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Chapter Text

When I first saw him in person, my eyes widened in disbelief. He was nothing like the photo the government gave me. Taller, so much fucking taller, and somehow more imposing. I stood there, my head tilting back just enough to take in his full height, feeling suddenly small and awkward. He was dressed plainly, a simple black outfit that didn’t try to impress but it couldn’t hide the way his body was sculpted. He was muscular but lean, like someone trained for combat. Well his file did say he was in the military. His shoulders were broad, but his frame wasn’t bulky. Every inch of him screamed efficiency like he didn’t waste energy on unnecessary strength, just the exact amount needed to survive whatever life threw at him.

He wore a mask to very his face, a black t-shirt with holes cut out for eyes as red streaks underneath it. I knew what he looks liked, I saw his picture beforehand. However, they stated he wore this due to his anxiety, how woman only looked at him for his looks and he was tired of it. His hair was dark brown, kept short in a sharp, practical style that looked like it was cut for speed and utility, not fashion. And his skin - lightly tanned with a few faint scars that hinted at past battles, or maybe fights he’d rather forget. He was handsome, too handsome to be in this program. His eyes though.. What caught me was his eyes, piercing ice blue. They were cold but not quite without feeling. There was something guarded, something wounded lurking behind that icy gaze, like he carried a pain no one was allowed to see. When those eyes met mine, I felt a flush creep up my neck, unbidden and embarrassing.

He looked back at me as if trying to figure me out in the same silent way I was studying him. I could almost hear the unspoken words: What am I supposed to do with you? And honestly, I have no freaking idea. 

König, age 34 who is a participant (not really) into the Assigned Husband Program. Six women had been assigned to him before me and all had returned him. I don’t know why but I can already tell, it wasn't his fault, it never was. He had no say in this forced program. No choice in being handed off like government property. The official in front of us cleared her throat, her blonde hair neatly tied pony tail with her gray business blazer and skirt. She snapped me out of my thoughts. “And so, the policy is that you have him for thirty days,” she said in that same detached, bureaucratic tone that made the whole situation feel like a bad business transaction. “If he doesn’t meet your standards, you can return him.”

Her pen scratched on the clipboard as she slid it toward me. “Sign here.” I hesitated, the weight of the moment crashing down. This wasn’t just a piece of paper -  it was a contract for my future. Thirty days with a stranger who was supposed to become my husband, whether I liked it or not. I wanted to say no. I wanted to walk out and refuse to be part of this twisted system but that wasn’t an option. The fine for not accepting an assigned husband was steep, and it didn’t stop there. The government would keep charging until I got married or agreed to participate. It was a trap, disguised as policy to help increase the dying population.  My fingers trembled as I took the pen, the cool metal suddenly heavy in my hand. I looked back up at König. His expression hadn’t changed - unreadable, distant, but his eyes softened just the slightest bit, like he understood the weight we were both carrying. I felt bad, he deserves better. 

I signed my name with a shaky breath and handed the clipboard back to the official. “So..” I tried to sound casual, but my voice was thin, offering him a small smile, “I guess we're go home now?” König nodded once, his posture relaxed, adjusting his duffle bag strap, but alert, like a soldier waiting for orders. He said nothing, but his eyes held mine just a moment longer before turning away. We stepped outside the cold government steel building, the late afternoon sun warm on my skin but somehow unable to thaw the chill settling in my chest. I could feel the stares of passersby, curious or maybe pitying, as I walked beside a man who looked like he belonged in a war zone, not in the middle of New York City. 

I took a peek at him as we walked towards my car. He still had his stone cold look, like this is a regular routine he’s used to. I looked away, swallowing hard. Thirty days. That was all I had until then. 

****

I fumbled with my keys at the front door, fingers stiff even though I’d unlocked this door a thousand times. I could feel König standing behind me, he was still, silent, and impossibly composed. His presence was heavy but not in a threatening way. It was more dense, quite intense. It made my pulse tick up even though he hadn’t said a single word the entire car ride back. I was so glad I drove today. If I had taken the subway, it would’ve been too claustrophobic, too public. At least in the car, I had the illusion of control even if it was just me gripping the steering wheel too tight while soft piano music filled the empty space between us. Not a single word passed between us the entire ride. Just him sitting beside me, watching the road or the passing cityscape, and me occasionally sneaking a glance at him like an idiot.

The front door finally clicked open, and a soft meow called out from inside. “Maxwell!” I breathed out in relief, a smile tugging at my lips.. My little orange fluffball trotted over with slow, deliberate steps, tail raised high like he owned the place. I stepped inside, scooped him up, and felt the familiar comfort of his weight in my arms. His big green eyes blinked curiously as he looked over my shoulder as I peeked too. König hadn’t moved. He stood at the threshold, duffle still slung over one shoulder, those ice-blue eyes fixed on the cat like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. His expression didn’t change much, but there was something - a flicker of surprise, maybe softness, in his eyes. His brows lifted just slightly. He still didn’t step in, waiting for permission. 

“Oh- um,” I cleared my throat, awkwardly shifting Maxwell to one arm. “You can come in.”

His gaze finally lifted to mine. He gave a like someone nod and stepped inside, the door clicking shut quietly behind him. I watched his eyes sweep over the space like he was mapping the layout - not like a guest, but like someone trained to assess exits and blind spots. It sent a chill up my spine. Not fear. Just the stark reminder of who he might’ve been before all this. The living room was to the right. It was a cozy setup with a tall bookshelf, Maxwell’s cat tree by the window, a soft gray couch, and a few photos on the walls. Nothing extravagant as it’s just home. To the left, the kitchen and dining table. Straight ahead, the stairs, the hallway that led to the bathroom and my small at-home gym.

