Chapter 3

A few minutes after the tea incident, Sandra returned to the living room carrying a small first-aid kit.

"Kiara, put your foot up on the sofa," she said — gentle, but in a tone that left no room for argument. "Let Alvar treat it before it blisters."

Kiara hesitated, her eyes drifting to Alvar, who sat across from her. He said nothing. His face was unreadable, his gaze cool but controlled — the kind of look that somehow made Kiara unable to protest.

Slowly, she lifted her foot onto the sofa.

Alvar sat before her with a damp compress and a tube of ointment. When his eyes dropped to her leg, he exhaled quietly and swallowed. Her cutoffs left her legs fully visible — long, pale, and strikingly out of place in a village living room.

His hands worked quickly, professionally. He cleaned the reddened skin, pressed the compress down with care. His touch was light, barely any pressure at all. Not a single word left his mouth. The silence only made Kiara more restless.

She stole a glance, studying his face from this close. A strong jaw. Neat brows. An expression locked tight. Nothing about him matched the grimy country bumpkin she'd imagined. And that — for reasons she refused to examine — made something in her chest feel strange.

"Done." Alvar's voice was clipped. "Keep it away from water for now."

Kiara gave a small nod. "Thanks," she said quietly — a far cry from her tone earlier.

Sandra smiled with relief. "Good. Now go rest in the bedroom. Alvar, walk Kiara there. I'll get lunch ready."

Alvar stood. "Let's go."

Kiara got off the sofa, a little stiff with awkwardness. She picked up her suitcase and followed Alvar, who was already walking ahead through a corridor on the side of the house.

They moved side by side, but the distance between them felt vast. No conversation. Just the sound of footsteps and an unfamiliar tension that both of them kept buried.

Behind his calm exterior, Alvar held back a single thought that wouldn't stop nagging.

"This city woman is going to test every ounce of my patience."

He stopped in front of a light brown wooden door. Pushed it open and stepped aside for Kiara to enter first.

"This is our room," he said simply.

The room was modest — not large, not fancy, but clean and neatly arranged. A medium-sized wooden bed with fresh sheets, a small wardrobe, a simple vanity, and a single window that looked out over the backyard garden. Air moved freely through it, carrying the scent of earth and damp leaves.

Kiara looked around. Not as bad as she'd expected. Comfortable, even. But one detail made her chest tighten.

"So... where do you sleep?" she asked, crossing her arms.

Alvar turned. "Here."

"What?" Her eyes went wide. "What do you mean?"

"We share a room." His voice was flat. "You're my wife."

The blood rushed straight to Kiara's head. "Like hell we do!" she snapped. "You think I want to share a room with someone I don't even know? This is insane!"

Every filter she had was gone. Alvar exhaled — deeper this time — but kept his voice under control. "Like it or not, we share a room. Want it or not, we share a room."

That was gasoline on a fire.

"You're a bully!" Kiara jabbed a finger at his chest. "I don't want to live in this village! I don't want to live like this!"

Alvar's gaze sharpened. "And city girls like you have always been impossible to deal with," he fired back, cold and even. "Spoiled and selfish."

His head throbbed, his patience running dangerously thin. A knock on the door cut through the standoff.

"Alvar?" Sandra's voice came from outside. "Lunch is ready."

Alvar looked away from Kiara. "Come on. We're eating." Short. Cold. He walked out without waiting for an answer.

The moment Alvar reached the dining room, Sandra noticed her son's sour expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked gently.

Alvar pulled out a chair, sat, and exhaled. "I don't think I can live under the same roof as Kiara, Mom. She's impossible. A city girl — she'll never last out here."

Sandra studied him for a long moment, then offered a faint smile. "Be patient, Alvar. She's your wife now. Not a guest."

Before Alvar could respond, Kiara emerged from the bedroom. Her stride was poised, her expression calm — a complete departure from the person she'd been moments ago.

Both Alvar and Sandra went quiet.

Sandra was on her feet immediately. "Come, Kiara. Sit here — I made tangy vegetable soup and fried fish."

Kiara smiled sweetly. "Thank you, ma'am."

She sat down and helped Sandra arrange the plates, even asking small questions about the cooking. Her voice was soft, her manners polished — almost no trace left of the girl who'd been throwing a tantrum seconds earlier.

Alvar watched from a distance, quietly stunned. This house had been quiet for so long. And in barely half a day, his mother already looked like she adored Kiara.

The corner of his mouth lifted, just barely.

Kiara stared at the plate in front of her. A large piece of fried tilapia sat perfectly on a bed of warm rice, chili paste and fresh herbs arranged on the side. The aroma was savory, inviting — and it made her chest constrict.

Her body tensed at the mere thought of it. She'd been allergic to freshwater fish since childhood — tilapia especially. Her skin would break out in hives, her throat would tighten if she didn't take medication quickly.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Sandra asked gently, noticing Kiara staring silently at her plate. "Not hungry?"

Before Kiara could answer, Alvar leaned back in his chair. His voice was flat but barbed.

"Mom's cooking probably doesn't suit her palate." He didn't look up. "She's used to burgers and pizza. Village food was never going to cut it."

The words landed like a quiet slap.

Kiara's head snapped toward Alvar. Her eyes flashed with irritation. There were a dozen things she wanted to throw back at him, but her pride spoke first.

Without a word, Kiara picked up her fork and spoon. She tore off a small piece of the tilapia and put it in her mouth.

"It's fine,* she told herself. *I'll just take the medicine after."

She remembered the allergy pills she always carried in her bag.

Sandra's face relaxed into a relieved smile as she watched Kiara start eating. "Good, right?"

Kiara nodded slowly, forcing a smile. "It's delicious, ma'am."

Alvar glanced at her — just a glance — then turned back to his own food. He didn't know. And Kiara had no intention of telling him. Because for Kiara Valeska, admitting weakness in front of that man was the absolute last thing she would ever do.

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