Beginning to Live Together

Morning arrived without any festive noise.

There were no servants moving back and forth through the halls. No hurried footsteps, no formal commands echoing through the corridors the way they usually did in noble residences. Isac’s private estate was quiet—too quiet for the home of a second prince.

Isac stepped out of his bedroom wearing a black shirt that was not fully buttoned, his hair still slightly disheveled—a clear sign that he had just woken up and had not yet returned to his usual stone-faced prince mode.

He stopped at the end of the corridor.

The smell of food.

Not the precise, overly controlled aroma of the palace kitchen. This was… warmer. Simpler. There was the scent of lightly sautéed ingredients, toasted bread, and something else that reminded him of an ordinary morning—a morning that belonged to normal people.

Isac frowned.

His steps carried him toward the kitchen.

And that was where he saw her.

Sera was standing with her back to him, wearing a thin sweater and simple trousers, her hair tied up carelessly. She was stirring something in a pan with calm, practiced movements, as if the kitchen truly belonged to her—when it very clearly did not.

Isac leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, watching her in silence for several seconds.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked.

Sera glanced at him briefly. “Cooking.”

Isac let out a slow breath. “That much is obvious.”

“Good,” Sera replied flatly. “I was worried you might think I was performing a summoning ritual.”

Isac ignored the sarcasm. His gaze swept across the kitchen—clean, orderly, almost sterile. It was a space rarely touched by anyone other than himself and the chef who came in according to a strict schedule.

“The chef will arrive in an hour,” Isac said. “You could have told him what you wanted.”

Sera turned off the stove and faced him. “I know.”

“Then why—”

“I didn’t want to.”

Isac raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Sera picked up a plate and began arranging the food calmly. “Because I’m staying here as a guest.”

Isac stepped closer. “You’re not just any guest.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Sera replied. “I’m also not the owner of this house.”

Isac fell silent for a moment before speaking in a lower tone. “You know you can ask for anything here.”

“I know,” Sera answered without looking at him. “And I chose not to.”

Isac stared at her back. “This is my residence.”

“Exactly,” Sera said, finally turning to face him. “Because it belongs to you, I don’t want to act as if everything here automatically belongs to me as well.”

Silence fell between them.

Isac crossed his arms. “You keep too much distance.”

Sera placed a plate on the table. “And you’re too used to people crossing boundaries.”

Isac looked at her sharply. “I don’t mind.”

“I do,” Sera replied calmly. “With myself.”

Isac did not respond immediately. He pulled out a chair and sat down, his eyes never leaving her. “You know this kitchen is a restricted area.”

“I know,” Sera said as she sat across from him. “The guards verified me three times before letting me in. They even inspected the kitchen knives as if I were about to stage a coup.”

Isac snorted softly. “They’re just doing their job.”

“I’m not blaming them.”

“Then why come in anyway?”

Sera met his gaze directly. “Because I wanted to do something that didn’t involve your power.”

Isac fell silent.

“It’s just breakfast,” Sera continued. “Not a demand. Not a request. Not a spectacle. Just… breakfast.”

Isac looked down at the food in front of him. Simple. Unadorned. Nothing like palace cuisine.

“You could have asked the chef to make this,” he said quietly.

“But it would taste different,” Sera replied.

“Why?”

“Because it would feel like I was ordering,” Sera said. “Not doing.”

Isac picked up a spoon and tasted the food. His eyebrows lifted slightly.

“This is good,” he admitted honestly.

Sera nodded. “I know.”

The confidence in her tone made Isac huff. “Confident.”

“I’m a boarding house kid,” Sera replied. “Cooking is a survival skill.”

Isac watched her for a long moment. “You don’t have to be this guarded. I already said I would protect you.”

Sera met his gaze. “And you don’t need to make everyone feel like they owe you something.”

Isac fell silent again. He understood now—Sera’s pride ran deep. She wasn’t someone he could treat casually.

For several seconds, the only sound was the clink of cutlery against plates.

“I didn’t tell you to cook,” Isac said at last.

“I know.”

“I also didn’t forbid you.”

“I know.”

“Then why does it sound like you’re defending yourself?”

Sera took a breath. “Because I am.”

Isac leaned back in his chair. “You’re stubborn.”

“And you’re overprotective.”

“Because this is my territory.”

“And I’m standing inside it,” Sera replied calmly. “That’s why I know my place.”

Isac looked at her, then spoke softly. “You don’t look like someone who’s just staying temporarily.”

Sera smiled faintly. “That’s because I’m trying very hard not to look like I’m taking advantage.”

Isac let out a long breath and returned to his meal. “You’re strange.”

“Thank you,” Sera replied. “People usually say I’m troublesome.”

Isac glanced at her. “That too.”

For a moment, there was no more bickering.

Just a quiet morning, two stubborn people, and a kitchen that—for the first time—felt alive.

And without realizing it, the boundaries Isac had guarded for so long… began to shift, just a little.