I watched his head turn, eyes scanning everything -  cataloging, not judging. Silent, still.

“Um…” I shifted my weight, hugging Maxwell a little closer then letting him drop from my arms as Maxwell bounced from the floor to the couch. My lips curled slightly, I could only do tiny smiles. I didn’t want to scare him. “Your room is upstairs.”

Another nod.

I started climbing the steps, suddenly hyper-aware of every creak on the wood beneath my feet. I could hear his steady footsteps behind me -  light for a man his size, he had controlled into it. At the top, I motioned to the three rooms. “This one’s yours,” I said, gesturing to the first door on the left.

He didn’t say anything. Just turned the knob and pushed the door open. It was a simple room. Medium-sized, clean, and already furnished per government standards. A full bed, a dresser with a couple of towels, a desk in the corner with one of my old laptops that still works. The walls were blank except for a single window that faced the quiet street outside as a chair was next to it and in front of the bed, a TV. Neutral colors. Nothing personal as I didn’t want it to feel too much but König stepped in like it was something unexpected. His shoulders dropped just a bit. Eyes scanned the space slower this time.  I watched his reaction closely. He wasn’t made of stone after all. I didn’t move from my spot, not going into his room.  “I, uh… I wasn’t sure what you’d need. But if you’re missing anything, I can, well, we can figure it out.” He turned to look at me then. “Thank you,” he said quietly. His voice was low. Smooth but a little hoarse, like he wasn’t used to this. I blinked. “You’re welcome,” I said quickly, I glanced down the hall and pointed towards it. “Bathroom’s down the hall. My office is across from here. And, uh, my room’s at the end. So…”

I trailed off, realizing I sounded like I was giving a tour to a new roommate. However this was much more than that, so much more. I cleared my throat again, “I’ll, um… let you get settled. Dinner’s usually around seven, but we can shift that if you prefer something else.” He nodded, setting his bag down near the bed. Still quiet, calm, and impossible to read. I slipped away, down the stairs, my heart thudding in my chest and my palms clammy.

“It’s okay,” I whispered to myself. “It’s okay.. We can do this.” Yet deep down in my heart, I know it’s not that simple. 

Chapter Text

I stood in the center of the room, motionless. My new “assigned” room. My new “assigned” life.
Again. I closed the door as the soft creak faded into silence, but I didn’t move right away. I just stood there, letting the quiet stretch, my eyes slowly scanning the space. It was… nice, really nice. Not extravagant but it wasn’t cold, either. It wasn’t clinical, like the white-tiled housing units they used for the first wave of matches, where even the beds felt like punishment. Or a room with the bare minimum such as a bed with a thin blanket or a dresser that was about to break. This room had soft blue sheets. A real desk. A goddamn chair in the corner like someone thought I might want to sit down and read. A tv hung on the wall as if I was interested in any current shows, and a window - an actual window - with light that spilled in, warm and golden. She gave me a real room. She didn’t have to do that. And on top of that…she didn’t even step inside, didn’t hover, didn’t perform for me that I grew used to. She just gave me space, options. 

I glanced down at my duffle by the dresser but made no move to unpack. Instead, my thoughts drifted back to her. My new "assigned” wife. Lily Vong, they told me her name.  I hadn’t expected her to be like that. Quiet, shy, and.. Gentle.  I’d taken her the moment the door opened at the government building while I sat there waiting among the other men.  It wasn’t just her appearance that I first saw though I noticed that too. How could I not? She was about 5 '3, compared to me, she’s tiny. Lily had this natural grace in the way she moved despite her being awkward, I felt myself smile a bit. Her hair was long, black, straight at the top, and curling slightly near the ends. Her skin was soft, light-medium, with a warm glow that came from not hiding behind a layer of heavy makeup. She looked real, she is real. However, her eyes.. It’s what got me. Almond-shaped, warm brown eyes, and thoughtful - like she was thinking carefully of what to say to me, even for a simple hello.  She wore a simple pink short sleeve top and jeans, nothing flashy, but it fit her. It was soft, comfortable and unassuming. The opposite of every woman I’d been paired with before.

Then the way Lily looked up at me - her eyes had widened a little, sure. That was normal. Most women didn’t expect my height. What wasn’t normal was the look behind it. It wasn’t lust. It wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t that cocky little gleam like I’ve seen your file, I can wait to try you out. 

No. She looked nervous. Lily seemed like she didn’t know what to say, or maybe didn’t want to say the wrong thing, and she blushed when our eyes met. That part stayed with me longer than I thought it would. She didn’t flirt, didn’t comment on my face or my body, didn’t throw herself at me like the last one. What was her name? Brielle? Bianca? She’d already planned our wedding by day two then decided to throw me away when I wasn’t any used to her. 

Lily just smiled at me, softly then said nothing. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.. Mainly I can see how shy she was, like she didn’t know what to do. She signed the papers and then drove us in silence with that piano music playing low. It was quiet, peaceful. I liked that a lot, it was quite strange though, disarming even because I was used to being a prize. A trophy husband with the looks, the background, and the challenge. I had a warning label on me:  Returned six times, but still fully functional. Handle with care or don’t. All the women before treated me like something to show off. A challenge to conquer. A body to possess. They liked my looks, my file, my scars. They said the right things. They wanted to break past my walls, as if they fucking could. But Lily? None of those, all she did was just give me a room and silence, space.

