Daniel
The golden carriage descended through mist that shimmered like spun crystal, revealing the Li estate one breathtaking tier at a time.
Daniel leaned slightly forward, catching his first glimpse of the place he'd supposedly married into. It didn't feel like a home. It felt like a myth.
The estate was alive.
Bridges arched between floating stone courtyards suspended by invisible mana bands. Trees with glowing violet leaves swayed in wind that didn't exist. Water ran upward across curved tiles before falling again in suspended loops, like time was bending for aesthetics. Crystalline towers gleamed at different altitudes, woven into the cliffsides and rooted into floating gardens. Lights drifted lazily through the air—part lantern, part spirit.
Rivendell, if it had been built by a mage who could rewrite gravity.
As their carriage swept into the grand landing court, a celebration was already underway.
Musicians played stringed instruments Daniel didn't recognize. Petals floated from high platforms, guided by spellstreams into gentle spirals. Dozens of nobles—some standing, others perched on suspended balconies—watched with expressions carved from porcelain.
Applause began the moment their wheels touched stone.
Vivian exited first.
She moved like she'd been born to it—measured, elegant, unbothered by the spectacle. A soft glow pulsed around her wrist: a charm that read her heartbeat and adjusted the lighting around her accordingly. The world wanted her to look ethereal.
Daniel stepped out beside her. He offered the faintest bow to the crowd. Measured. Respectful. Nothing more.
A few elders descended the nearest platform to greet them formally.
Li Heng, Vivian's father, was one of them. Older than he looked, with silver at his temples and a posture that spoke of command more than affection. His eyes met Daniel's only briefly before shifting to assess the distance between Daniel and his daughter.
Words were exchanged. Polite. Hollow. Daniel said what was required.
Vivian said even less.
From a higher terrace, a woman stood silently, half-shrouded in enchanted silk. She didn't wave. She didn't bow. Her eyes were sharp.
"That's the mother," Ethan muttered. "The one who pulled the strings."
Daniel didn't nod, didn't react. But he filed the gaze away.
The formalities ended quickly. A steward approached, bowing low. "Your chambers await."
And just like that, the newlyweds were dismissed from their own parade.
The couple's suite sat on its own floating pavilion—a palace within a palace. As they entered, Daniel caught glimpses of curved garden paths, hovering koi ponds, a library tucked into the cliffside, and a private hot spring carved from starlight glass.
The doors closed behind them with a whisper.
The silence inside was instant. Total.
Vivian didn't sit. Didn't explore.
She turned.
And spoke.
Her voice was soft, but it carried.
"We will not be sharing a bed."
Daniel blinked once. He said nothing.
"There will be no expectations of affection, attention, or alliance beyond what is required for public appearances. This is a political arrangement. I expect it to remain clean."
Her face was calm, her tone memorized. There was no room in it for emotion.
"My mother arranged this match to preserve face. That is the only reason we are here."
She paused—then added, more tightly:
"…And because she wants heirs. She thinks your bloodline is valuable. That your… intellect might elevate ours."
The edge in her tone wasn't aimed at him—not directly. It was bitterness shaped by too many rehearsed futures.
"She believes you're kind," Vivian said, and the word felt brittle on her tongue. "Thinks you'll be gentle. Cooperative. That we'll build something together."
Her eyes met his, steady and bright.
"I have no such illusions."
She didn't ask for agreement. She didn't check for offense.
She simply stared at him, waiting for the inevitable male protest.
Daniel tilted his head slightly.
Then shrugged.
"That's fine," he said. "You're free to pursue whoever you want. I'll do the same."
She froze.
Just for a moment.
The smallest pause—a half-second delay between breath and response.
"Excuse me?" she asked, not because she hadn't heard—but because she hadn't expected it.
"I said you're free to do as you like. So am I." He didn't smile. "It's not a partnership if only one of us gets freedom."
Her lips parted. Not in outrage. Not in confusion. Just... calculation. Like she'd expected resistance and didn't know what to do with consent.
"You don't care if I take a lover or a male consort?"
"No," Daniel interrupted, voice still quiet. "And I know this isn't your voice. Not really. It's hers. It was made in gratitude or calculation or maybe something else. But I know you never wanted this. Never wanted me."
Something flickered behind Vivian's eyes. She didn't answer.
