Steam curled around Selene's skin, clinging to her like invisible hands. Her face burned crimson as water ran down her neck, her breathing heavy enough to fog the mirror. Shivers raced down her spine even as her heart burned with a heat she couldn't name. For the first time in her life, she was living under the same roof with a man—and not just any man, but the one her father had chosen.
She remembered being fourteen, wild and untamed, the spoiled tomboy who did whatever she pleased. Her mother had warned her, "No one will marry you if you stay like this." She had laughed then, saying she never wanted to marry at all. And her father, Ethan, had promised: "I will never give you to someone I don't trust more than myself." Back then, Selene thought such a man couldn't exist. But now, standing under the shower, she realised Ethan had found him. Milan.
Her hands clenched. Embarrassment flooded her chest. Her breath quickened. And unbidden, Milan's face rose in her mind—no glasses, no mask, no cap. Just him.
Black hair, long and wavy, brushing his shoulders like strands of night with streaks of gold burning through it. Eyes of molten gold rimmed with silver—the eyes of gods and Buddhas described in myths. A jawline too clean to be real, lips soft as rose petals, skin like untouched snow. Looking at him didn't just soothe her; it dissolved her. If a god had been sculpted from light and dusk, this is what he would look like.
She had been uneasy when Ethan handed her over, even angry. But she knew how much her father loved her. If he could entrust her to Milan, it meant he placed this man above himself. Still, after seeing Milan's real face, she couldn't pretend nothing was stirring inside her. She was pure, yes, but she was also a woman in her prime, and no woman could remain completely sane before a man like that.
Back in the spare room, still flushed from the shower, Selene froze when a knock came at the door.
"Wha—what happened?" she stammered, clutching her towel tighter.
"Do you have clothes?" Milan's voice was calm, almost weary.
"How can I have clothes when I just took a shower?" she shot back, her tone dripping with mock outrage.
Milan sighed. She could hear it even through the door.
Only then did she realise she hadn't brought a change of clothes. Heat surged to her cheeks again.
"I… don't have anything," she muttered, burying her face in her hands. "Could you… please… lend me something of yours?"
On the other side, Milan's voice carried a rare edge of frustration. "Okay."
She wanted to hit her head against the wall. You're too dumb, Selene. How can a grown woman forget her clothes? Where's your dignity?
Moments later, Milan handed her an oversized T-shirt, jacket, and trousers. She slipped them on—the T-shirt hanging loose over her curves, the trousers brushing her ankles. She didn't bother with the jacket.
When she stepped out, Milan was seated quietly. The moment her eyes met his bare face again, she flinched and hid behind the wall. Her heart thundered. Ethan's voice echoed in her mind about marriage. This man… this man is supposed to be mine. She forced herself to compose her features, then walked to the table with the poise of a grown woman, not the girl from earlier.
"Thank you for lending me your clothes," she said softly, eyes fixed on the floor.
Milan looked up briefly. In that glance his entire aura was different—no trace of the teasing boy from before. His eyes were calm, his voice like velvet. "No problem."
Every small movement on his face was art—each blink, each curve of his lips. No woman born in this era or the last could look at him without her heart shifting. Selene's entire body heated. She was even thinking, absurdly, of names for their children.
"Are you ready?" Milan asked, still composed, still avoiding her eyes. "Let's go buy some clothes for—"
"Milan Everhart," Selene interrupted.
His gaze lifted sharply, surprised by the steel in her tone.
She sat upright, a new gravity in her posture. Her voice was steady, no hint of the childishness from before.
"Milan Everhart," she said again. "I, Selene Nivara, want to marry you. I have fallen in love with you. From the first time I saw you, I knew. It is my father's wish too, and I know you have already guessed it. I'm asking you—please. Marry me."