I moved slowly to the chair by the window, sitting down and resting my arms on my knees. My hands hung between them, still wrapped with faint aches from old fractures, healed wrong and never reset. I flexed my fingers slowly. I glanced outside the blue golden sky as a few birds passed. Her cat's little zooming can be heard down the hall then down the stairs, creating a bit of noise in the quietness of this house.  Lily didn’t ask questions, didn’t mention my file. Not even a “So, what happened with the last one?” She could’ve. Most people do but she didn’t. All she said was “here’s your room, here’s the house, and dinner is at 7 unless you prefer something else..” That’s what hit me hardest. It was all so simple. Lily treated me like a human being. Not a husband, not a soldier, not an object, she.. She’s treating me as a person. I leaned back slightly, exhaling through my nose. Lily Vong. She is not what I expected, she still could do something. She could still hurt me.. I closed my eyes, still versioning her dark brown eyes looking at me. 

Maybe.. Just maybe, I could breathe here. 

Chapter Text

The kitchen was quiet except for the soft clatter of dishes and the occasional splash of water as I scrubbed the pan. My hands moved automatically as I rinsed and scrubbed while my mind wandered somewhere else entirely. Dinner was already packed away, sealed in glass containers and stacked neatly in the fridge. I’d even written him a little note, leaving it on the fridge, just in case he woke up hungry later.
 

Dinner’s in the fridge. Just heat it up. Hope you like stir fry – Lily.

I blinked at the sticky note. By habit, I drew a little heart next to my name and I debated on rewriting a new one but I shook my head. It’s fine, at least it’ll show I’m friendly.. Right? I could’ve called him down, should’ve, maybe but I hadn’t heard a single sound from upstairs. No creaks from the hallway. No footsteps, nothing. So, I assumed he was asleep, although he could just also be a ghost. And honestly, I think he needed rest more than he needed food.  I scrubbed the last pan harder than necessary, my grip tightening unconsciously. The image kept playing in my head - the way he just stood there on my doorstep, waiting to be told to come inside like he didn’t belong. I frowned. What the hell had they done to him? What did the other women do? What the hell kind of system teaches a man to stand like that as if he’s expecting rejection before he even opens his mouth?

He hadn’t said a word. Not during the ride, not when I gave him the tour, not even when I gave him his own damn room, just a soft thank you. However the look in his eyes, those piercing ice blue eyes behind that mask had spoken volumes. It was cautious, tired, guarded in a way that wasn’t just emotional, it was learned. I slammed the pan into the drying rack harder than I meant to. “God,” I whispered, breath shaking. He’d looked at that room like it was something he wasn’t allowed to have, like I’d handed him something too fragile to touch. He hadn’t even sat on the bed while I was there. He just stood, staring around like someone waiting for it all to be taken away. What the hell did they put him through? And how the fuck could any of those women -  those six before me - look at him and think, Yeah, I’ll return him. Like he was broken merchandise or how he didn’t come with a fucking heart.

I leaned against the counter, water dripping off my fingertips, the leftover warmth from the pan still clinging to my skin. My chest ached, low and uncomfortable, like guilt mixed with anger. 

He’s not a dog, I wanted to scream.  He’s not some trained thing you order around and send back if he doesn’t perform. He’s a man. A fucking human being. Someone who looks like he hasn’t had a real home in a long time. I closed my eyes and took a slow breath, trying to calm myself even though the anger stayed low and steady.  Maybe I should leave him alone. Maybe he needs the silence. That didn’t mean I had to ignore the part of me that wanted to do something for him. I should.  He didn’t choose this and I didn’t either. Yet here we were, locked into thirty days of pretending to be something we weren’t allowed to become naturally. Husband. Wife. Partners.

I sank into the dining chair, staring at the sticky note still pressed against the fridge. The soft yellow corner lifted in the air from the breeze of the fan. What should I do? What could I do? He probably didn’t want anything from me. I wouldn’t want to do anything he’s not comfortable with. Maybe I just let him be. Let him sleep, rest, breathe, and live.. Live. 

I padded quietly up the stairs, the wooden steps creaking faintly under my socks as I passed his door. I didn’t pause. I didn’t knock. I just listened for a second. It was still nothing, no movement, no sound, as if that room was empty.  I exhaled through my nose, then continued down the hallway to my bedroom. The moment I stepped inside, a small sense of calm settled over me. My room was my safe space -  soft, cozy, a little cluttered but in that warm, lived-in kind of way. The glow of the fairy lights I’d strung around the ceiling cast a soft gold hue across the room. A few plushies sat nestled in the corner of my bed, some gifts, some childhood holdouts I never had the heart to throw away. There was a stack of books by my nightstand, and the TV on the wall.

I left it cracked - just enough for Maxwell to slip in and out without yowling and pawing at it in the middle of the night. He had his routines, and I didn’t want to break them. Not now, when everything else already felt so new and heavy. I changed into my comfortable clothes after washing my face and getting ready for bed. Thank god for my master bathroom there. It’s already kind of suffocating being in the hallway. I didn’t want to bother König, to seem like a burden. I crawled into bed slowly, pulling the thick comforter over myself and curling onto my side. The sheets were cool, my pillow familiar. I let out a long sigh, trying to let go of the knots in my chest. Even as my body settled, my mind refused to.

