You weren't thrilled with the idea of hanging out with the man you called "husband."
How could Muzan ignore you—every single day for the past two weeks—only to take you on some "date" as if that would make up his neglect?
The morning of your doomsday, you finally told your mother about your night plans.
Your husband, the absurdly good-looking man who never joined you for meals and leeched off your family's housing, was planning to take you to some unspecified fun location.
Did Muzan even have a place in mind?
"Oh, finally!" your mother gleefully shouted, carrying an aloe vera pot to the corner of your family's medicinal herb shop.
You raised an eyebrow. Oh, finally? you thought, mentally scoffing at her comment.
"He's so charming, isn't he?" your mother asked.
For the past half-hour, you've been complaining about how terrible Muzan was.
He's in his room all day and would emerge during the night like some zombie. Even when you passed him in the halls, he barely glanced at you much less spoke to you.
Your concerns, however, completely flew over your mother's head.
"He's such a considerate, wonderful man," your mother said, now reorganizing the jars of ginseng.
Considerate? Wonderful?
Was your terrible relationship with Muzan a joke to her?
Could she not see Muzan's outright disrespect for you and your family?
"You haven't even given him a chance, missy. I'm sure you and Muzan will warm up with time," she added.
You rolled your eyes when she turned her back to you. As if two weeks weren't enough time.
While you loved your mother, you had to resist the urge to slap her or throw a tantrum. Your mother appeared to be the root of your love life frustrations.
The sanctity of your eighteen-year-old life, tarnished by your mess of a marriage.
The secret love you harbored for your childhood friend, who your mother had forbidden to see you.
That night, you began preparing for Muzan's invitation.
You already donned your best kimono, red silk with floral patterns.
Sitting by your vanity desk, you watched your lady-in-waiting behind you from the mirror. She expertly twirled sections of your beautiful locks before fastening them to your head.
Just as she finished the hair arrangement with a cherry blossom pin, your mother rushed in.
"Muzan-sama's waiting for you outside," she announced with a grin.
Carefully standing up, you thanked your lady-in-waiting and mother before heading out, hiding a slow sigh as you left your room.
As you approached your mansion's entrance, you spotted Muzan by the doorway. Behind him, a horse-drawn carriage awaited you two.
Noticing your arrival, his tall figure approached you with a lean, athletic saunter about him.
He was exactly as handsome as you remembered him.
His high cheekbones, his strong jaw, his big almond-shaped eyes.
The pile of dark, wavy hair, neatly parted down the middle in a way that made you want to run your hands through his luscious locks.
You almost forgot how much you disliked your husband until he stretched a hand in your direction, ready to escort you to your ride. "Y/N," he called.
He smirked, his lips full and rosy. They're kind of cute.
But you looked at his offer, then shot him a glare. "Don't you dare think you can touch me."
Swatting Muzan's hand away, you hopped into the carriage by yourself. You're a capable woman, after all.
From the corner of your eye, you could tell that Muzan was taken aback as if he's never had someone deny him before. His grin had instantly disappeared, replaced with a slight frown instead.
A smug smile formed on your lips. Serves you right.
After collecting himself, Muzan quickly shared his destination with the carriage driver before stiffly taking a seat next to you.
Just one glance in your direction told him that you were not interested in speaking.
You were quietly staring out the window with your hands on your lap, squished so far towards the other side of the small carriage to ensure that not even your elbows would ever brush against Muzan's during the ride.
"Well," Muzan started as the vehicle began to move. "I don't suppose you even know the destination?"
You gulped at the realization.
You didn't.
You didn't know where your husband was taking you.
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