From Stella's Eyes

You stared at the antique grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Time was marching towards 9 PM at a snail's pace. Your new husband's living quarters were by itself larger than your entire shack back in the countryside. This room was made with fine upholstery, and its walls and floors were made of hardy, imported material you had never seen before. A gigantic bed was centered off and leaned against the eastern wall, with its four posters draped in midnight blue fabric.

Prior to the wedding, you were just a guest of the town. The Kugisaki family — the baron and his headstrong yet kind-hearted daughter weren't the most prestigious of families but still, they were nobility. They lived further away from the heart of town and right on the edge of the countryside. You had grown up with their daughter, Nobara, dreaming of finding the perfect man and accomplishing all your dreams along with that. Though Nobara had a stricter checklist, you simply wanted someone who would love you with all their heart. Nobara had promised you that she would take you along when it was time for her debut in the social season. And she kept her promise and the rest is history.

You hugged your knees closer to your chest as you watched the minute hand creep past twelve. It was 9:10 PM. Lord Satoru was late to his own wedding night. The covers that you currently sat on were made of icy blue satin — like your husband's eyes. You had seen your husband up close only once - during the wedding. He was ravishing beyond belief. You had stopped dead in your tracks while walking up to the altar, earning whispers and sneers from the guests. Lord Satoru maintained a cool look. Beside him, you looked much more simpler, much more common. You borrowed one of Nobara’s white dresses — the best fit you could find — a proper wedding gown was completely out of budget afterall. The ceremonies were per custom and the kiss was quick and formal and shorter than you wanted it to be — a simple peck. Maybe — the Lord was saving all the affection for this eve, you thought optimistically. 

The maids and governesses were on high alert post the wedding. They certainly weren’t expecting the bride to be non-aristocratic. They weren’t expecting to teach someone everything from scratch. Anyhow, half a dozen of them stole you post the ceremonies and covered the basics of dining, honorifics, etiquette and what to and what not to expect from my wedding night. They told you it would be enough to survive the night. They told you not to ask the Lord too many questions and try to be genial and compliant. They told you to wait on the bed patiently and not make the first move. You must not make eye contact until the lord speaks first. Then, they undid your braid, brushed your hair straight, unrobed you of your white dress and put you in something pale pink and light, removed the makeup, added makeup, plucked you like a bird being prepared for a feast. But that’s what one does for the sake of love…

You had begun to nod off from the day’s exertion when the door finally opened with a creak. You immediately jolted up and looked around, each hair on your body stood up straight and adrenaline coursed through your body. The snowy haired man entered the room with the quietness of a cat’s footsteps. His blue eyes gleamed like an otherworldly phenomenon even in the dark. He had dressed down into freer, bedtime clothes too. Subconsciously, your knees wanted to come closer to your chest at the sight of him. He neared you with an apprehensive look on his face, nothing you could quite read at an instant. You made your first mistake then, making eye contact and initiating conversation. 

“L-Lord Satoru, I— Please take a seat!” Heat crept up into your cheeks. Who are you to order him around his own house?

He looked slightly puzzled but eventually a small smile made its way up his face. 

“All of this must be new and jarring to you. I apologize.” He says, his voice steady yet soft. 

“Not at all! Why would you apologize!” this time you clamp your hands onto your mouth. In comparison to him you sound so much more brazen.

“The man should apologize first, always. Key to a healthy marriage.” He states, taking a seat beside you on the bed, facing you and using a hand to sway a lock of your hair out of your face. Your breath sways along with his movements. You immediately lower your gaze and scrunch the fabric of your night dress under your balled up fists.

“Nervous?” he asks, leaning in. He is barely a few inches away from you now. Up this close, his eyes look like the ocean — with sparkling and never ending waves. It looks beautiful. Ethereal. Your lips part at the sight. His do too. His white hair is so long and full that it nearly covers his eyes. You have the urge to push it out of the way but you resist the urge. 

You want to hold his handsome face and reprimand him. For not kissing you enough during the wedding ceremony. Right now, your heart’s beating too fast, your brain is working too fast and you could do something very stupid.

“What’s wrong? Did I lose you there?” He blurts out, breaking your trance. 