My mind kept drifting back to König. The way he stood in that room like it wasn’t his. He didn’t trust it. No, he didn’t trust me. It feels like if König let his guard down for even a second, it’d be gone, taken from him like everything else. I wanted to ask him if he was okay. I wanted to ask so many things. But I know I shouldn’t, not until he’s comfortable and he may never be. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the fan and the distant city sounds outside my window. My eyes had just started to flutter shut when I heard the softest meow. A moment later, Maxwell padded into the room. “Hey, baby,” I whispered. He leapt up onto the bed in one smooth hop and carefully made his way over to me, his paws pressing into the blanket with practiced grace. Then, without hesitation, he curled up right on top of my chest like he’d done a hundred times before. I smiled, closing my eyes as I reached up to pet him. His fur was warm against my skin, and he let out a slow, deep purr that vibrated through my ribcage. “Good boy,” I murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Such a good boy.” Maxwell blinked up at me lazily, then tucked his face into my neck. My smile lingered, even as my heart still felt heavy.

König was just down the hall. A man who had been returned six times. Who looked at a bed like it was a trick, who waited for permission just to exist, and I didn’t know if I could handle that. All I know is that I can offer him peace, a home, freedom. I closed my eyes, arms wrapped around my purring cat, and let the quiet wash over me. If all I can give to him is peace and a room that felt like his - Then maybe that would be enough.

Chapter Text

I jolted awake, breath catching in my throat. The soft patter of quick steps. Small feet that were light and fast. Something darted outside my door and down the stairs.  Shit. My hand instinctively reached toward the edge of the bed where in the past, I kept a knife,  except it wasn’t there. Just fabric. Sheets. The silence in the room wasn’t threatening, but my body didn’t trust it yet. It took me a second to realize what I was hearing. Little zooms. I blinked, confused, the fog of sleep still clinging to the corners of my mind. Then came the tiny, distant meows. Maxwell, the cat. 

I exhaled shakily, my head dropping back onto the pillow for a second. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d fallen asleep that fast or that deeply. My body must’ve known something I didn’t - that I was safe. Yet safety never lasted because then I heard footsteps. It was soft, bare, and deliberate, like they were trying to be quiet. Panic hit me hard because I realized I was sitting up and squeezing the edge of the bed. Fuck. She was coming toward my room. My heart pounded. My chest tightened. My stomach clenched and rolled like it knew exactly where this was going. My mind ran wild.

She’s going to come in.

She’s going to touch you.

She’s going to force herself on you and tell you that you owe her-

I squeezed my eyes shut, knuckles white, breath coming faster. The memories slammed back like a tide - hot breath in my ear, hands I didn’t want, mouths I never gave permission to. The pressure. The pain. The expectation. It always started like this. Quiet steps, a soft knock, then the door opens anyways. I curled my fingers into the sheets. But… her steps didn’t stop at my door. They passed as Lily kept walking. She kept walking. I froze, confused as hell as my breathing shallow. Then Maxwell dramatically meowed like he was accusing her of a crime. I heard her hush him gently, then sleepy rambling. 

I sat there on my bed, staring at the door, heartbeat still thudding in my ears. She wasn’t coming in. A couple minutes later, her footsteps returned. Same quiet rhythm, same slow pace. They passed my door again - still no pause - and kept going all the way down the hall. I listened, staying still but nothing. For a long time, nothing until little paws can be heard passing my door to hers. My fists uncurled. She… didn’t come in. I stared at the door, the faint light from the street lamp outside casting soft shadows through the curtain. My breath slowed. My shoulders sagged. My body, still tense, tried to understand what just happened.

Lily didn’t come in. She just left me alone. The realization crashed over me, not all at once, just in quiet, staggering waves. A familiar weight tried to settle in my chest, but something else pushed against it. Confusion. Relief. Maybe something close to disbelief. In every assignment before this, it always started the same. Polite at first, a smile, then dinner. The implication. Then the door would open. The expectations came quickly after that. The claiming over me, the entitlement. The words: “You’re so handsome and you’re all mine.” The same thing over and over again. Lily though, she just walked passed. I didn’t know what to make of that. No, I did. I just didn’t trust it yet. I lay back slowly, arms behind my head, staring at the ceiling. My chest still rose and fell faster than I wanted it to. The panic was fading now, replaced by something heavier, deeper. I didn’t know what to do with kindness when it wasn’t a lie, didn’t know what to do with peace when it didn’t come with a cost. But tonight, Lily gave me both.. 

****

I don’t know how long I lay there. Minutes, maybe an hour. Just staring at the ceiling, blanketed in the unfamiliar quiet. At some point, my stomach growled - low, sharp, and undeniable.  I didn’t even remember the last time I ate. It was earlier today, something plain and forgettable in the government hall before Lily came. A tray of whatever passed for sustenance there. I remembered Lily mentioning dinner at seven, but she never came to get me. Had she forgotten? I took a deep breath. Or maybe she’d noticed I was asleep and decided not to wake me up.  The thought lingered in my head longer than I expected it to. Not in a bitter way, it just stayed. I rubbed my eyes. So many unfamiliar things are happening and I just didn’t want to think anymore. 

With a deep breath, I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cool against my feet, grounding in a way I didn’t expect. I walked slowly to the door and eased it open. The hallway beyond was dark, quiet, but not silent. There was a faint hum of noise, not the hum of tension I was used to in most houses, but something softer.  I glanced down the hall where Lily’s room was. Her door was cracked just slightly, and a soft flickering light spilled through it - blue-white and pulsing like it was moving. A TV, probably. I focused as I could hear it, soft ocean waves and faint music. I should’ve gone down the stairs, to the kitchen. I should’ve grabbed a snack and gone back to bed, but my feet moved before I could stop them. Quietly and carefully. 

