Outside, the sky had darkened to a deep navy color by the time Ryan entered the grand dining hall of the estate. It was silent—silently so—but not ominously so. The sort of silence that swaddled you after a storm, when the turmoil has at last subsided. Having gone months with the pain and putting his body through its paces, silence was a luxury.
The table had been set when he got there. Plates of grilled salmon, sautéed greens, and a bowl of golden mushroom risotto sat neatly on the long mahogany dining table. The warm glow of the chandelier bathed everything in its light, transforming the meal into something almost ceremonial.
Jane sat at the opposite end, her figure poised and elegant. Her purple silk nightdress glimmered with each movement, slender straps against her shoulders, the fabric clinging to her body in a way that was both beautiful and unashamedly seductive. Her hair was loose tonight, curling gently around her face, and a glass of wine sat between her fingers.
She glanced up as Ryan came in, having a barely perceptible smile. "You're right on time," she remarked. "Hungry?"
Ryan nodded and sat down opposite her. "Starving, actually."
They started eating in virtual silence. There was no tension between them now. The silence had grown into something natural. They'd experienced a weird intimacy over the course of the last few months—a familiarity constructed not only from their short marriage, but from all that they'd gone through: tragedy, suffering, revenge, and transformation.
As they were getting down to the last bites of their dinner, Ryan glanced around and saw something he hadn't quite absorbed until this point.
"I've been here for months," he said, sopping up a bit of meat with bread. "And I just realized. all your indoor staff—all women."
Jane's eyes sparkled with mirth. "Ah. So you finally noticed."
Ryan laughed. "I've been sort of busy staying alive."
"Understandable," she replied. She sat back a little, her hand following the rim of her wine glass. "But yes. All staff within this estate are female."
He cocked his head, intrigued now. "Why?"
She placed the glass on the table and rose, her silk nightdress rustling with her movements as she glided slowly around the table towards him. Her bare feet whispered on the marble floor, each step measured. She came to a stop behind him, her fingers trailing against his shoulders.
"Because," she breathed against his ear, "the only man I wish to have admire me… is sitting in front of me."
Ryan's own breath caught, for a second.
He swiveled around to look at her, eyes locking with hers. "That's bold."
"I'm not afraid of bold," she said softly, and her fingers caressed the edge of his collar before she retreated with a wicked grin. "Besides, I don't like unwarranted competition."
As she moved towards the hallway, she cast a look over her shoulder. "Starting tonight, we'll share the same bed. No more separate rooms. No more pretending this is temporary."
He arched a brow, sitting back in his chair. "Is that a command, Mrs. Blackwood?"
"It's a privilege, Mr. Ashworth," she said, disappearing into the hallway with the poise of someone very much in charge.
In spite of the flirting and intensifying heat between them, time remained before night really settled. Ryan did not go directly to Jane's room. Instead, he strolled back to the living room just off the front hall and collapsed onto one of the overstuffed couches.
The fire from the fireplace cast a warm glow nearby, and the aroma of sandalwood lingered thin in the air.
He took out his phone and opened the web novel he had read the day before: Revenant Blade: The Samurai from Another World. The title page greeted him back to chapter 132—Whispers Beneath the Cherry Tree.
Ryan smiled weakly. The tale had held him in its grasp more than he anticipated. It traced Aiden, a disillusioned warrior from Earth who had been reincarnated into a world of magic where political corruption and bloodline reign supreme. But rather than take the path of least resistance to power through magic, Aiden was fascinated by a shattered katana that was deep within an abandoned shrine.
The world had long abandoned the blade, finding it impractical and outmoded in favor of magic and called beasts. But Aiden, battered by wars and tired of relying on others, dedicated himself to bringing back the old ways of the sword. His path wasn't physical—it was philosophical. Every strike of his blade was infused with purpose, every slash a test of will.
In this chapter, Aiden sat under a cherry tree whose petals never ceased to fall—tormented by memories of those whom he had slain and those whom he had lost. There was no enemy to be seen, but only the burden of his choices and the silence that ensued after a battlefield had been stripped.
Ryan was enthralled. Not only by the worldbuilding or the action, but by the manner in which the author conveyed the emotional cost of change. Aiden's journey brought back memories of his own. The hurt. The loneliness. The unshakeable need for meaning after loss.
In the corner of the room, Jane had come back. She was dressed in a transparent robe over her nightgown now and was sitting at a low coffee table, her laptop in front of her and a pile of printed pages to her side. A cup of hot espresso sat beside her elbow, and she pushed her glasses up her nose as she scrolled over rows of numbers and charts.
She was a comforting presence—near but not intrusive.
"You work at this time?"" Ryan said without glancing up from his phone.
Jane responded without breaking stride. "Follow-ups on the board meeting. I'm the chairwoman. I don't get to bed until the paper does."
Ryan smiled weakly. "You're more frightening like this than you are in heels and a gun rig."
She looked at him over her glasses. "Flatter me again and I might spare your life tomorrow."
They exchanged a soft laugh, and for an instant, time slowed. The mansion, big and opulent as it was, was less a fortress and more a home. The tension in Ryan's muscles relaxed, and for the first time in a very long time, he let himself feel like himself.
Hours slipped by like that—him reading chapter after chapter, and Jane working quietly in the background. They would exchange occasional light remarks or gossip about fictional characters as if they knew them personally.
At one point, Ryan laid his phone down and let out a sigh.
Jane caught it and looked up. "Already tired?"
"Just. seeing how little I've seen around here," he said, glancing at the tall bookshelves, the paintings on the walls, the fancy vases in the corners. "Six months that I've been in this place, and I don't know it."
Jane got up, shutting her laptop and arching her back. "That's because you've been surviving."
"Three months unconscious, one recovering, two in hellish training," Ryan grumbled.
She stepped over and stood behind the couch, placing her arms along its backrest as she leaned forward. "But now you're awake, aware, and strong."
He glanced up at her. "And still not finished, am I?"
"No," she whispered. "You have further to go. The day after tomorrow, you start again—with a blade in your hand this time."
He nodded. "Katana."
"Yes," Jane replied. "And you're lucky. Mei Lin is trained by three masters—she's a master katana combatant. You're in good hands."
She walked around the couch and took his hand in hers.
"Come on. We've done enough for today."
As they walked down the hallway to her bedroom, Ryan caught one last look at the estate. The walls were no longer walls of confinement. They were walls of protection. The silence was no longer empty—it was earned.
And for the first time in a long time, he wasn't wondering what the next battle was going to be.
He was wondering about the peace he could fight to preserve.