Issan

You began to hum under your breath, a familiar tune your own mother used to sing when the world felt too big. The melody came back easily, muscle memory wrapped in comfort.

Gradually, his small body relaxed. Big brown eyes blinked up at you in quiet curiosity as his tiny hand reached for your face. You smiled despite yourself, leaning down to nuzzle his cheek, your heart tightening when a soft giggle bubbled from him.

“You’ve got momma running on fumes here, baby,” you whispered fondly.

He only responded by tugging gently at a loose lock of your hair, completely content, as if nothing else in the world existed beyond your arms.

“Mother…” a small, sleepy voice murmured from behind you.

You turned to find your firstborn standing in the doorway, rubbing at his eyes as he fought to stay awake.

“Hey, baby,” you said softly. “Are you okay? Did your little brother wake you up?”

He nodded, padding toward you before wrapping his arms around your leg. You smiled faintly, reaching down to card your fingers through his hair. He leaned into the touch without hesitation, seeking comfort just as instinctively as his brother had.

“Do you want to help me put him back down?” you asked gently.

He nodded again before stepping aside, watching quietly as you rocked the baby for a few more moments. His giggles had already faded, heavy lashes fluttering as sleep reclaimed him. You lowered him back into the bassinet, rubbing his tummy in slow, soothing circles.

Your firstborn dragged over the small step stool and placed it beside the bassinet. Carefully, he climbed up and peered down at his brother, expression soft and serious in a way that made your chest ache.

He tentatively reached down and copied your movements, rubbing his baby brother’s tummy in soft, clumsy circles. It worked almost instantly, tiny breaths slowing down, eyelids drooping until sleep claimed him completely.

“Wanna come cuddle with Mommy?” you whispered.

He nodded, carefully putting the step stool back where it belonged before lifting his arms in silent request. You scooped him up with practiced ease, carrying him back to your room and settling onto the bed. He curled into you the second you lay down, small hands gripping your shirt as you rubbed his back and hummed that same gentle lullaby. It didn’t take long for him to drift off.

You stayed like that for a moment, holding him close, letting the quiet wrap around you. His warmth eased the sting of the empty side of the bed.

Then the door opened.

Your head lifted just as Bi-Han stepped inside your shared quarters.

Your gaze flicked to the clock—far too late—then back to him. He froze for half a second, something flickering across his face, like he hadn’t expected to find you awake,then headed straight for the dresser.

“You’re home,” you murmured.

Bi-Han only grunted, undoing the straps of his gauntlets.

“Why are you still up?” he asked without looking at you.

“Your son woke up crying,” you replied softly. “Why did you come home so late?”

He turned just enough to give you a sharp, warning look before returning to peeling off his armor.

“I had business to attend to.”

“And that business couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” you pressed, your voice gentler than your words.

His scowl deepened as he finally faced you. “These were important matters that required my attention.”

“So important,” you shot back quietly but firmly, “that you couldn’t come home to your wife and children at a decent time, apparently.”

The room went still, the tension settling thick and cold, coiling between the two of you like a crack in ice widening by the second.

A soft shuffle broke the tension for just a moment. Your gaze dropped to your son as he shifted in his sleep, brows knitting faintly. You brushed your fingers through his hair, soothing him until his breathing evened out again, before lifting your eyes back to Bi-Han.

He was watching you now, a deep frown etched into his face, irritation radiating off him like cold air. Your eyes drifted down his body despite yourself, catching the faint discoloration at the base of his neck. Your expression tightened, but you said nothing.

You weren’t foolish.

You knew exactly why Bi-Han had been coming home later and later. Why his patience had grown thin. Why his touch had vanished entirely.

The realization hollowed your chest, pain blooming slow and relentless. He was out there giving his attention so freely to someone who wasn’t you. You sifted through your memories, searching for the moment where things had gone wrong, where love had twisted into resentment.

You couldn’t pinpoint it. Not truly.

You had been everything he asked for. Loyal. Devoted. The perfect Grandmaster’s wife. You had given him two children, two heirs who carried his features so clearly it was almost cruel. Children born of a love you had believed was mutual.

Carefully, you lifted your son and carried him back to his room, tucking him in and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before turning back toward your bedroom.

When you returned, your lips were drawn into a thin line, arms crossing as you faced him.

Bi-Han scoffed, irritation flaring. “Do not start with your incessant whining, woman. I do not have the energy for it tonight.”

“Hm,” you hummed, indifferent at first.

Then your voice sharpened, venom slipping in smooth and precise. “Sektor really took it out of you today, it seems.”

Bi-Han froze.

His eyes widened, lips parting slightly in shock.

You smiled, slow and deliberate, stepping closer. “What’s that look for?” you asked softly. “Didn’t think I knew?”

He stared at you, silent, scrambling for footing.

“I do not know what nonsense you’re speaking of,” he tried.

You clicked your tongue, closing the remaining distance between you, running a finger slowly up his chest.

He stiffened under your touch, eyes tracking every movement.

“If I’m spewing nonsense,” you murmured, fingers curling into his collar, “then you should be more careful about what others might notice.”

You yanked the fabric aside, exposing another darkening mark beneath his skin.

“Husband,” you spat.

Bi-Han flinched when your tone dropped, a small crack in his composure, but you kept your expression blank as you stepped back.

“So,” you asked, voice bored, “what’s the excuse this time?”

“Y/n…” Bi-Han muttered.

