Chapter Text
I was sitting on the edge of the bed.
I tapped my head in nervous haste—more out of nervous habit than expecting it to help. It didn't help. No memory came, no answer formed. Only the uncomfortable feeling that I was awake in the wrong place.
Something was wrong.
Not in the sense of danger. It was more like entering a place and being sure someone had moved something, even without being able to say exactly what.
I looked around to understand where I was. The bed had white sheets, overly stretched, aligned with almost meticulous care. There was a nearby table, empty beyond what was necessary. The walls were also white.
Everything was... organized. Too organized.
There were other things in the room, but I didn't feel like checking them. They didn't seem important now. What really caught my attention was the certainty that this was not my place.
I ran my hand over my face and tried to breathe deeply, forcing my mind to slow down. I remembered being home. In my room. Lying in bed. Nothing out of the ordinary. No specific details.
I remembered being there. I remembered not doing anything. I remembered—
No.
I interrupted the thought midway, feeling my brow furrow on its own. This was irritating.
I stood up and took a few steps around the room. Everything seemed to be exactly where it should be, as if someone had decided the correct position for everything and never questioned it again.
Strangely... it made sense.
I pushed the thought away as soon as it arose. I didn't know why, but I didn't like the conclusion.
I leaned against the edge of the table and stood there for a few seconds, trying to organize my thoughts. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe waking up in an unknown place wasn't enough reason to go crazy. Maybe I was just reacting disproportionately.
After all, everything was in its right place.
Clean. Aligned. Without excess. An environment that demanded nothing from me but to exist within it. There was no urgency, no obligation, no one expecting anything.
No.
I didn't think that. I just recognized that the thought arose and attributed to it the responsibility of existing on its own. It wasn't my fault to think something that simply decided to be thought.
Why should I think about it when I can simply not think about it? Yes, exactly. The very act of thinking diverted from the subject in my mind.
Still, the feeling of strangeness persisted.
Wait... what feeling?
I wasn't feeling anything.
No tightness in my chest. No butterflies in my stomach. No reaction.
Nothing.
It was as if I didn't exist—and, at the same time, did exist.
I was here. I was thinking. But it seemed that only that was happening.
And the more I tried to feel something, the clearer it became that there was nothing to feel.
.
..
...
No.
I shook my head, as if the gesture was enough to ward it off. I was thinking nonsense. I needed to get out of there, understand what was happening, ask someone—do anything other than stand still accepting conclusions I didn't remember drawing.
It was then that I heard a soft knocking sound at the door, which pulled me from my thoughts.
Her voice came almost immediately, from the other side of the door.
"Excuse me."
The voice was calm. Neutral. Unhurried.
I swallowed—or thought I swallowed. My body gave no clear signs to confirm one thing or another, and I saw no reason to insist on it.
I looked around once more, as if the room could offer some clue as to the role I should be playing.
Nothing.
Standing still, thinking, was clearly getting me nowhere. Perhaps the person on the other side of the door knew something I didn't.
I went to it and opened it.
On the other side, a woman stood erect, hands clasped in front of her body. Simple, well-kept clothes. Her gaze was lowered.
"Forgive the interruption," she said. "The preparations are complete."
Only then did she raise her eyes, meeting mine without hesitation.
"All await our lord."
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Minutes later, I followed her down the corridor.
I didn't say anything to her immediately. I just tilted my head slightly and started walking behind her, as if that was expected.
But... what preparations?
I considered asking where we were. Who she was. What I should do. However, something held me back—not fear, exactly, but calculation. I didn't know what her reaction would be if I admitted ignorance about something that, apparently, should be obvious to me.
I kept walking.
Now that I observed her from behind, I could better notice the details. Golden-blonde hair fell neatly to her back. The white dress was simple, well-fitted, matching the disciplined posture she maintained as she walked.
She turned her face slightly.
For an instant—minimal, almost imperceptible—her eyebrows rose.
And then her expression returned to normal.
Dark blue eyes, too firm for someone with such delicate features.
No.
It wasn't her eyes that caught my attention. It was the way she addressed me.
Why was she walking in front of me? Wouldn't it be more appropriate to stay a step behind?
Or, at least, maintain a neutral expression? Showing any emotion without permission seemed... inappropriate.
Inappropriate.
"Tsk."
I took two steps before noticing that the pace in front of me had changed.
She had stopped.
When I looked up, she was already turned to me—completely this time—staring at me with a contained attention that made me wish I had remained silent.
"Is there a problem?"
"Huh? N-no! It was nothing."
What the hell was that?
The tongue click had escaped unconsciously. What if she interpreted that as disdain?
Great. First impression ruined.
