I opened my eyes. An unfamiliar ceiling. White, high, stretching endlessly. I remembered coming to the Aoba residence yesterday. But the moment I woke, for an instant, I didn't know where I was. Not the cramped apartment ceiling in Kawasaki. Not the one with a few stains I'd always seen. (This is... my room now.) Saryo Mochizuki slowly rose from the bed. The king-sized bed was too wide for one person to sleep in alone. She brushed back her chestnut-colored hair, her pale amber eyes sweeping across the room. Morning light streamed in through the large floor-to-ceiling window. Yesterday, she'd met Misaki Aoba, her cousin-in-law. That cold gaze. Misaki believed the childhood engagement had been broken because of her. (No one wants me here.) The thought tightened something deep in her chest. She got out of bed and approached the window. When she opened it, cold morning air drifted in. In the courtyard stood a large weeping cherry tree. She'd heard it was eighty years old. It would bloom beautifully in spring, she imagined. But now, only bare branches stretched out, lonely and bare. She took a deep breath. (I have to change. To survive in this world.) When she opened the closet, just as she'd seen yesterday, new clothes hung in neat rows. Designer brands, all of them. Everything looked expensive, out of reach. In the end, she chose the plainest option—a beige one-piece dress. She changed and looked in the mirror. (...This doesn't feel like me.) She looked different from her usual self. But this was who she was now. She had to conduct herself as Renya Aoba's wife. She left the room and stepped into the hallway. Almost immediately, a maid passed by. A woman in her late twenties. When Saryo made eye contact, the woman bowed deeply. "Good morning, madam." At those words, Saryo hurriedly bowed in return. "Oh, good morning..." The maid's expression became slightly troubled. "There is no need for you to bow, madam." Saryo froze at those words. The hierarchy was different here. In this house, she was the superior. But she couldn't adjust to that so quickly. "...I'm sorry." She apologized quietly, and the maid's confusion deepened as she left. (This won't work...) Saryo bit her lip. She made her way to the main dining room on the first floor. She passed through a spacious hall and opened a heavy door. There was one long table. It seated twelve. On top of it, breakfast was arranged beautifully. Croissants, an omelet, fresh fruit, black tea. Everything smelled delicious. But only Saryo sat at the table. Yoshie Dojima emerged from the kitchen. The fifty-eight-year-old private chef had salt-and-pepper bob hair that gleamed softly in the morning light. "Good morning, madam. Did you sleep well?" "Yes... thank you." Saryo took her seat at the table. The chair was heavy, comfortable. But sitting alone in this vast room, she felt impossibly small. "The chairman left for work at six this morning." Yoshie stated it matter-of-factly. (He's already gone...) Saryo thought. Of course he was. He was the chairman of the Silverstone Group. He had work early in the morning. But still—it felt lonely. Eating breakfast alone in this enormous house. She took a bite of the croissant. It was flaky, fragrant with butter. Delicious. But she couldn't taste it. It wouldn't go down her throat. She sipped the black tea. It was hot, fragrant. But somehow bitter. (I'm alone...) She looked across the table. So many empty chairs lined up. Had more people lived in this house once? Renya's family—where were they? When she finished eating, another figure appeared. Tsugumi Seo. The fifty-two-year-old head maid. Her silver-white hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and she wore a black kimono. Her jet-black eyes fixed on Saryo with an unwavering gaze. "Good morning, Miss Mochizuki." Her voice was low, measured. "G-good morning." "This afternoon, we have arranged for an etiquette instructor to visit. You will learn the minimum standards of conduct expected of an Aoba family wife." Saryo's heart skipped at those words. "...Yes." "And," Tsugumi's voice sharpened, just slightly. "In this house, there is no need for you to bow to the staff. Please remember your position." (I know...) Saryo whispered to herself. But she couldn't say it aloud. She could only look down. Tsugumi left without another word. Saryo remained alone in the dining room, staring at the table. (Can I really make it here?) Anxiety spread through her chest. Then her smartphone vibrated. A message from Renya. "3 PM. Come to the study on the third floor." Short. Like a command. Saryo inhaled sharply. (The study...) What would he want? Would he scold her? Or would he impose more conditions? At 3 PM. Saryo stood outside the study on the third floor. Her heart was pounding. Her palms were damp. (It's okay, it's okay...) She told herself, then knocked. "...Come in." A low voice answered. Saryo slowly opened the door. The room was spacious. A large desk dominated the space, and bookshelves lined the entire