You huffed a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Let me guess,” you said, tilting your head. “Did she want to measure how deep you could bury yourself in her while she took notes?”

His fists tightened.

“Or maybe,” you continued, stepping closer just enough to make him feel cornered, “you were too busy with your face between her legs to remember you have a damn home to come back to.”

He still wouldn’t look at you. Shame, guilt—whatever it was, you no longer cared.

You cocked your brows. “Tell me, Bi-Han… What was it tonight? Did she need a test run of your cock for one of her little machines, or were you just desperate enough to crawl into her lap the second she snapped her fingers?”

His jaw clenched, breath sharp through his nose.

You didn’t let up.

“Go on. Say something. Anything.” Your voice dropped to a near whisper, poisonous. “Or is the truth so pathetic you can’t even spit it out?”

“Enough…” he murmured, barely audible.

You stared at him, fury and betrayal simmering hot under your skin. A scoff tore out of you before you could stop it. You shook your head and turned away, crawling back into the bed with the finality of a slammed door.

Bi-Han didn’t move at first. He just stood there, staring. His expression was unreadable, a blank mask that almost looked like guilt.

But you knew better.

He wasn’t built for guilt.

You slipped under the covers, turned off the light, and laid still, clinging to the hope of rest even as your chest tightened.

A moment later, you heard movement. The soft rustle of fabric. The faint creak of the floorboards. Then the bed dipped behind you.

He joined you.

Your body went rigid when his arm slid around your waist, tugging you back against him like nothing had happened.

“You have a lot of nerve touching me,” you muttered, voice shaking.

“…I know,” he whispered into your skin, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

That did it.

Tears welled up and spilled silently, your body trembling as you gritted your teeth and tried to steady your breathing. His grip only tightened, as if holding you harder would fix anything.

“Why?” you managed, voice cracking.

Silence.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even try. He just held you with that cold, stubborn quiet he always used when the truth was uglier than he wanted to admit.

You swallowed hard, breath unsteady.

“If you’re not going to answer,” you whispered, “then leave.”

A deep, tired sigh left him.

“I’m not… used to this…” he murmured.

You stayed silent, expression empty.

“I’m not used to being a husband or a father. I’m not used to being tied down. To commitment.” He swallowed, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. “I felt… trapped.”

Your lips pressed together so hard they trembled.

That was his excuse.

For this.

“I just needed space,” he muttered. “Wanted the freedom of having my own life back. Needed to feel like I wasn’t being held back.”

A sharp, condescending laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“Right,” you said, voice low. “You were being held back by the life you chose. How ironic.”

“Y/n—” he frowned.

“I’ve heard enough.” You yanked his arm off you like it burned. “Go to Sektor. I’m sure she won’t mind having you in her bed for tonight. Or the rest.”

Bi-Han stiffened. “What?”

You turned to face him fully, eyes cold and merciless. “I said go to Sektor. Sleep with her. Stay with her. For tonight or however long you feel like crawling into her sheets.”

“Y/n,” he growled, low and warning.

“Don’t worry,” you said, lying back down with a bitter calm. “I won’t expect you home at a decent hour anymore. Tell your little whore I send my regards.”

“Y/n,” he snapped, glaring, “watch your tongue. I am still your husband.”

You moved slowly, deliberately, turning your head just enough to meet his eyes.

“Husband?” you echoed, a hollow laugh slipping free. “That’s laughable.”

Your stare sliced through him.

“I don’t have a husband,” you said quietly. “He left a long time ago.”

Those words hit him harder than he’d ever admit aloud.

His jaw tightened, teeth grinding as he stared into your eyes.

Those once-warm, once-devoted eyes that used to soften every time he walked into a room. Now they were hollow. Dead. Unrecognizable.

And it was his fault.

All because he’d decided he “felt trapped.”

He should have never gone to Sektor. Never let her worm her way into his head with that smug, poisonous voice. Never let her step beyond her place, not even once. But he was arrogant, prideful, and stupid enough to think he was untouchable.

She knew exactly how to get to him.

She whispered to him in the shadows of the tech labs, told him he deserved more, that he was meant for more. Told him that you were holding him back. That you were soft, unrefined, an outsider contaminating the Lin Kuei from the inside out.

She fed him every insecurity he never voiced, shaped them into weapons, and pressed them into his hands.

And like a fool, he believed her.

At least long enough for the damage to be irreversible.

She promised him greatness. Promised him a union the clan would respect. Promised that together, they would elevate the Lin Kuei into a new golden age.

He knew better.

He knew she wanted to destroy what little softness he’d let himself have. He knew she wanted your place. Your title. Your name.

He knew.

And still, he let her pull him in. Let her pull him away from you. Away from his children. Away from the life he’d sworn to protect.

He collapsed his own home with his own hands.

All she did was aim him.

Bi-Han rose quietly and began to dress, each movement heavy, as though the weight of the world had settled into his limbs. The sound of fabric shifting filled the room, slow and deliberate.

You had already turned away, pulling the covers closer and facing the wall, pointedly ignoring him.

When he finished, he lingered at the doorway. He looked back at you one last time, the shape of your body beneath the blankets painfully familiar. He knew then, with a certainty that made his chest ache, that this would be the last time he saw you like this.

He would be a fool to think you’d still be here by morning.

“…I love you,” he murmured, the words heavy and late.

You didn’t respond.

The silence crushed what little remained of his heart. It clenched once, sharp and final, before going numb again, hardening back into the cold, unfeeling thing it had been long before you ever let him inside.

And with that, he left.