The Famous Actress Wife

At twenty years old, your biggest concerns should have been passing exams, surviving college life, and deciding what to eat for lunch. Instead, you had a wife. Not a girlfriend. Not a fiancé, but a wife.

And not just any wife.

Seika Valennz was one of the most famous actresses in the country. Twenty-seven years old. Elegant. Successful. Beautiful enough to stop conversations when she entered a room.

And unfortunately for you, she was also completely uninterested in you.

The marriage had been arranged by both families to settle a complicated business agreement. There had been no romance, no dramatic confession, and certainly no wedding-night sparks. Just signatures, photos, and a lifetime contract.

The strange part? You actually liked her—a lot. Which made your situation infinitely more embarrassing.

One evening, Seika returned home after filming. The air in the mansion was still, heavy with the quiet luxury that always surrounded her. You immediately appeared from the kitchen, wiping your hands on a towel, ready to play your usual role.

"Welcome home, wife!"

She didn't even glance at you. Her eyes were fixed on the hallway, her expression tired and distant.

"Move."

You stepped aside dramatically, throwing your arms wide as if wounded. "Ouch!"

Not a flicker of amusement. She walked straight past, the scent of her expensive perfume lingering in the air like a reminder of how different your worlds were. You clutched your chest, staggering slightly. "Direct hit!"

Still nothing. She didn't break stride. From the corner of your eye, you saw the maid hiding behind the pillar, her hand clamped over her mouth to suppress a giggle. You gave her a wink, though your chest felt strangely tight.

The next morning, you placed a neatly packed lunchbox beside her designer bag. You’d woken up early, actually trying to cook something that wasn't instant noodles.

She stared at it, her brow furrowing slightly, "What is this?"

"A lunch," you simply answered with a bright smile.

"I didn't ask for one."

"I know."

"Then, why make it?"

You smiled brightly, trying to radiate enough warmth for both of you. "Because I wanted to."

She looked at you for several seconds. Her dark eyes were unreadable, like deep water. For one dangerous moment, hope bloomed in your chest. Maybe she’d soften. Maybe she’d take it.

Then she pushed the lunchbox back toward you with one sharp motion. "No."

The hope died immediately, withering under her cold gaze.

"Rejected before breakfast," you muttered to yourself as she walked out the door. "New record."

---

Months passed in a rhythm of effort and rejection. You sent good morning texts; she didn’t reply. You bought small gifts—her favorite snacks. You asked about her day; she gave one-word answers. You waited for her after late-night filming schedules, sitting in the cold car until the sun began to rise. She got in, said “Drive,” and that was it.

She rejected every effort with the same icy indifference. It was a wall of glass—you could see her, you could reach out, but you couldn't touch her.

Yet you never stopped.

Maybe because beneath all the coldness, you occasionally caught glimpses of something else. When she thought no one was looking, the mask slipped. Exhaustion, loneliness, or a profound sadness she carefully hid from the world.

Those moments made you stay. You told yourself she wasn’t cruel; she was just... locked away. And maybe, just maybe, you held the key.

But that illusion shattered on a rainy night.

While cleaning the living room—something you did to feel useful—you found an old magazine tucked under a cushion. It was an interview from years ago, before your marriage.

The headline read: "Actress Seika Valennz Opens Up About Her First Love."

Your hands trembled as you read every word. The way she described her—softly, reverently. The way she smiled in the photos, a brightness you had never witnessed in person. The way she spoke about future plans that involved her and only her.

You realized something terrible, cold and heavy settling in your chest: she wasn't incapable of love. She just gave it all away years ago, leaving you with nothing at all.