Vivian

Vivian couldn’t believe what she’d just done.

She had all but told Jun they couldn’t be—couldn’t have been—anything. Not in this life. Not anymore. She’d acknowledged the connection between them, their history, their lingering threads of a bond that might have meant something once.

Now she couldn’t remember what she’d said to him or what she’d only thought. She realized that she had chosen Ethan. She hadn’t said it out loud until now. Not clearly. Not directly. Not even to herself.

Why? Why had she chosen Ethan? Why was she still choosing him?

She hadn’t intended to. That was never the plan. Never the desire.

…Or was it?

Vivian rubbed her temple as she walked with their strange group. Her feelings were a blur. A mess. She didn’t understand them, not really. She knew she cared about Ethan—cared about the way he never pressured her, never gloated, never took more than she was willing to give. She cared about his health, his rest, his careful silences. His restraint.

But was that love?

Did she even know what love was?

She didn’t think so. And right now, she didn’t want to answer that question.

The journey remained uncomfortably quiet.

The Zhou sisters looked vaguely disappointed, as if they’d expected more from her. She liked her sisters-in-law, and she knew they idolized her. It was only natural that if they thought she was hurting their brother—whom she knew they adored—they would be upset with her.

She would have to make sure they knew she wouldn’t do anything to hurt their brother.

Marissa Lin, infuriating as always, looked somewhere between smug and vindicated—like she’d expected Vivian to fail and was pleased to be proven right.

She knew Marissa wanted to marry Ethan. She wondered if Ethan would like that. The busty little firecracker whose whole personality was sexuality.

Did Ethan like girls like that?

Could she be sensual?

Vivian froze and pushed that thought away.

She looked over at the Princess; she could feel Sophie’s eyes. Truly, in this situation, it was Princess Sophie’s expression that unsettled her most.

Sophie wasn’t angry or disapproving. Those she had expected, could even understand. What she did not expect was for Sophie to be... thoughtful.

Which was worse.

“I suppose that’s the lover I’ve heard so much about?” Sophie asked casually.

Vivian’s eyes narrowed. “Who on earth is telling you anything about my love life?”

Sophie smiled faintly and waved her hand. “Vivian. Please. There’s nothing that goes on in the Five Circles—especially concerning heirs of Tier One Houses—we don’t hear about eventually.”

Vivian rolled her eyes. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Then let me manage that expectation,” Sophie said dryly. “Your lover showed up at your marriage celebration to publicly humiliate your husband and nearly got himself executed for it. Any of that ringing a bell?”

“He wasn’t trying to—”

“Vivian,” Sophie cut her off, lifting a brow. “The only reason that idiot is alive is because your husband intervened. And the only reason that went unpunished—well, besides the thorough beating he deserved—is because Ethan handled it like a diplomat and not a swordsman.”

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Vivian crossed her arms. “It’s not your business.”

“It is when one of the Four Beauties of the Empire’s husband is needed to save the world—and instead of supporting him with her time, her resources, her body—she is messing around with her pathetic white-moonlight. Ethan is too important to the future. Explain what’s going on. Consider it a royal order.”

Vivian nearly snapped back something sharp. Something rude. She wanted to tell the Princess to suck spirit smoke and mind her own marriage—which, by the way, didn’t exist, because her fiancé was an arrogant, shallow, disgusting creep.

But then she remembered who she was talking to.

Sophie wasn’t just a princess. She was probably the next ruler. Everyone knew Alaric wasn’t throne material. He was arrogant, strong, and even had a knack for military strategy, but he was too impulsive for the top job when there wasn’t a war going on. Sophie had better sense, better instincts, and more patience. She was better suited for the everyday, and the Empire knew it.

So Vivian bit back the retort.

Instead, she hesitated.

“I…” She took a breath. “We have an arrangement. Ethan and I. We understood from the beginning what kind of marriage this was—arranged, political, formal. We didn’t know each other when we got married. He didn’t want to pressure me. And I… didn’t want to pretend.”

