As the church clergyman declared the ceremony commenced, Kestia appeared on the arm of Viscount Clarein.

The entire audience froze in shock.

“What a stunning lady?!”

“No wonder Earl Belnos agreed to let his son marry into their family. Now it makes perfect sense…”

“I’d volunteer to marry into the Claire Family myself!”

“Ahem. Gentlemen, mind your decorum.”

Murmurs rippled through the restless crowd like wildfire.

“The groom, please approach the altar,” the clergyman announced.

Lanche smoothed his coat, stepped through the parted crowd, and met Kestia’s gaze. He drew closer, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips.

Recalling their earlier conversation, he knew he was in trouble—and dreaded married life.

Kestia stood veiled in white, her expression unreadable beneath calm, deep-blue eyes.

“Father, why must *he* marry the Claire heiress?” Poznia Kerman Belnos hissed, jealousy burning in his chest.

“Exactly, Father. How could that good-for-nothing—” Lanche’s eleventh brother blurted out. Barely a year older and still unwed, he seethed: *Why not me?*

But Gorde had never seen Kestia’s face. He remembered now—Viscount Clarein had personally demanded Lanche as the groom.

“They don’t need a capable man,” Gorde said gravely. “They need a placeholder. The weaker, the better.”

“How could this be?!” The brothers gnashed their molars in envy, as if watching a pure-hearted maiden cling to a filthy swine.

They’d mocked Lanche as the family’s worthless runt—only for his very uselessness to win him this divine blessing.

“Hmph. This wedding’s just for show. Miss Kestia would never truly acknowledge him.”

“Exactly. He’s nothing without the Belnos name.”

Their acid stares pinned Lanche like daggers.

The ceremony proceeded. After vows came the final step—the ceremonial kiss.

Kestia gripped her bouquet tighter, lips pressed thin, her blue eyes locking onto Lanche.

Undaunted, he stepped forward. Even as a groom marrying in, he wouldn’t be henpecked.

“Wait!” A voice cut through the silence.

A man in the crowd finally snapped. “I object! Many here share my feelings!” He scrambled for allies.

No one scolded his rudeness. Instead, voices chimed in: “Explain your objection, Mr. Eruk.”

Bolstered, Eruk straightened his back with righteous indignation. “I honor the union between Viscount Clarein and Earl Belnos. But Lanche is utterly unworthy of Miss Kestia.”

Lanche’s brothers shot him approving glances—*this young man understands*.

“Eruk makes a valid point,” Poznia pressed his advantage. At nineteen and unwed, he wouldn’t miss this chance.

Frier bowed hastily to Gorde. “Father, though Lanche carries our noble blood, his lack of talent makes him unfit for Miss Kestia.”

“Questioning my decision?” Gorde’s gaze turned glacial.

Frier paled. “N-no, Father…”

The hall fell deathly silent. Heads bowed. None dared defy the Ironclad Earl—ruthless in rule, stricter in family.

Gorde ignored his spineless sons. A nod to Viscount Clarein signaled: *Proceed*.

The contract was clear. He’d ensure this wedding’s completion.

The payment had been generous.

Viscount Clarein smiled faintly, gesturing to the clergyman to conclude the rites.

Lanche glanced at the seething crowd. *Just a woman. Pathetic. I don’t even think my wife’s that pretty.*

He slid an arm around Kestia’s waist—slender as a willow branch—and kissed her.

Kestia’s eyes flew wide, stunned by his audacity.

Lanche pulled back after a brief, chaste touch, offering a small smile.

*Soft. Sweet. Unforgettable.*

Kestia composed herself. She said nothing. This was duty.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife, bound under sacred witness!” the clergyman boomed.

The rites were complete.

Arm in arm, Kestia and Lanche walked down the crimson aisle. They climbed into the carriage amid the crowd’s bitter stares and drove away.

Inside the carriage, Lanche sat stiffly opposite Kestia and her two maids.

Kestia watched him, expressionless. One maid smirked; the other glared ice-cold.

*Even flirting with maids will be impossible now,* Lanche realized.

“Liya. Explain the rules,” Kestia said coolly.

“Yes, Miss.” Liya turned to Lanche. “We serve Miss Kestia. I am Liya. This is my sister, Lekui.”

“Pleasure,” Lanche nodded.

“Now that you’ve married into our household—do you understand your role?” Liya asked.

“Stay out of the way,” Lekui added flatly.

“And what exactly is that role?”

“Stay. Out. Of. The. Way.” Liya’s warm smile held no room for negotiation.

Lanche nodded obediently. “Understood. I won’t disturb you.”

“Excellent. A sensible man. No delusions.” Liya approved.

“Approach each day ready for divorce. It makes coexistence smoother,” Lekui stated.

“Precisely,” Liya beamed.

Their tag-team left no space for argument.

“Whatever you say,” Lanche shrugged, already detached.

“And abide by our household rules: no indecent conduct,” Liya emphasized.

“Noted.”

His easy compliance made all three girls exchange uneasy glances.

“Be wise. Obey, and we’ll ensure your comfort,” Liya offered incentives to prevent deceit.

“Can I take a mistress?” Lanche asked earnestly.

“…”

Silence swallowed the carriage.