Mind-Reading Doctor Consort
The night of the wedding stretched on endlessly, a suffocating blur of ritual and expectation. Yet when dawn finally crept across the horizon, the bridal chambers stood empty. The bride was nowhere to be found. In her place lay a single cultivation letter—bold, brazen, and left with the sort of arrogance only she could muster.
He read it once, then again, the corners of his mouth lifting in a slow, incredulous smile. Good. Very good. She had actually fled—fled him—on the very night of their union. Most would have trembled at the thought. She, however, had chosen defiance.
Her words were sharp, almost insolent, but instead of anger, amusement unfurled in his chest. Across the entire realm, there was not a soul who had ever slipped from his grasp. Not one. And now she dared to try? He was almost eager to see how far she thought she could run.
He had expected to marry a gentle, timid little rabbit—soft‑spoken, obedient, easily coaxed into his palm. Instead, he had been handed a fox: sly, quick‑witted, and delightfully destructive. A creature with teeth hidden beneath her charm.
For the first time in a long while, he felt something stir—interest, anticipation, the thrill of a chase he had never been granted before.
“Yes… these days were becoming far more entertaining.”
