The morning sun filtered through the towering windows of the mansion, casting pale gold light across the marble floors and high ceilings. The estate felt almost too grand in the quiet stillness, as if even the walls were holding their breath.
Leah stood in front of the long mirror inside Izana's bedroom.
She had grown used to waking up in this room — to the heavy curtains, the polished dark wood furniture, the faint scent of sandalwood that lingered in the air. Yet every morning, there was still a moment where she felt like she didn't quite belong.
She adjusted the sleeve of her simple dress. It wasn't new. Just something modest and plain that had been brought to her after she moved into Izana's room. Most of her belongings were folded neatly into a section of his wardrobe now — though "most" wasn't much.
A soft knock echoed.
Before she could respond, the door opened.
Izana stepped inside.
He wore his white blindfold today — smooth silk wrapped perfectly around his eyes, tied securely at the back of his head. The white made him look almost untouchable, almost ethereal, contrasting against his dark clothing and composed posture.
Leah's breath caught slightly.
Even without seeing his eyes, she could feel when his attention settled on her.
"You're standing too long," he said calmly.
She blinked. "I just got up."
"You're still recovering."
"I'm fine."
"You say that every day."
She huffed softly, but there was no irritation in it. "Because it's true."
He approached her slowly. Even blindfolded, his movements were precise. Controlled. His gloved hand lifted gently, brushing against her forehead out of habit.
Her temperature was normal.
Still, he lingered.
"You're stronger than last week," he said quietly.
"That's because you wouldn't let me move," she teased faintly.
"I would do it again."
She smiled.
There was a brief silence before he spoke again.
"We're going out."
Her brows lifted. "Out?"
"To buy you clothes."
Her posture immediately stiffened. "I don't need clothes."
"You have five outfits," he replied.
"That's enough."
"For a servant, maybe."
She went still.
His tone hadn't been mocking — only factual.
"You are not a servant," he continued evenly. "You will not dress like one."
Leah lowered her gaze slightly. "It feels wasteful."
"It's necessary."
She hesitated. "I don't want you spending money on me."
"I already have."
She looked up at him.
"You live here. You eat here. You sleep in my bed," he said calmly. "Buying you clothes is not excessive."
Her cheeks warmed faintly.
"…You make it sound simple."
"It is."
He extended his hand toward her.
"Come."
The mansion gates opened smoothly as the car pulled out. Leah watched them close behind them, feeling that familiar nervous flutter in her chest.
She hadn't gone out much since falling ill.
Izana sat beside her, posture relaxed but alert. The white blindfold caught the sunlight, making him appear almost radiant in the quiet interior of the vehicle.
"Are you tired?" he asked.
"No."
"You're quiet."
"I'm thinking."
"That's dangerous."
She glanced at him. "I always think."
"Yes. Too much."
She smiled faintly.
They arrived at a boutique known for its discretion and luxury. The staff immediately straightened when they saw Izana step out of the car.
Leah felt the shift instantly.
Respect.
Caution.
Fear.
Izana ignored it.
He placed a steady hand at the small of her back and guided her inside.
The boutique was elegant but understated. Soft lighting. Carefully spaced racks. Gentle instrumental music in the background.
Leah instinctively gravitated toward the simpler clothing.
Neutral tones.
Modest cuts.
Durable fabrics.
She picked up a cream blouse and checked the price tag discreetly.
Acceptable.
It went into the basket.
A navy skirt.
Practical.
Into the basket.
Comfortable flats.
Necessary.
Into the basket.
Izana followed at a quiet distance, listening more than watching. He could hear the faint shift of fabric when she lingered. The almost imperceptible pause in her breathing.
She stopped in front of a pale blue dress.
Her fingers brushed over the material.
It was light. Soft. Flowing.
She held it slightly longer than the others.
Then she turned the tag.
Her breath faltered.
Too expensive.
She placed it back carefully.
Moved on.
Izana said nothing.
But when she stepped toward another rack, his hand reached out smoothly. The dress joined the basket.
Next, she paused at a soft white cardigan. Her fingers traced the sleeve.
Again, she checked the price.
Again, she put it back.
Again, it disappeared into the basket when she wasn't looking.
"Try these," Izana said, handing her the items she had officially chosen.
She nodded and disappeared behind the fitting room curtain.
The first outfit was simple. Clean. Modest.
She stepped out quietly.
"Well?" she asked.
He tilted his head slightly toward her.
"It fits."
"That's all?"
"You look acceptable."
She rolled her eyes slightly. "Acceptable?"
"You deserve more than acceptable."
Her heart skipped.
He held out the pale blue dress.
"You forgot this."
"I didn't choose that."
"You did."
"Izana…"
"Try it."
There was no sharpness in his tone. Only certainty.
She hesitated before taking it.
Inside the fitting room, she changed slowly. The fabric felt different against her skin — lighter, softer. Almost too delicate.
She stepped out.
The dress flowed gently around her, catching the light.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Even without his sight, Izana felt it.
The way the room shifted.
The way her breathing changed.
"You like it," he said quietly.
She swallowed. "It's beautiful."
"Then it's yours."
"I can't justify it."
"You don't need to justify something that makes you happy."
She stared at him.
"I'm not used to choosing what makes me happy."
His posture softened slightly.
"I know."
That simple acknowledgment nearly undid her.
When she returned to change, Izana calmly added every piece she had lingered on.
The cardigan.
The embroidered blouse.
A light coat she had admired but never touched.
He did it effortlessly.
Decisively.
At checkout, Leah finally glanced into the basket.
Her eyes widened.
"Izana."
"Yes?"
"These aren't mine."
"They are."
"I didn't—."
"You wanted them."
"They're expensive."
"And?"
She faltered.
"I don't want to depend on you for everything."
"You're not."
"It feels like it."
He turned slightly toward her.
"You depend on me because I allow you to," he said evenly. "And I allow it because I want to."
Her cheeks flushed faintly.
The total was announced.
It was more than she had ever spent in her life.
Izana removed his black card calmly.
No hesitation.
No reaction.
Approved.
The bags were handed over.
Outside, the air felt lighter.
Leah clutched one of the boutique bags, still slightly dazed.
"I feel spoiled," she admitted softly.
"You are."
"That's not a good thing."
"It is when it's intentional."
She looked at him.
"Why do you do this?"
"Because you hesitate before wanting something."
Her chest tightened.
"And I don't want you to hesitate anymore."
The white blindfold caught the sunlight again as he turned slightly toward her.
"You belong beside me," he continued. "Not behind me."
Her throat burned faintly.
The car ride back to the mansion was quieter — but not heavy.
When the gates opened and they drove through, Leah didn't feel like she was entering something overwhelming.
She felt… steadier.
Inside the grand foyer, the staff carefully took the shopping bags.
Leah hesitated at the base of the staircase.
"Izana?"
"Yes."
"Thank you."
He paused.
"You don't thank your husband for doing what's natural."
Her heart skipped.
Even now, hearing him say that word so casually still made her blush.
"It's still important," she said softly.
He stepped closer, gloved fingers brushing lightly against her chin.
"You will not live like you're temporary," he murmured. "Not in my mansion. Not beside me."
Her fingers tightened around the edge of her new cardigan.
For the first time, she allowed herself to believe it.
Maybe she didn't have to shrink.
Maybe she didn't have to choose the smallest option every time.
Maybe she was allowed to wear something beautiful simply because she liked it.
Izana extended his hand.
She placed hers in it without hesitation.
And together, they walked deeper into the mansion — not as master and guest.
But as husband and wife.