Sophie whistled low. “So he marries the Crane of House Li, and she tells him—what? ‘Thanks for the ceremony, don’t touch me’?”

“That is not what happened.”

“It’s what the Empire thinks happened,” Sophie said. “And let’s be honest, Vivian—we both know you haven’t confirmed your marriage.”

Vivian didn’t answer.

“Three months,” Sophie went on. “It’s been more than three months. Everyone on the MageNet saw the return feast and its aftermath. It was all over the Path Icon feeds. You showed up for him. Stood beside him. Defended him. That mattered. But then you left. You went into sword seclusion.”

“I needed clarity.”

“And Ethan needed what? A placeholder wife? Your absolutely brilliant, dangerously handsome husband—who’s probably going to change the structure of cultivation as we know it—has been married to you for more than ninety days. You are magically tethered and could be completely bonded. And instead of locking down your husband, you just said ‘no thanks’?”

Vivian’s cheeks burned. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

“He respects me,” Vivian said, stiff. “He respects my boundaries. My need not to be controlled.”

“Of course he does,” Sophie replied, voice softer now. “He is a respectful man. He never tried to own you. Which means… he’s not holding anything back. He doesn’t want your body. He wants your loyalty.”

Vivian looked away.

And for the first time in the conversation, she didn’t know what to say.

“Why does that matter to you?” Vivian demanded, turning back, her anger flaring again. “Why do you care so much about my husband’s loyalty or our sex life? If Ethan is so important, as you claim, then why don’t you mobilize the Empire’s assets to get the Divine Moonsteel? Why are you focused on our relationship? What makes you think you have any right? What makes him your responsibility?”

Sophie’s serene expression finally broke, a flash of irritation crossing her features. “Because he is important, Vivian!” Her voice was still quiet, but the mana in the air around them seemed to thicken, pressing down. “And since you’re too busy swinging your sword, with your thumb up your ass, I have to step in and take care of things. Ethan has things he needs, and since you’re not fulfilling your obligation, someone better suited will.”

Vivian gaped, momentarily speechless at the sheer audacity. “What the hell does that even mean? Take care of things? Are you implying I’m… incompetent?”

“I’m implying you’re distracted,” Sophie countered, a predatory gleam entering her golden eyes. “And the stakes are too high for distractions. This whole arrangement will need to be addressed later. I am not going to distract Ethan with this nonsense. I need you focused—so are you with me or not?”

Vivian glared at her. She had never wanted to draw her sword and stab someone more in her entire life. She didn’t—but she was tempted. “I am with you. But Ethan is my husband and my business. This conversation is not over, Princess. Not by a long shot.”

Sophie gave her a sweet, very fake smile. “Good. We have a rendezvous. Elizabeth went up ahead and is waiting.”

Vivian stared at her, caught between fury and a dawning understanding. The Princess wasn’t just being rude; she was issuing a challenge. A gauntlet thrown with words instead of steel.

She took a sharp breath, her gaze sweeping across the other women—Anmei watching with fascinated amusement, Marissa looking smug, the twins trying to appear neutral but clearly intrigued. This was a battle for influence, and Sophie was fighting it on multiple fronts.

Just then, a faint chime echoed from outside the pavilion—a prearranged signal. The rendezvous.

Sophie’s expression smoothed, the edge vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “They’re here.”

Vivian gritted her teeth. She still wanted to argue, to demand further explanations, but the moment for personal confrontation had ended. The Princess had made her point—brutally and effectively.

“Fine,” Vivian bit out, pushing past Sophie and striding toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

Sophie merely smiled, a small, triumphant curve of her lips.

As they moved toward the rendezvous point, the tension between Vivian and Sophie remained thick, a palpable hum beneath their composure. They reached the designated meeting place—a secluded glade marked by a cluster of ancient spirit-willows—where Elizabeth, serene and efficient as always, waited with an imperial carriage. The moment their group met, the arguing ceased, replaced by the crisp formality of command and mission.