The moment stretches like a taut string between you, fragile and electric. His breath brushes against your cheek, warm and steady, and you realize just how close he is. Your gaze flickers back to his, and for a heartbeat, you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing you are.

“Nervous?” he asks again, but this time, his voice is lower, softer, like he’s testing the waters.

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You’re too distracted by the way his thumb, rough but gentle, brushes against your cheek, trailing down to your jaw. The contact sends a shiver through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. His fingers linger for just a moment before retreating, leaving your skin tingling in their wake.

“Your eyes…” you manage to whisper, barely audible even to yourself.

He tilts his head, curiosity flickering in his oceanic gaze. “What about them?”

“They’re…” You hesitate, feeling the heat rise to your face again, but the words spill out anyway. “Beautiful.”

His smile widens, a boyish charm softening the sharp edges of his face. “You’re bold,” he murmurs, the words carrying a hint of amusement, but there’s something else there too—something darker, heavier. “I like that.”

Your heart thuds painfully in your chest as he leans closer, his lips now just a breath away from yours. For a moment, you think he might kiss you, and you don’t know if you want to stop him. His hand comes up again, this time brushing against your collarbone, and the simple touch feels like fire.

“You’re trembling,” he notes, his voice a rasp that sends a jolt through you.

“I’m not,” you lie, the words shaky and unconvincing.

“Liar,” he whispers, his lips curling into a smirk that’s both teasing and predatory. His fingers trace a featherlight path up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and you suck in a sharp breath. “Do you always wear your heart on your sleeve, Viscountess?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The way he’s looking at you, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of your face, steals every coherent thought from your mind. You’re aware of how close you are, of the way the air between you feels charged, like a storm waiting to break.

And then he pulls back, just slightly, enough to give you space to breathe, though the heat of his proximity lingers. His gaze softens, and he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice so tender it makes your chest ache. “I’m overwhelming you, aren’t I?”

You shake your head quickly, your hands clutching the fabric of your nightdress even tighter. “No… It’s just—” You stop, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to even begin to articulate the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you.

He chuckles softly, the sound low and intimate, and for a moment, you think you see something vulnerable flicker in his eyes. But then he stands, breaking the spell, and you’re left feeling oddly disappointed.

“Things must be confusing for you —” He sighs and you almost want to whine. “Not to worry, leave it up to me!” he grins at you, fist-bumping his chest. “This viscount is a tactful man. He would not touch the lady until she’s ready!”

Huh?

Before you can protest though, he turns to leave.

“W-wait, that’s not what I—”

“Get some sleep tonight, you must be tired. It’s been a long, chaotic day after all. Let it soak in now that you are the viscountess!” and with that declaration, he shuts the giant oak door behind him. 

For a minute, you try to process what just happened. Your husband came in, assumed you weren’t ready to have a wedding night and just left! Where did he go? This is his room after all.

You make yourself get out of his bed and rush to the door and into the hallway to bring him back. 

Well, at least he should sleep in his own bed. Where did he go? You think. There’s so much you want to talk about, so much you want to know about him.

You check out each door in the hallway lined endlessly with doors. The flicker of candlelights casts long shadows, making the air feel heavier. After the tenth door, when you are about to give up, you hear voices. 

A short walk ahead is an ajar door, emitting the yellow glow of a candlelight. You walk toward it, skeptical as the voices become clearer.

“What took you so long!” It's a woman’s voice. 

“I thought you are quicker at resolving sticky situations at this, Lord Gojo. Looks like that isn’t the case.” You hear another woman giggle followed by the abrupt sound of lingering smooch. 

“Oh my!”

“You talk a lot…” this time, it’s a man’s voice. Satoru’s steady voice, which isn’t soft anymore, it’s a bit condescending now. With your heart thrumming against your chest, you take a peek through the gap and your mouth pops wide open. Before you can scream, you slap your hand onto your lips.

Two familiar looking women are lounging lazily on the bed, naked and sweaty. Lord Satoru stands before them, hands on his hips, eyeing them shamelessly. 

You try to get a better look at the women’s faces and sure enough, they are the daughters of the Iori and Ieiri families. What are they doing here? In that state?

“Mmm’ Toru, come already.” Iori whines, extending her arms as her breasts flop about comically. “I can’t believe you’re wedded to that nobody just to give your family a compliant bride. That’s so stupiiiid!” 

