a little.
Emil's face didn't change.
Unreadable. Tired. Almost… bored. Like he was used to his mother dragging strangers into his house and labeling them his wife.
Mrs. Darcy glanced at me.
I understood immediately.
Oh. Right.
I stepped forward, bowed stiffly, and said, "I'm Kumiko, from Nagano Fields."
I don't think he heard a single word.
Because his eyes had locked back onto Momo.
"…Is that a chicken?" he asked.
His voice cracked slightly at the end.
I grinned and brought Momo closer.
"Yes! Meet Momo, my best fri－"
He jerked backward violently.
"Get that diseased pest," he snapped, "and yourself away from me."
Silence crashed down.
I stared at him.
Once. Twice.
Then it fully registered. I slowly covered Momo's ears with my hands.
"Hey," I said sharply. "You can glare at me and make fun of me all you want, but leave Momo out of this."
"I don't care－" His voice broke again, rougher this time. He rubbed his throat like it hurt.
I noticed the scars on his neck. They looked… angry. Tight. Pain flashed through my chest.
Were they hurting as much as they looked?
The thought slipped out before I could stop it. I was about to ask if he was okay－
When he glanced over his shoulder.
"Rix," he said flatly. "Get rid of her."
My heart flatlined.
Get rid of… me?
My muscles went rigid.
Send me back? To Japan?
Back to that hell I had barely survived?
For a split second, I smelled mold, heard my anguished screams, felt the impact of the belt as it sliced into my skin.
Momo shifted in my arms, and I forced myself to breathe.
My grip tightened around Momo. I placed her gently back on my head and met his glare head-on. Hands on my hips.
"No," I said clearly.
His eyes flicked back to me.
"I refuse to be gotten rid of."
Mrs. Darcy smiled.
And calmly sat back down like she was enjoying a show.
Emil stared at me with his good eye, brows creasing like I was dirt stuck to his shoe; something irritating, stubborn, impossible to scrape off.
It didn't bother me. I wasn't going back.
Not after everything I'd been through.