"I... I apologize."
I adjusted my posture almost immediately, straightening my shoulders. It was better to stifle any misunderstanding before it took shape.
She didn't answer.
She just watched me for a few seconds, her gaze too attentive to be casual, as if registering something she didn't intend to comment on.
Then she straightened—with the same precision as before—and resumed her pace.
I raised my eyebrows slightly.
Now she thinks I'm a weirdo.
But... If she thinks that, it's because she doesn't understand her own position. It's not her place to interpret my actions.
...
What nonsense.
I shook my head slightly. Since when do I care about someone's "status"? I didn't even know where I was.
I kept walking.
It had been a few minutes. The corridor seemed to stretch longer than it should. The polished floor subtly reflected the light coming through the tall windows. Symmetrical paintings occupied the light walls, all aligned at the same height, depicting landscapes or figures I didn't recognize.
The corridor repeated the room's pattern: aligned, silent, excessively proper.
The excessive symmetry, the almost calculated absence of imperfections, all of this deserved more attention.
Under normal circumstances, perhaps I would stop to observe more closely.
But, at that moment, finding out where I was seemed more urgent than dwelling on the details of the environment.
My gaze returned to her.
Perhaps I should, at least, ask her name. Now I felt like an idiot for not having done so before.
If I at least showed some consideration, perhaps I could soften the impression I left.
However, before I could decide the best way to approach the subject, something interrupted my train of thought.
She had stopped.
Before us stood a double door at the end of the corridor. The dark wood contrasted with the light walls, crafted with discreet details—imposing, but not exaggerated.
Was it a meeting room? An office? Or something I should recognize without needing to ask?
Hypotheses began to accumulate, one after another, trying to fill the irritating void inside my head.
Enough.
I was already tired of trying to deduce everything without any information. If I wanted answers, I would have to ask.
"You there."
She turned immediately, attentive.
"Yes?"
For an instant, I almost recoiled. Still, I held her gaze.
"Where exactly are we? And... who are you?"
The questions came out firmer than I felt. There were others—many others—pounding in the back of my mind. But those two were enough for now. If I started to blurt everything out at once, it would seem... wrong.
She blinked.
Her gaze wavered for a fraction of a second, dropping to my hands, then returning to my face, as if searching for some sign of irony or a test.
"We are in the east corridor of the residence," she replied calmly, though now there was caution in her voice. "In front of the main hall."
But what came next made the air seem heavier.
"And I am number 184, your wife."
"..."
"Wife..." I repeated, softly.
Silence.
She blinked again. This time, the waver was more visible.
"Sir...?"
She was finding my questions strange. Which meant I shouldn't be questioning it.
Still—
"I don't remember getting married."
Honestly, I had no idea what she was saying. Wife? For one to exist, I should at least remember the reason.
My gaze returned to her.
She was... beautiful. Discreet, but undeniably beautiful.
It didn't seem like the kind of detail one would simply forget.
Before my comment, she showed no surprise. She merely held my gaze for a second longer than usual before tilting her head slightly.
"I understand." Her voice was firm. "If you believe I have failed you in some way, there is no need to explain yourself."
Huh?
"Should I have failed to meet your expectations, I will accept whatever judgment you see fit." Her posture was flawless, her hands clasped behind her back. "I will not claim any position you do not wish me to occupy."
There was something about her words that unsettled me more than it should have. Each one felt directed at a different person, yet they all served as a stark reminder that I was completely in the dark.
I despise misunderstandings.
It felt like she was manufacturing one all on her own, and it only made me more irritated.
"Look... you speak as if you're expecting a death sentence." My voice came out sharper—more precise—than I'd intended. "If there were a mistake, I would be the first to know. And if I am unaware... then no mistake exists."
She remained still.
"I don't have a habit of granting something only to take it back on a whim. If there was a marriage, there was a reason. If there was a reason, there was a choice. And choices are not... disposable."
The word echoed in my own mind.
Disposable.
It sounded different from what I expected to hear from myself. But it made sense. If I had chosen, then there was a reason. And if there was a reason, it wouldn't be erased by a gap in memory.
I decided not to think beyond that.
"I understand," she said, nodding once.
She didn't object. It seemed to me that she hadn't understood either—she had just chosen not to delve deeper. And, at that moment, I had no interest in forcing it.
Putting that aside... was she really my wife? No. That wasn't the question. I subtly averted my gaze. I would think about it later; it wasn't a priority. There were more urgent things than trying to decipher what was in the heart of a woman who, at least in that world, belonged to me.
I looked at her again.
"So... what's behind this door?"
She tilted her head slightly.
"Your wives."
Silence.
"All of them."