“Come, come.” Ieiri lights up a cigar. “Uta here’s been waiting desperately and eating my ears off. Let’s get this started.” She moves her hair off her chest and gingerly sits beside Iori. 

“You nasty girls.” Lord Satoru snickers, taking both their faces in each of his large hands. He begins to derobe himself before you close your eyes shut tight and break into a run.

You don’t want to see any of this. You don’t want to hear any of it. You just want to go far, far away.

You run blindly down the hallway, your footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls. Your chest tightens, a bitter cocktail of anger, shame, and humiliation swirling inside you. Of course, it was all a game to him. A political maneuver. A compliant bride. The words sting, sharper than they should.

Why did you believe, even for a moment, that someone like him could see you as more than a pawn? A viscount picking a nobody — it was never about love or even mutual respect. Your legs burn as you push yourself faster, desperate to outrun the image etched into your mind: his laughter, their mocking gazes, the way he had touched them so freely.

So he was buying time for them, telling you to wait until you were ready. 

Lies. 

You burst into the first room you see, far away from that rotten place. It seems like a dusty storage — filled with old furniture and cabinets. You slump down into one of the creaky chairs and throw your face into your hands. 

What now? What happens now? It hasn’t even been a day.

What about your dreams? What are you going to tell your family? Nobara?

A sharp knock at the door jolts you from your spiraling thoughts. You freeze, gripping the armrests of the chair like a lifeline. Who could it be? No one should know you’re here—not in this forgotten corner of the estate.

Another knock, softer this time, yet no less unnerving. “May I come in?” a voice calls out. It’s low, smooth, and completely unfamiliar.

You don’t answer immediately, your heart pounding in your ears. The voice doesn’t belong to anyone in the household staff, nor could it be one of the viscount’s guests. And yet, it’s calm, deliberate, and impossibly steady, as if it knew you’d respond eventually.

“Who are you?” you finally manage, your voice sharp despite the tremor in it.

A pause. Then the voice replies, “Yuta.”

That doesn’t help. You rack your brain for any connection to the name, but nothing comes to mind. The name is ordinary, the tone unsettlingly confident. A shiver runs down your spine. What business could someone like this have with you?

Before you can decide whether to tell them to go away, the door creaks open slightly. Instinctively, you press back into the chair, your breath catching.

The man who steps inside is cloaked in shadow, his face dimly lit by the faint moonlight streaming through a small window. He’s tall and unassuming, dressed in simple but well-made clothes that bear no insignia, no hint of rank or allegiance. There’s no reason he should be here—no reason he could be here.

“How did you get in?” you demand, your voice more forceful than you feel. You rise to your feet, keeping the chair between you and him. “This estate is guarded.”

“I have my ways,” he says cryptically. His eyes, calm and hollow, meet yours. “I mean no harm.”

“Why are you here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady. “What do you want?”

“To speak,” he replies simply, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He doesn’t come closer, instead leaning against the wall as if to give you space. “And to offer a warning.”

“A warning?” Your stomach twists. “About what?”

“About your husband,” he says, the words sharp but measured. “And about what kind of man he truly is.”

His words cut through the air like a blade. Your chest tightens, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to respond. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snap, though the tremor in your voice betrays your uncertainty. “You’re trespassing. Get out.”

“Could you say that after that erotic scene you just saw?” He presses and leans in.

“Do you wish to go back and see it through to the end?”

“What the hell?!” you jerk away from him.

“Apologies,” he says, raising his hands slightly, almost mockingly. “Perhaps my words were harsh. But they were honest.”

You grip the edge of the chair to steady yourself, your anger bubbling beneath the surface. “Honest?” you scoff. “You don’t even know me, or my husband. You have no right—”

“I know enough,” he cuts in smoothly, his voice low but firm. “I know what kind of man he is. I know what kind of man hides behind charm and power.” His gaze sharpens, pinning you in place. “And I know what you saw tonight wasn’t the first time, nor will it be the last.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Listen carefully and don’t overreact.” he says as a precaution. What could he possibly say— 

“Leave this estate and that man. Come with me as the duchess.”

