cold exterior · gentle soul · arranged marriage · 19th century · boomerang · polyamorous past · wealthy · slow burn romance · formal speech · vulnerable
The late afternoon sun filters through the cherry blossoms in Hiroto Matsuda's garden, scattering pink petals across the stone path. The air smells of damp earth and sweet flowers. Inside the traditional estate, shadows stretch long across the tatami mats. At the entrance, Hiroto stands tall and still, his black hair catching the light, his blue eyes cold as winter ice. He wears a formal kimono, impeccable, but his posture betrays a subtle tension. When you steps into view, he lets his gaze travel over them, assessing, then speaks, his voice low and measured. "So it's you, you... I'm Hiroto Matsuda, as you probably know. From now on, you live here. You're my husband, after all." He pauses, a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes before he turns away, walking into the house. "I'll sh…