Daniel continued, tone softening. Not mocking. Just observant.
"I don't want anything from you. Not control. Not affection. Not loyalty. Not now. Maybe not ever."
He stepped back, just slightly, and offered a respectful nod.
"All I ask is that we don't pretend."
Another pause.
Vivian studied him. Longer this time.
Then she said, "You speak very differently than I expected."
Daniel met her gaze without flinching. "I'm not the man you were warned about."
That, somehow, seemed to land harder than anything else.
She looked away first.
"Fine," she said quietly.
She didn't move right away.
Instead of walking off, Vivian stayed rooted near the edge of the room, one hand resting lightly on the frame of the open doorway to her private chamber. Her back was straight. Her breathing steady.
"I'll sleep here tonight," she said finally. "In the outer room. We'll rotate if we must, but my mother will expect us to share space. It will be noticed if we don't."
Daniel nodded. "That's fine."
"But I don't want you touching me. Not in public. Not in private. No pretense."
"No problem," he replied calmly. "I'm not here for your affection. Or your body."
That made her pause.
She turned—just enough to look at him again, brows narrowing faintly.
"Then why are you here?"
Daniel didn't hesitate.
"Since my brother decided to seduce the girl I was supposed to marry—someone I genuinely liked—I realized noble relationships are mostly transactional. So I thought: if I'm going to be used, I might as well get something out of it. Marrying into your family gave me good conditions."
Vivian stared at him.
No anger. No offense.
Just calculation—and something else behind her eyes.
A beat passed.
Then she turned back toward her chamber, one hand lingering a second longer on the frame.
"You're more honest than most," she said quietly. "That's… refreshing."
She walked through the door without another word.
The door to Vivian's private chamber slid closed with a soft click.
Daniel exhaled, stepped out of his ceremonial shoes, and sank into one of the cushioned benches beside the wide glass-paneled wall. Night had begun to settle over the estate, casting the floating gardens in a gentle blue hue, like the stars had dropped down to sleep among the trees.
He was barely three seconds into the silence before Ethan spoke up.
"I can't believe you told her that."
Daniel tilted his head slightly. "Told her what?"
"That you're not interested in her. That you're going to chase other women. That you're basically using her family for money."
Daniel smiled.
Ethan made a strangled sound in the back of his mind. "Seriously? You just got married."
"And?" Daniel leaned his head back against the frame, eyes half-lidded. "You clearly don't understand women like her."
"Oh, this I have to hear."
"She's used to being pursued," Daniel said simply. "That kind of beauty, that level of control? She walks through life like gravity bends around her. People chase her, cater to her, try to prove themselves to her. Always trying to be what she wants."
"So your brilliant plan," Ethan said dryly, "is to be the one guy who doesn't care."
"No," Daniel said, still smiling. "My plan is to tell her the truth. I don't know her. I don't owe her interest, and she hasn't earned my trust. Yes, she's beautiful—but I've known plenty of beautiful women. And honestly? She's not really my type."
"Not your—" Ethan sounded genuinely insulted. "She's terrifyingly gorgeous."
"She's also cold. Controlled. Everything about her is wrapped in armor. It's impressive, but not inviting. I don't want a statue. I want a partner."
Ethan didn't reply immediately. Daniel continued.
"She needs to understand that I'm not here to win her over. I don't care about control or the Li family. I'm not chasing her. I'm not groveling for scraps of affection. If we're going to coexist, we need to do it on even ground."
He opened his eyes, gaze distant.
Daniel could tell Ethan was skeptical.
"People like her—rich, powerful, stunning—they usually have an overinflated sense of self. Not always their fault. It just… happens. Everyone treats them like they're the center of every story. They start to believe it."
"And your answer," Ethan said, slower now, "is to not treat her that way."
"Exactly. I need her to understand that I don't need her. Not romantically. Not emotionally. And especially not politically. I have my own value and plans."
There was a pause. Then, more thoughtfully, Ethan murmured, "You don't think she'll be offended?"
"Oh, she's definitely offended," Daniel said with a quiet chuckle. "But she's also intrigued. You saw her face. That wasn't fury. That was confusion."
"She expected a fight. Or flattery."
"Exactly. And instead she got honesty. Undiluted. Controlled. Strategic."