wall. Through the window, the Tokyo skyline was visible. Renya sat at the desk, reviewing documents. He wasn't wearing a black suit today—just a gray cardigan and black pants. But his presence was no less imposing. His jet-black hair fell across his forehead, shadowing his eyes, revealing only the sharp line of his profile. "...Hello." Saryo greeted him quietly. Without looking up, Renya said: "If you're free, help me organize these documents." "...Pardon?" "Rearrange the files on that shelf in chronological order. Oldest on top." He pointed to a large shelf in the corner of the room, stacked with files. "...Understood." Saryo approached the shelf. She picked up one file. It was heavy. Inside were what looked like past contracts and reports for the Silverstone Group. She began working in silence. The room was quiet. Only the sound of Renya's pen moving across paper, steady and rhythmic. Saryo organized the files while occasionally stealing glances at him. He was reading the documents with a serious expression. A slight crease formed between his brows. He was concentrating. (He's always working...) Saryo thought. At twenty-eight, he was already chairman of such a massive group. It was impressive, but it must be exhausting. About an hour had passed when she noticed an old file on the top shelf. She stretched on her tiptoes, reaching up. It wouldn't reach. Just a little more, just a little more... That's when she lost her balance. "Ah!" The sound escaped her lips. Just as she was about to fall, a hand shot out from the side, firmly grasping her arm. Renya. His fingers touched her arm. In that instant, Saryo felt electricity surge through her entire body. Thump! Her heart leaped violently. His hand was warmer than she expected. Strong. Yet holding her gently. Saryo looked up. Renya was looking down at her. His jet-black eyes fixed on her pale amber ones. For a moment, time seemed to stop. His expression didn't change. But something was different. His eyes—they seemed to soften, just slightly. Or so it felt. "...Be careful." He said it in a low voice. Then he slowly released her. "I-I'm sorry..." Saryo felt her face grow hot. She was definitely blushing. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Renya said nothing and returned to his desk. He resumed reading the documents. But Saryo knew. He had paused too. He must have felt that contact. (What is this feeling...?) She stared at her own arm. The place where he'd touched her still felt warm. It was a contract marriage. A relationship based solely on mutual benefit. And yet, why was her heart racing like this? Why couldn't she stop thinking about him? She was confused. That night, Saryo was in the bathroom of her room. She sank slowly into the spacious bathtub. Steam rose, fogging the mirror. She closed her eyes. She remembered the afternoon. The warmth of Renya's fingers. That brief moment of eye contact. (...This is bad.) Her cheeks flushed. Not from the steam. From her own embarrassment. "What am I thinking...?" She whispered to herself. Her voice trembled slightly. It was a contract. A relationship that would end in three years. And yet... She thought of Renya. His cold exterior. His sharp words. But the gentleness he showed, just occasionally. His past, suffering from his father's business collapse. The way he seemed to have locked away his emotions. (Is he... lonely?) The thought made her chest ache. She got out of the bath and dried herself with a towel. Her reflection in the mirror was still slightly flushed. She lay down on the bed. She stared at the ceiling. Outside the window, a full moon hung in the sky. Its bright light filtered gently into the room. (Will I change... over these three years?) Living in this house. Spending time with Renya. Would her feelings become increasingly incomprehensible to her? Then she heard footsteps in the hallway. Tap, tap, tap... Heavy, slow footsteps. They had to be Renya's. Saryo held her breath. She strained to listen. The footsteps passed by her door. Then they stopped a little further down. A door opened. Closed. He'd entered his room. Saryo exhaled quietly in the darkness. She felt both relieved and somehow lonely. "Good night..." She whispered to no one in particular. She closed her eyes. But sleep wouldn't come. Her mind was full of Renya. What had he thought of that contact? Had he felt nothing? Or had he felt something, even a little? (I shouldn't think about this. I shouldn't.) She scolded herself. But her heart wouldn't listen. The moonlight illuminated the room gently. Saryo gazed at it and became aware—slowly, but undeniably—that her interest in Renya was beginning to take root. Even though it was supposed to be a contract. Even though her heart was wavering. Starting tomorrow, she would learn etiquette. She would have to acquire the conduct befitting an Aoba family wife. But more than that, Saryo feared something else. That this feeling would grow larger and larger. And that it would inevitably lead to a painful ending.