(Caption) My Male Wife

"Go to bed early tonight, alright? You've been pushing yourself too hard lately. I'm worried about you."

Her voice was soft, her gaze so gentle it felt like it could melt me. Those clear blue eyes fixed on mine, and for a moment I almost lost myself.

Our engagement had been arranged for political reasons between our families. At first, I hated it. To me, this was nothing more than a transaction, not the choice of two people. But the first time I met her, my feelings wavered completely. She had a slender figure, delicate features, and long silver hair that framed her in an elegant gown. Every movement carried a quiet charm that was impossible to ignore. In that instant, I even felt a flicker of gratitude—if a political marriage meant such a fiancée, perhaps it wasn't such a curse after all.

We grew closer over time. She often smiled modestly, yet whenever I was weary, concern would surface in her expression. At balls, she would take my arm and whisper advice on how to navigate the labyrinth of etiquette. In private, she would bring out novels that were far from refined and share them with me in secret. Slowly, I began to treasure those moments. I even found myself longing to see her again.

Then came the night that changed everything. By chance, I pushed open her door and what I saw stopped my heart. She was still breathtaking on the outside, but beneath the layers of disguise, I saw the truth—she was not a young woman, but a man.

I couldn't accept it. A rush of anger, humiliation, and betrayal hit me all at once. I wanted to tear up the engagement that very night. We fought bitterly; I demanded to know why she had hidden this, if she had been mocking me all along. She stayed silent, listening with reddened eyes, but never letting a tear fall.

For days, I avoided her, my mind in turmoil. Yet fate has a way of mocking us. In that distance, I noticed more. She shared my passion for old military texts and could debate strategy with me until dawn. She loathed shallow social games just as much as I did, yet when necessary, could perform flawless courtesy. Most of all, her care for me never wavered. Even when I turned away, she would still prepare my favorite pastries, still place a warm shawl on my shoulders on cold nights.

Little by little, my anger faded. In its place grew something I could not deny—an affection deeper than anything I had ever felt. Her gender no longer mattered. What mattered was the ease and comfort I felt beside her, a feeling more profound and real than the first moment I had been struck by her beauty.

Now, I can admit it without hesitation—I love her. I love the one who stands beside me, regardless of whether she is maiden or man.

Next week will be our wedding. Just the thought of her walking into the chapel at my side makes my heart race uncontrollably.

I no longer care for the world's judgment. All I know is that this unexpected marriage has given me the greatest companion of my life.