Ethan was quiet again for a moment. Then:
"You're a dangerous man, aren't you?"
Daniel laughed, low and easy.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, I am."
The door behind him slid open.
He turned his head, but didn't rise.
Vivian stepped out in a long, dark silk robe embroidered with white lotus blossoms. Her hair was down now, a soft contrast to the sharp lines of her features. Her eyes flicked to him briefly, unreadable.
Daniel just offered her the same small, polite smile.
He didn't comment on her appearance. Didn't stand. Didn't change tone.
Vivian crossed the room silently and pulled aside a screen that revealed a second, smaller sitting area where a spare futon had been laid out. She paused there, hand on the wall.
"I'll take the outer room tonight," she said, voice carefully even.
"Of course," Daniel said.
He didn't offer protest. Didn't try to switch places out of courtesy.
She nodded once and disappeared behind the screen.
Daniel let his head rest back against the wall. The evening air smelled faintly of orchid and ozone—clean, manufactured, like someone had bottled the idea of serenity and pumped it through the vents.
For a moment, it was quiet.
Then a voice floated out from behind the screen, sharp and dry:
For a moment, it was quiet.
Then Daniel said quietly—just for Ethan:
"This is the part where the white moonlight calls, isn't it?"
"What?" Ethan said.
The rival," Daniel said, as if he were commenting on the weather. "The soft-spoken, childhood friend. The one who thinks he deserves her more than me. He'll try to ruin the wedding night. Hospital visit. Magical poisoning. Something dramatic."
"What iare you talking about?"
Vivian, oblivious to the conversation unfolding in Daniel's head, stepped back into view—halfway through tying her robe tighter at the waist. One hand flicked toward the message crystal embedded in her charm band. It pulsed—just once—dimly.
She frowned.
Tapped it.
The light bloomed again, brighter this time. A message.
Daniel watched her expression tighten by degrees. Not panic. Not worry. Just that carefully contained discomfort of someone who really didn't want to be right.
Her thumb slid over the crystal. She read it. Once. Then again.
She looked up, and for the first time that evening, her mask cracked—just slightly.
"I… need to leave," she said. "My friend, uh, he is hurt."
Daniel didn't move from his spot.
He just lifted a hand and waved her off, as casually as if she were going to fetch tea. "Go ahead. Do what you gotta do."
Vivian hesitated.
A flicker of uncertainty passed behind her eyes.
She turned, said nothing else, and left.
The door whispered shut behind her.
Silence.
Ethan was the first to break it.
"What the hell was that?"
Daniel didn't move.
"You saw it, didn't you?" Ethan went on. "That hesitation? That was real. She didn't expect you to just… let her go."
Daniel smiled faintly. "Because she expected a fight."
"Which should have happened. You're just going to let her run off to another guy on your wedding night? Are you insane?"
"Of course I am."
There was a beat of stunned silence.
"Weren't you just giving that whole speech about not pretending? About matching expectations?"
"I am," Daniel said calmly. "And that—" he gestured vaguely toward the closed door, "—that is an expected plot element."
Ethan went silent.
Daniel continued.
"Ethan, she likes someone else. Or at least, she thinks she does. He probably confessed a long time ago, never got an answer. Thought she'd choose him when the time came when she firmed up her position. But then this marriage happened. So now, of course, he reaches out to interrupt and shake up a situation which is already on a sandy foundation."
Another pause.
"He doesn't just want her to come to him. He wants her distressed. He wants me angry. He wants the tension."
Ethan made a noise like a man short-circuiting. "That's insane."
"No," Daniel said. "That's the script."
"You're confused," Ethan muttered.
"No, I'm not. You're confused because you think honesty and logic are the same thing. They're not." Daniel exhaled and stood slowly, stretching his arms. "This whole world is a game of masks and lines. She thinks this is the one moment she can break the rules without consequence—run to the one person who still treats her like she's fragile."
He walked to the window and looked out over the glittering floating gardens, hands folded behind his back.
"I'm not going to chase her. I'm not going to beg her to stay. I'm not going to make this into some romantic martyrdom."
"Why not?"
Daniel's voice dropped.
"Because I want her to come back on her own."
He turned slightly toward the door she'd gone through.
"And more importantly—because I want her to wonder why I didn't stop her."