Sera fixed me with a sharp, piercing gaze, anger simmering just beneath the surface like a volatile storm.
"First of all, that's a loaded question," she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous octave. "Answer no, and I contradict myself. Answer yes, and you win the argument. But the truth isn't about points or debates—it's far messier than that."
She closed the distance slowly, deliberately, each step measured and heavy. Once she was close enough to feel the heat of my skin, her finger jabbed toward my chest.
"Try bringing up that 'whore' comparison again. I dare you."
The room seemed to shrink instantly under the weight of her intensity. A terrifying, physical pressure flooded the space, and for a second, the air itself felt like lead.
Killing intent—raw and unfiltered—hung in the air. A cold, numbing chill crawled up my spine, and sweat began to prickle my forehead, dripping down my face. My survival instincts, honed by a dozen near-death encounters, screamed at me that she wasn't bluffing. She was deadly serious.
She finally lowered her finger, though the oppressive tension remained as thick as fog.
"Your habit of blowing things out of proportion—that's exactly why these arguments happen," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "Did it ever cross your mind that a wife trying to please her husband doesn't deserve a label like that?"
Her lips curved in a faint, mocking sneer. "And yet, you exaggerated the point beyond all reason. 'More expensive than an Abyss whore'? That's not how the world works, Theo. One of those wouldn't settle for a few paltry cores—they'd demand the heart of a dragon."
Shame hit me immediately, sharp and stinging. I realised then that my comparison had been far over the line, a jagged insult born of my own frustration.
"I'm sorry if that joke went too far," I muttered, my voice quiet and stripped of its earlier bite. "But you're simplifying your part too. You refused me at first. The moment the gift came up, though—you changed your mind. How was I supposed to read that as anything but a trade?"
Sera clicked her tongue, her lips tightening into a thin line of distress. "Did it ever occur to you that I felt humiliated? You met my coldness with kindness... a gift I didn't deserve. I felt ashamed of myself."
I froze, caught off guard by the admission. "And that's what someone ashamed does? They lash out?"
She didn't hesitate. "Think of it as hiding embarrassment. Nobody wants to look weak or vulnerable in moments like that. No one wants to be seen in such a pathetic state. Anger simply shields the ego better."
It made a strange, twisted kind of sense.
Before another thought could form in my mind, she added softly, "You're very cruel, Theo."
The accusation caught me off guard, stinging more than her anger. "Why say that?"
Her eyes glistened with a deep, lingering sorrow, reflecting the dim light of the room. "You turned my past aggression into an argument weapon. You ignored my struggle with my own... fragmentation. Do you think I don't remember that night? Do you think I don't carry the weight of it? It was my first time too."
Then, without warning, she stepped forward and wrapped me in a fierce, desperate embrace.
I froze again, my eyes wide. Her body pressed against mine, a complex tangle of tension and softness. She held me with a crushing strength, as if she were terrified that letting go would cause me to vanish into the shadows forever.
Words failed me entirely. I had been bracing for a verbal battle to the death, not this sudden, complete surrender.
"I know this debate won't end," she whispered into my chest, her breath warm against my skin. "We each have our perspective, our own way of seeing the world."
Her hands cupped my face as she pulled back slightly, her touch gentle yet firm. "Why dwell on the past? What's done is done. Why can't we just focus on us, on the life we have right now?"
Silence fell over the bathroom, heavy and contemplative. Guilt coiled around my heart—I hadn't been the one to take the first step toward peace; she had. I had been ready to burn it all down, while she was trying to save it.
A slow nod was all I could manage in response.
The tension eased, leaving behind a quiet, fragile reconciliation. The conversation hadn't lasted long, but it revealed a hard truth: some problems don't come with clear villains or victims. Sometimes, two minds clash simply because they are wired differently. They don't speak the same language, even when they share the same bed.
It was strange, almost laughable, how such a fiery argument had resolved so easily. When the fight started, I had fully expected a divorce by sunrise.
Ironically, that same night ended in the tub where the fight had begun. Fate's sense of humour was cruel, yet oddly fitting.
For reasons I couldn't quite explain, the intimacy afterwards felt twice as intense as usual. Perhaps conflict breeds a specific kind of hunger—a need to reclaim what was almost lost—that routine can never touch. Does pain simply make the pleasure more acute?
The following days passed in a smooth, peaceful blur. Married life finally tasted sweet, without the bitter aftertaste of resentment. After that emotional explosion, the air between us had finally cleared, leaving behind a strange sort of calm.
Sera eventually admitted how much she had actually missed me during that week of distance. She confessed that books had been her only escape from the loneliness. Hearing that brought a wave of relief; it confirmed that I still held real value in her eyes.
Then came the kicker, the absurd truth behind it all. Her rejection on the day of the gift wasn't some grand statement of manipulation. A favourite character in her book had died, and she had been in mourning, unable to face anything else.
It sounded absurd—insane, even—but she insisted on it until I believed her. Knowing my marriage nearly crumbled over a fictional death left me with a newfound, cautious respect for stories. They were more dangerous than I thought.
Time moved quickly after that, the days bleeding into one another.
Finally, the day arrived—the end of the rituals.
The thirty-first day of our marriage..