I just… I don’t even know what I wanted. To check? To see if she was really okay? That she wasn’t just pretending to sleep, planning something? I stood by the door and slightly pushed it open more, just enough to see in.  Lily was asleep. Fully under the covers, one hand curled under her cheek, the other resting on Maxwell’s side. Her breathing was slow and peaceful. Her face was soft in sleep, in a way that said she still believed good things could happen. And beside her?

Maxwell, eyes wide open. The orange cat was curled like a cinnamon roll, but his gaze was sharp. Not on Lily but on me. His tail flicked once. Then again, slow and deliberate. Not scared or  aggressive either. Just watching. I took a step back, almost instinctively but I didn’t leave. I watched the rise and fall of Lily’s chest. 

I listened to the faint lull of the TV in the background and my eyes scanned her room. It was warm here, the feeling was so warm. A pile of books sat half-toppled on her nightstand. Her stuffed animals that neatly nestled in her bed. There were framed photos on the wall -  people, smiles, blurry memories caught mid-laugh. Nothing was pristine. Nothing was set up to impress.

It just felt lived in and safe. Maxwell stretched, front paws long, tail curling, but his eyes never left me. It hit me, then. He was guarding her. I blinked, staring at him, and he stared right back.

He wasn’t just sleeping with her. He was watching and protecting. Something heavy curled in my chest. I didn’t know if it was guilt or envy. I didn’t know people or animals could do that without wanting something in return. I swallowed hard as I looked into green eyes as he purred next to her, curling into her. A flicker of jealousy hit me. I wanted that. 

I finally exhaled a breath.“…Alright,” I whispered to Maxwell. He didn’t respond. Just flicked his tail once more, like he was dismissing me. Fair enough. I turned and walked back down the hall, quieter than before. The house was still dark, still safe. And for once, I didn’t feel hunted in the silence. 

I padded down the stairs, the wood creaking under my bare feet, every sound louder in the stillness of the night. The kitchen was dark. I reached for the switch and turned on the light.

A sharp, almost sterile glow flooded the space, and I squinted. My eyes stung at the sudden change but once they adjusted, I was left standing in a room that felt untouched but welcoming. Like someone cared enough to make it cozy, even if they didn’t expect company. The counters were clean. A candle had burned out earlier. My gaze landed on the fridge on a bright yellow sticky note.

Dinner’s in the fridge. Just heat it up. Hope you like stir fry – Lily.

I didn’t move, not right away. I just stared. It was the handwriting that got me. A little messy, like she wrote it quickly but still meant every word. There was a tiny heart drawn beside her name. It wasn’t for me. I knew that. That was just her. She left me food, saying I hope I like stir fry. I didn’t have to dress up, show up at a specific time, say certain words, be ready with a smile so I wouldn’t ‘disrupt the flow of the evening.’ None of that, just dinner’s in the fridge. I felt something tighten in my throat. My stomach clenched as an old memory flowed through.  Nicole.

God, I hadn’t thought of her i- Shit, I didn’t even remember her voice clearly anymore. She was my.. Third “assigned” wife. I barely remembered what happened but I remembered how I felt with her. 

The “You didn’t earn dinner today.” Or, worse, “You want to eat now? Ask nicely.” I remembered having to ask. Ask to eat. Ask to sit. Ask to leave the room. Ask to breathe, it felt like I was on the battlefield. Hell, I would rather be in a real war instead of that. I had to watch Nicole’s face for cues. One wrong word and she’d go cold. Then hot. Then somewhere terrifying in between. Yet here, Lily just wrote me a sticky note. That was it. I opened the fridge and saw the glass container. I opened the lid slowly and placed it in the microwave. The hum of the machine filled the kitchen, and I leaned against the counter, staring at nothing. The spinning plate hypnotized me. Carrots. Broccoli. Thin strips of beef in sauce. I hadn’t even told her my favorite foods. I hadn’t told her anything. Still, she cooked and left it, like I was worth the effort without having to prove it. I didn't understand it. The microwave dinged. I took the container, grabbed a fork, and walked to the dining table. I was just a man on autopilot. 

I just sat and ate. The first bite was warm. Sweet, salty, perfect. Second bite, something stirred, something deep and by the third, my throat closed. I dropped the fork gently, like too much sound might shatter the moment, and pressed the heel of my hand to my eyes. Tears. Goddamn tears threaten to fall. What the hell is wrong with me? It was stir fry. Just dinner. Just a sticky note and yet I felt it all. This weight I’d been dragging behind me like a chain suddenly unlocked, and I almost lost my breath from how sharp it felt. I wanted to cry. I really, really wanted to cry. Because for the first time in so long,  I didn’t feel like I was surviving. I didn’t feel like I was being watched, controlled, or small. I just felt free and that was terrifying.

Chapter Text

The blaring sound of my alarm shattered the quiet. I jolted upright, heart skipping a beat, eyes barely registering the dim sliver of morning light creeping past my curtains. I groaned and slapped my phone screen until the sound stopped.

6:15 AM.

Ugh. I flopped back onto the pillows, burying my face in the blanket. “Why do I even have to get up…” I mumbled. My bed is soft, so soft.  The plushies I’d tucked along the edge still hugged my side, and the soft glow of the fairy lights from last night still twinkled faintly, forgotten in my exhaustion as my tv was already shut off due to the timer I put on. For a second, I considered calling in. I could say I had a headache or food poisoning. Maybe both. Then it hit me. The interview, Norman’s new assistant.