The next morning you wake up with the worst headache imaginable. Daybreak is just on the horizon and the birds have started chirping their songs. Your eyes hurt and your cheeks are still stained with tracks of tears. The icy blue satin has snaked its way around your legs and waist, imprisoning you to the bed. What a metaphor. 

You somehow prop yourself up and take a look around the room. Maybe what you saw was a bad dream. Maybe none of it happened and it was all nerves. You hallucinated the worst because of your disbelief at marrying Lord Satoru. 

Your memory feels so blurry and the headache is so strong, it is painful to even think.

Right then, the door to the attached bath opens and out walks a figure with snowy hair dripping with water.

The sight jolts you upright, your heart pounding in your chest. He steps into the soft light filtering through the curtains, revealing Lord Satoru in nothing but loose, low-slung trousers. Droplets of water slide down his toned chest, glistening in the pale morning glow, and for a moment, you can’t look away.

“Morning,” he says casually, running a hand through his damp hair, sending more droplets cascading down his neck. His voice is warm and unhurried, as if the chaos of the previous night hadn’t happened at all.

You blink rapidly, the haze of sleep and confusion battling the vividness of this moment. Was this real? Was he real?

“Y-you’re…” you stammer, clutching the edge of the blanket as if it might shield you from the sheer intensity of his presence.

“Alive and well, if that’s what you’re wondering.” His grin is easy, teasing, but his eyes sharpen as they meet yours. “Though I can’t say the same for you. You look like you’ve been wrestling demons all night.”

You look away, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “I’m fine,” you lie, your voice brittle.

“Viscountess—” Satoru purrs, bending down to meet your eyes, he shakes his head playfully to shower droplets of water onto you, making you hide your face in your palms. 

“Rule number one as the lady-head of this house.” He says, sticking up one long finger and poking your nose with it. “You tell me everything that’s bothering you. I’m the number one person you can trust!”

He smiles gleefully and it makes you want to frown. Why does he want to convince you so bad. It hurts. He could come clean and you would have no power to do anything. 

He does seem to notice your inner conflict and raises your chin to meet his blue eyes. 

“Is something bothering you?” His question is straightforward but his glare seems to be burning holes into your being. 

Yes. You were fucking two women behind my back. Committing adultery. That’s what’s bothering me. You think.

And then almost as if he could read your mind, he swoops down and places his soft lips onto yours. You come as close to cardiac arrest as possible. Eyes wide open like saucers, you cling onto his bare shoulders, begging for air. This only makes him melt into the kiss deeper, he encircles your waist and pulls you closer to him, snaking his way up your back and onto your shoulders, trying to pull your flimsy sleeves off. 

You manage to barely escape from the kiss, with your lower lip still stuck between his teeth. He looks up at you, feral, from underneath his white, misty lashes. 

“L-L-Lord Sa-Satoru. What are—”

“First of all, no lords and sirs. It’s just Satoru to you.” he states, finally letting go of your lip that recoils back into its place, bruised and swollen. 

“B-but, Lord Sa—”

Before you can finish, he’s now onto your neck, kissing, biting and licking at the flesh. He climbs onto the bed, lifting you slightly and placing you on his lap for better position, both of your thighs circling his waist. Any reasonable stream of thoughts is drowned out by his onslaught.

“Satoru, what’s gotten into you?” you ask finally before he can go south from your cleavage. 

“Isn’t that what it is?” He cocks his head to the side and you do too. “... you felt bad that we didn’t have a wedding night. So we’re having one now!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” you try pushing him away. “My governess could come in any minute.” 

“They know better than to burst in when the viscount is in the room, my dear.” He states, stealing another peck from your lips, attempting to catch your lower lip again before you purse them for good. 

For a second there, no words are exchanged and the two of you just stare at each other. 

Is there a possibility that whatever happened yesterday was just a dream? 

There’s this weird scratch you feel on your back that you can’t seem to get rid off or tolerate anymore. 

“Excuse me —” you say, getting off of him and heading to the bath.

When you lift up your skirt a crumpled piece of paper pops out.

You lift it up and inspect it, opening it up and smoothing it out against the marble counter.

“Don't trust him. My offer still stands. 

— Y” 

You swallow hard.

It was no dream.

to be continued......