---

The plates were empty.

No servants came to collect them. No footsteps echoed outside. The estate sank back into its silence—one that was strangely comfortable.

Sera cleared the plates and brought them to the sink without being asked. Isac watched her from his chair—he neither stopped her nor helped, simply observing her with an unreadable expression.

After she finished, Sera returned to sit across from him.

She didn’t speak right away.

Isac lifted his gaze. “You have something to say.”

It wasn’t a question.

Sera nodded slightly. “Yes.”

Isac waited.

“I can’t keep living like this,” Sera said finally. “Sitting here. Waking up, eating, sleeping… while the world outside is in chaos because of my name.”

Isac leaned back. “I know.”

“If you know that,” Sera continued calmly, “then you also know I won’t just stay silent.”

“I never thought you would,” Isac replied flatly.

Sera looked at him. “Then what’s the plan?”

Isac didn’t answer immediately. He stood and walked toward the large window overlooking the enclosed garden, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“You’re safe here,” he said.

“That’s not an answer.”

Isac glanced back slightly. “It’s part of it.”

Sera exhaled. “Prince Isac, I’m not asking for miracles. I just want to know… what my position is in all of this.”

Isac turned fully toward her, his gaze focused and serious. “Your position is someone who should never have been dragged into this.”

Sera smiled faintly, bitterly. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t change reality.”

Isac paused, then said, “I’ve already set my people to work.”

“Work on what?”

“Tracing the origin of the rumors,” Isac replied. “The media wasn’t the first to release them. There are anonymous accounts, photos taken deliberately from specific angles, timing that’s far too precise.”

Sera narrowed her eyes. “So this isn’t a coincidence.”

“No,” Isac said shortly. “It’s deliberate.”

“To bring you down?” Sera asked.

“To pressure me,” Isac corrected. “You’re just a variable they didn’t account for.”

Sera fell silent.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” she said honestly.

“I’m not trying to make you feel better,” Isac replied. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“And after that?”

Isac looked at her. “After that… we straighten everything out.”

“We?” Sera repeated softly.

Isac didn’t avoid the word. “Yes.”

Sera considered it. “How?”

“First,” Isac said, “you stay here until we know who’s behind this.”

“And second?”

“Second, I make sure the narrative doesn’t spiral out of control.”

Sera frowned. “With your power.”

“With facts,” Isac replied. “Power is just a tool.”

“And me?” Sera asked. “What’s my role, besides hiding?”

Isac stepped closer—not too close, but close enough to make the conversation feel personal. “You stay yourself.”

Sera let out a small laugh. “That sounds beautiful but empty.”

“Maybe,” Isac said. “But it’s also the only thing they can’t manipulate.”

Sera studied him. “You’re not afraid I’ll make things worse?”

Isac shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll lose control of yourself trying too hard to meet other people’s expectations.”

Silence settled between them.

“That…” Sera paused. “That’s painfully accurate.”

Isac gave a low huff. “I’m not bad at reading people.”

“I’m starting to see that,” Sera said. “And honestly… it’s a little unsettling.”

“Get used to it,” Isac replied.

Sera leaned back in her chair. “So while the investigation continues, I stay here.”

“Yes.”

“No classes.”

“For now.”

“No work.”

“For the time being.”

“No going out.”

“Unless escorted.”

Sera nodded slowly. She would miss her busy days. Even her smartphone were still sitting back at her boarding house. This place would be quiet—too quiet.

“That sounds like a gentle version of confinement,” she said.

Isac didn’t deny it. “More like an unpleasant version of protection.”

Sera gave a crooked smile. “At least you’re honest.”

Isac looked at her. “I’m always honest. I’m just not always gentle.”

Sera stood. “Fine.”

Isac raised an eyebrow. “Fine?”

“I’ll stay,” Sera said. “On one condition.”

Isac waited.

“Don’t make decisions about me without telling me,” Sera said firmly but calmly. “I’m not asking for permission. I’m asking for transparency.”

Isac considered it. For a long moment.

Then he nodded. “Deal.”

Sera looked slightly surprised. “That easily?”

“I know what it’s like to have no choice,” Isac replied. “I won’t do that to you.”

For the first time that morning, Sera truly smiled. Not sarcastic. Not defensive.

Genuine.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Isac looked at her, then turned away. “Don’t thank me yet. This isn’t over.”

Sera nodded. “I know.”

But this time, something felt different.

Not the feeling of being trapped.

But the feeling that—for the first time since the scandal erupted—she wasn’t standing alone.

And Isac—who had spent his life behind walls and boundaries—began to realize that allowing someone to understand his position didn’t always mean losing control.

Sometimes, it was simply the beginning of trust.

“Your Highness…”

Isac’s personal aide and trusted confidant stepped in. Marquis Dylan. “You have a visitor.”

“Who?”

“The Crown Prince.”

“Tch,” Isac muttered. “He really never knows when to stop, does he.”