I blinked up at the ceiling, silently cursing my own sense of professionalism. Of course today had to be the one day I couldn’t bail. Norman was incredibly particular about his assistants and by “particular,” I meant borderline impossible. This was the third round of candidates and somehow no one had impressed him. When it came to hiring at our firm, especially for anything involving Norman, everyone liked having all departments in the room. Legal, Admin, and me - HR. Normally I wouldn’t need to be there in person. I could’ve called in via Zoom and kept my pajama bottoms on. But nooooo, today had to be a full-deck day. I groaned again and forced myself upright, dragging the blanket with me as if it could keep me warm while I stumbled to the bathroom. The tiles were cold under my feet as I washed up, the splash of cold water doing its best to drag me into the realm of the living. I stared at myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth -  hair like a cloud of dark chaos, pillow lines still faintly marking one cheek.  “Okay, you got this,” I told myself after spitting into the sink. “Just one meeting today since it’s Friday. Maybe donuts in the break room. Some emails, talking back and forth with Vincent.” I took a deep breath. “Then I could go home early after that.”  I walked back into the bedroom and opened my closet. Comfy, but firm.

I settled on a pale pink knit sweater - soft, slightly oversized, with pearl buttons on the cuffs. Matched it with a high-waisted black skirt that flowed just past my calves and cinched perfectly at my waist. Not too stuffy, but still polished. 

As I pulled on my skirt, a familiar meow echoed near the cracked door. I looked over just in time to see Maxwell’s orange tail wiggle through the gap before he slinked into the room, meowing like the world owed him breakfast. I raised an eyebrow. “Really? I just woke up.” Maxwell hopped onto the bed dramatically, meowed again, much louder this time and then plopped himself in the exact center of the blanket like a king reclaiming his throne. “Yes, yes, in a second,” I muttered, reaching for my earrings. He meowed again, more pointedly. I sighed, shaking my head fondly as I clipped a small gold hoop to each ear. “Bossy,” I added under my breath. He flicked his tail at me in response, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Maxwell needed food and I needed caffeine, badly.

As I padded quietly down the stairs, the smell of coffee hit me before anything else. It was rich, bold and the scent just smelled so warm. My mouth was already watering once I smelled it. Wait, coffee?  I blinked at the soft clinking of ceramic and froze as I stepped into the kitchen. König was already there. He stood by the coffee machine, steam curling around his fingers as he poured into two mugs. His back was to me at first, tall and steady in that quiet way of his. It took a second for my brain to catch up with the unexpected sight of him and then he turned. “Whoa!” I yelped, actually jumping. His eyes widened just slightly but enough to register surprise. “Oh my god, I’m sorry,” I blurted out, putting a hand over my chest. “You’re so quiet, and on top of that…” I reached out, flipping on the kitchen light. “…you can turn on the light, you know.” He didn’t say anything, just gave me a slight nod, his expression unreadable as always. Still silently, he turned and held out one of the mugs toward me. “Oh…” I hesitated, blinking at it, then took it. “Thank you.”

His fingers brushed mine for half a second. Barely a touch but it still sent an annoying, hot little spark up my arm like my body had no intention of keeping cool today. I took a sip just to cover how flustered I suddenly felt. Why does he have to look like that first thing in the morning?
Sweatpants. Loose black T-shirt. Hair is a little messy from sleep. It’s honestly unfair. Before I could spiral further into that dangerous territory, Maxwell interrupted with a loud, dramatic “Mrrrraow!”

I turned toward the counter where he was already pacing like a furry orange dictator. “Okay, yes yes. Food first.” I set my coffee down gently and stepped around König, mumbling, “Excuse me,” as I brushed past him. My arm grazed his side and I could feel him behind me, still.

When I glanced back, sure enough, he had taken a seat at the dining table - coffee in hand, eyes lowered. It was calm and casual but I could sense him watching me. Not in a creepy way, he was just observing me, like what I am planning next. The silence in the room wasn’t bad. In fact, it was kind of nice. However, it made my brain loud as if I needed to do something.  I went to the cabinet and pulled out a can of Maxwell’s wet food, shaking it gently before popping the lid. He was already vibrating with anticipation. I grabbed a small ceramic dish and turned toward the counter, only to catch him mid-pounce onto it. “Ah! No no no!” I scolded quickly, scooping him up and placing him back on the floor. “No counters, Maxwell. We talked about this.”

He blinked at me like I was the unreasonable one. I sighed and leaned down to scoop food into the bowl. “You know our rules, Max,” I muttered half to myself, sneaking a glance at König, who was quietly sipping his coffee, his gaze unreadable. Why did I feel like I was the one being watched instead of Maxwell? And why did that weirdly make me feel flustered all over again?

I glance at my watch, ignoring the flicker of butterflies in my chest. “Okay so… I have a meeting and I’ll be out for a while,” I said as I moved through the kitchen with purpose, grabbing last night’s leftovers and sliding them into my lunch bag. I didn’t look up nor did I have to. I could feel König's eyes following me, listening even if he wasn’t saying a word. There was this charged stillness about him. It made my pulse flutter while I mentally scolded myself. I zipped the bag closed, paused, and muttered, “Ah,” under my breath. I crossed the room to my purse and rummaged inside until my fingers found the smooth, plastic rectangle. Turning, I walked back to König and held it out. “Here.”

