The robe was too red.
Not just red—imperial red. That obnoxious, overcompensating shade that screamed obedience and virtue and sacrifice. It shimmered under the lantern light, the gold-threaded phoenixes along the hem practically flapping their wings with smug superiority.
I looked like someone had dipped me in blood and crowned me with expectation.
"Too red," I muttered at the mirror.
Behind me, I could hear him approaching—quiet, confident footsteps. Zhu Mingyu didn't bother announcing himself anymore. I suppose husbands don't have to.
He appeared in the mirror's reflection, half-dressed in dark robes, carrying a lacquered box like it was something sacred. I didn't move.
"It suits you," he said, staring at my reflection like I was staring at his. "Here. This is for you," he continued, holding out the beautiful box.
I turned slightly. "Unless it's my freedom, I don't want it."
He didn't smile. Just held it out a little farther, waiting.
