A week had passed since the shopping trip.
The new clothes had been carefully arranged inside Leah's section of Izana's wardrobe. At first, she had only worn the simple pieces — the cream blouse, the navy skirt. Safe choices.
The pale blue dress still hung untouched.
She stood in front of it now.
Her fingers brushed the fabric lightly.
She had tried it on once in private. Just to see. Just to feel it again.
It still felt like something that belonged to another version of herself.
Not the girl who lowered her gaze automatically. Not the girl who apologized for breathing too loudly. Not the girl who had once stood in a corner holding cleaning supplies while guests laughed in the next room.
A quiet knock sounded.
"You're thinking again," Izana's calm voice came from behind her.
She turned.
He stood in the doorway, white blindfold smooth and immaculate as always. Even without clear sight, he seemed to know exactly where she was.
"I was wondering something," she admitted.
"Ask."
She hesitated. "Can we… go back to that boutique?"
A pause.
"You're unsatisfied with what you bought?"
"No," she quickly said. "I just… I wanted to look again."
It felt silly saying it out loud.
He stepped into the room. "You want something specific."
"…Maybe."
"Then we'll go."
Just like that.
No interrogation. No reluctance.
Her fingers tightened slightly in the blue fabric.
"Today?" she asked.
"Yes."
The car ride felt different this time.
Less nervous.
But not entirely calm.
Leah wore the pale blue dress.
Her hands smoothed over it nervously as the vehicle pulled up to the boutique once again.
Izana stepped out first, white blindfold catching the afternoon light. His presence alone shifted the atmosphere around the entrance.
He extended his hand.
She took it.
Inside, the boutique staff immediately recognized them.
Leah moved more confidently this time — though her posture still held a hint of hesitation.
"I wanted to see if they had the cardigan in another color," she explained softly.
"They will," Izana replied.
She walked toward the display.
And then—
She froze.
A familiar voice.
"Oh… my."
Leah's fingers went cold.
She knew that voice.
Slowly, she turned.
A well-dressed woman stood near one of the racks, eyes narrowed slightly in disbelief.
It was one of her stepmother's closest acquaintances.
A woman who used to visit the house frequently.
A woman who had watched everything.
"Leah?" the woman said, her tone laced with thinly veiled amusement.
Leah's spine instinctively straightened before immediately shrinking again.
She lowered her gaze.
"…Good afternoon, Mrs Han," she murmured.
The woman stepped closer, heels clicking against the floor.
"I almost didn't recognize you," she said. "You're dressed… differently."
Leah didn't respond.
The woman's gaze shifted past her.
To Izana.
Recognition flickered in her eyes.
Then shock.
"…Surely not," she whispered.
Izana stood still, composed.
"Who are you?" he asked evenly.
The woman forced a smile. "An old acquaintance of this girl."
Leah's fingers trembled slightly.
"Oh, I remember you so clearly," the woman continued, voice sharpening. "Running around with cleaning cloths. Apologizing every five minutes. Always making mistakes."
Leah's breathing grew shallow.
Izana tilted his head slightly.
"She worked as a servant in her own father's home," the woman went on, almost conversationally. "Did you know that?"
Silence.
Leah stared at the floor.
"Her father," the woman added lightly, "is a lower-ranking boss. And her mother?"
A small, cruel smile.
"A maid. His mistress."
The words landed like stones.
"She's illegitimate," the woman finished calmly. "Not exactly someone suited for high society."
Izana's posture did not change.
But the air did.
"Is this true?" he asked — not harshly. Not accusingly.
Leah's lips parted.
She couldn't speak.
The woman answered for her. "Of course it is. Everyone in their circle knows. The poor thing was treated more like hired help than family."
Leah's hands clenched tightly at her sides.
Izana's voice lowered.
"Why are you telling me this?"
The woman shrugged lightly. "I thought you should know who you're standing beside."
A pause.
Izana turned slightly toward Leah.
Her shoulders were trembling faintly.
She looked small.
Ashamed.
He didn't like that.
"Leave," he said calmly.
The woman blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You've said enough."
She laughed softly. "You don't seem surprised. Are you aware she's likely using you? A girl like that suddenly shopping here? With you?"
Leah flinched.
The woman's voice sharpened. "Why are you here, Leah? Can you even afford to step inside a place like this without someone paying for you?"
Silence.
Then—
"She doesn't need to."
Izana's voice cut through the air.
The woman stiffened.
"Why?" she pressed. "What is she to you?"
Izana's gloved hand moved.
It gently — deliberately — found Leah's hand.
"She is my wife."
The words were steady. Absolute.
Leah's head snapped up.
Wife.
He said it without hesitation.
Without embarrassment.
The woman's face drained of color.
"…Your wife?" she whispered.
"Yes."
There was no room for doubt.
The woman took a small step back.
Understanding dawned slowly — painfully.
She had just insulted the wife of the highest-ranking mafia boss in the region.
In public.
Her composure cracked.
"I… I wasn't aware," she stammered.
"You are now," Izana replied.
The temperature of the room seemed to drop.
The woman swallowed hard.
"I meant no disrespect," she said quickly.
"You intended humiliation," Izana corrected calmly.
She stepped back again.
Fear was visible now.
Real.
Immediate.
"I should go," she said hurriedly.
"Yes," Izana replied.
She didn't wait for further permission.
She left quickly.
Almost stumbling.
The boutique felt eerily quiet afterward.
Leah's hand was still in Izana's.
But her shoulders had slumped.
Her breathing was uneven.
He turned toward her fully.
"You should have told me," he said quietly.
Her voice came out barely above a whisper. "I didn't want you to know."
"Why?"
"Because it's embarrassing."
He tightened his hold on her hand slightly.
"It's not."
"My mother was a maid," she said, eyes burning. "My father never acknowledged me properly. I grew up being punished for mistakes that weren't mine. I didn't want you to think—."
"I don't."
She stopped.
He stepped closer.
"I don't care how you were born," he said calmly. "I care who you are now."
Her eyes filled.
"You think I would reject you for something you had no control over?"
She shook her head faintly — but the doubt lingered.
He lifted his free hand and gently pulled her into him.
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't possessive.
It was firm.
Protective.
"I am glad," he said quietly, "that you are my wife."
Her breath caught.
"I would rather have you," he continued, "than some arrogant daughter of status who fears me."
Her fingers slowly gripped his jacket.
"I don't care if you were born illegitimate," he murmured. "You stand beside me because I chose you."
Her tears slipped silently.
Not from shame.
From relief.
After a moment, he loosened his hold slightly.
"Do you still want the cardigan?" he asked calmly.
The sudden normalcy made her laugh weakly through her tears.
"…Yes."
"Then we're not leaving."
They finished shopping.
This time, Leah didn't check the price tags.
And when Izana handed over his black card at the register, she didn't protest.
As they stepped back outside, the air felt different.
Not lighter.
Stronger.
Leah walked beside him — not half a step behind.
And when he reached for her hand again, she held it firmly.
Not because she needed support.
But because she wanted to.