He blinked, eyes flicking to the card, then to me. His brows furrowed. “Wh…” “It’s a debit card. Reloadable,” I explained, gently nudging it toward him. “I put around five hundred dollars there for you.” He looked stunned, completely thrown off. He took the card slowly, like it might vanish if he moved too quickly. Meanwhile, I busied myself pouring coffee into a travel mug, trying not to let the tension stick to me like static. Maxwell was crunching his dry food now, purring contentedly as if the world wasn’t laced with quiet, awkward emotions. König finally stood, his voice low but firm. “You didn’t have to-”

“I know,” I cut in softly, glancing over my shoulder at him with a small smile. “But I wanted to.” I turned back to finish packing my things, trying to ignore how aware I was of him just standing there behind me. “There are some nice stores or cafés around here,” I added. “Treat yourself to something nice.” Silence. When I turned around, he was just staring at me again. His eyes steady and thoughtful, as if trying to see if there’s a catch. There was none. I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, suddenly too warm despite the cool air conditioning humming in the background. “Listen, I..” My voice faltered slightly, but I cleared my throat and steadied it again. “I don’t expect anything from you. At all. I know we’re… supposed to test if we’re husband or wife material or whatever, but that doesn’t matter right now.”

I took a slow step toward him, not too close, just enough. “I want you to be comfortable. So I’ll do my best to get you things you need. If you need anything else-” “I don’t,” he said suddenly, almost urgently. “I don’t need anything else.” That surprised me. Not just what he said, but how he said it. I stopped, meeting his gaze. There was something in his eyes that made me hesitate. Something raw and vulnerable, maybe. A kind of honesty I wasn’t ready for, but appreciated all the same. I offered him a softer smile. “Well if you do, just ask.” He gave a small nod.

I made my way to the front door and pulled on my shoes, adjusting my purse and lunchbag in my hand, already mentally switching into work mode, but the moment the quiet stretched behind me again, König's voice cut through, just barely above a whisper.

“…Thank you.”

I turned slightly, catching his eyes once more. “Anytime,” I said warmly. “Take care of the house. And also Maxwell.” Maxwell, as if on cue, let out a loud chirp from the kitchen like he was confirming his VIP status. I couldn’t help but laugh. As I closed the door behind me, I headed to my car. 

I sank back into the driver’s seat, the cold leather pressing against my skin. The door clicked shut behind me. My fingers trembled slightly as I gripped the steering wheel as the rage began to overflow. I began driving out of my driveway, making sure König didn't see my face. Anger twisting like a knot in my gut, spreading outward from somewhere deep inside. All I did was give him a debit card, a fucking debit card. The way König's eyes widen in slight surprise, a flicker of pain and confusion on his face. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. Most women didn’t get a choice in this program. The government in the “Assigned Husband Program” system was cold and merciless. It was based on income brackets, social status, and tax history. You were assigned like cattle, your ‘husband’ picked for you by some faceless algorithm or bureaucrat. A “perfect match,” they called it. A neat little box to fit into their vision of order.

But me? I had been given what they called a “special privilege,” a cruel joke after refusing the program over and over. The ultimatum was clear: pay the outrageous tax hike they slapped on me for resisting, accept a random assignment, or pick a husband myself which apparently is only given on "special reason”. As if picking a husband in a dystopian state-run program was a choice at all. I didn’t want to pick anyone. I wanted out. I wanted to scream at the sky and rip down the whole damn system. However, I’m not rich enough to keep paying the fee and the taxes for it so I went to choose one. I didn’t want a random man assigned to me. So I look through files after file, feeling digested as I keep looking. So many men, so many who deserve way more than this. 

Men are entered in the program in certain ways. 

1. Social status (typically low income)
2. Deemed unfit (medical, financial, age etc)
3. Volunteers 

Typically higher ups, government officials, and military men opt out of the program. So when I opened König's file, I couldn’t turn away.  His name, his history, his scars - it all pulled me in. A military man who had fought hard, fought for our country, only to be medically discharged as it never explained why. He was forced into the program that had used him. How do you come back from that without losing pieces of yourself?

He looked so broken in his photo, like a shadow of the man he once was. And yet, something fierce still lingered in his eyes. That flicker of resilience, buried beneath the layers of pain and exhaustion. I closed the file with a shaky breath. I wasn’t just picking a husband - I was choosing to carry the weight of this broken man’s past. So once I knew he was coming, I did everything I could. A safe room with everything he may need, money he can use freely, the house to himself where he can do what he likes, and more if he likes. To make him feel safe, to feel like he could breathe, and not perform a role. Maybe, if I was lucky, I could help him reclaim some part of himself. No, I will help him. 

I won’t be like my mother. She accepted the system, married my father and well, the rest is history. A painful fucking history. Not me. I promised myself that the moment I stepped into this program by force, I would fight back. I would be more than a number, more than a property to be traded. Even if it hurts. Even if it tears me apart. I gripped the steering wheel hard as I drove, letting the hot sting of tears burn the back of my eyes. This was going to be the hardest battle of my life, but I had made my choice. I would fight for König. I would fight for us. Because if I don’t, then who will?

Chapter Text

I sat there at the dining table, just staring. The debit card sat where she left it, like it didn’t burn a hole through the air between us the moment she handed it over. I didn’t touch it, not because I didn’t want to. I just didn’t know if I earned it but.. Her words echoed in my head like a broken record

• I don’t expect anything from you.
• I want you to be comfortable.

Comfortable, she says. What the fuck did that even mean anymore? My throat tightened. I swallowed hard, but it didn’t help. There was this pressure like something inside of me wanted to break open, wanted to spill out after years of being buried so deep I forgot it existed. Last night, it came so close to opening, the tears threatened to come out again.  I’d held it in for so long, so fucking long. Clenched teeth. Numb expression. Empty eyes. Let them treat me like an object, a toy, a fucking dog.

Women who smiled sweetly and whispered promises with lips that never meant it. Women who told me to "just relax" while they clawed at me like I was some prize to be unwrapped. Women who tried to mold me, fix me, soften me. They never got through.  I never let them. They don’t deserve it. But Lily…Fucking Lily. The fact she wasn’t doing anything but treated me like a person, like a human being, made it worse somehow. I was used to it. I knew what I was expecting but her, it was a whole different game. That’s what cracked the damn foundation. She didn’t beg. She didn’t push. She didn’t ask for anything. Lily just gave me silence, space, a home that didn’t feel like a cage, and that fucking card. A small, plastic rectangle that said, I trust you.

My thoughts spiraled, crashing one over the other in a mess of disbelief, confusion, and something else. Something I had never felt before, something raw and dangerous. Then I heard it. Meow. A sharp, demanding yowl. I blinked, chest still tight, and looked down. Maxwell, the orange cat stood by my chair, yelling at me like I’d personally offended him. His tail flicked with indignation, and before I could process what the hell was going on, he brushed against my leg, his fur warm and persistent.“What the hell…?” I muttered under my breath. He rubbed again. Then trotted away, into the kitchen, before turning back and meowing again, louder this time like he was scolding me for being slow. I stood up, legs a little stiff, and followed. Maxwell sat next to a set of metal bowls on a small mat, one empty, one half-full of water. He looked up at me, then down at the bowl, then back at me again like, You get it yet, idiot?

I rubbed the back of my neck. “You want… more food?” Another meow. I had never owned a cat. Never wanted one. Hell, I’d barely been around animals growing up, let alone since getting tossed into the Program. Now this furball was giving me an attitude over wanting more food.  I crouched down awkwardly, uncertain, trying to figure out if I should give him more. Should I?  Maxwell kept meowing, and something in me couldn’t handle the idea of disappointing even by  a cat today. I stood up, remembering where Lily grabbed his food from and when I opened the top shelf of the pantry, big letters that read “Sensitive Stomach Blend”. There’s some dry food bag and cans? I went with the one with the bag and I filled the bowl with shaky hands. Maxwell meowed once, a softer sound this time, and began to eat, like it was the most normal thing in the world. As if  I hadn’t just had an emotional breakdown over a debit card and a few kind words in front of him. I sank down to the kitchen floor, sitting with my back against the cabinet, watching the little orange bastard eat like royalty.

His chewing was the only sound filling the room. I sat there, on the floor, elbows resting on my knees, staring like the answer was somewhere in the wall. The card still sat untouched on the dining table, but Maxwell was content now. His tail flicking slowly, ears relaxed as he munched. I didn’t know what to do. Not in the “I’m bored” kind of way. No, this was deeper than that. I didn’t know what I was allowed to do. No one ever left me alone. In every placement before, I had rules. 

“Stay in your room.”

“Be quiet after nine.” 

“Clean the bathroom.” 

“Help me with this, carry that.”

 If I wasn’t being told what to do, I was being watched closely. Every movement is like a test I never studied for. I sat there a few seconds longer, that old familiar itch of guilt starting to creep in. That voice in the back of my head whispering that I needed to earn my keep, like I always had to. That if I didn’t do something or anything, I’d be punished. 

I blinked, chores. Yeah. Maybe I could do chores. I stood up, scanning the space like I expected to find a mess. I didn’t. The kitchen was already clean. The living room was a cozy area, blankets folded, everything put away just so. Even her shoes by the door were lined up perfectly. It wasn’t cold or sterile, though. This place looked lived in. Comfortable. Hers. Fuck.

I rubbed my hand down my face and started walking, more out of impulse than intention. I need to do something. Down the hall, soft light spilling through the half-closed doors. Bathroom. Closet. Washer and Dryer. Then, at the very end, I found a room that surprised me. A mini gym.

I stepped inside, letting the door creak open fully. It was small, but neat. Sunlight catching on the chrome of a dumbbell rack. There was a treadmill, yoga mat, a flat bench, and some resistance bands hanging neatly on a hook. The dumbbells were light - too light for me, even now but the space itself, it stopped me in my tracks.

I hadn’t seen a real gym since - fuck, what, four years ago? Five? Since before the Program ground my body down to compliance. Before the repetition of being moved from one house to the next slowly ate away at everything I used to be. Working out had once been my escape. My control. It reminded me who I was, what I was capable of, what I owned - at least within myself.

And now? I stared at the equipment, suddenly unsure. Could I just  use it? Would she be mad?

Would she care? I hesitated, standing in the center of the room like it might all vanish if I moved the wrong way. My fingers twitched at my sides, the memory of muscle tension, of form and sweat, whispering to life beneath the surface. I’d lost so much mass over the years. I used to be carved from something solid. Now I felt like the soft shell of a man I used to be. Still. Maybe I could try, ease into it and see what was left.

Working out used to give me some discipline and kept me grounding. Even when the world felt out of control, lifting iron was simple. It's just pain in, strength out, and one rep at a time. And now, in this strange quiet, the idea of returning to that on my terms, not because someone demanded. It felt dangerous, like touching something holy. I sat on the bench for a second, letting my hands rest on my thighs. No one was watching or controlling.  If I lifted today, it would be because I chose to and maybe that was reason enough.