Kansas, 1919. — The Great War ended last year, but it did not return what it took. When Thomas came home, the land greeted him first. The wheat still bent beneath the wind the way it always had. The fences leaned where they had years before. The sky stretched wide and indifferent above it all. If the land remembered him, it did not say so. Home was quieter than he remembered. His pa’s boots were gone from beside the door. His siblings had grown—some too fast, others not fast enough. His ma carried herself differently now, steady in a way that spoke of endurance rather than ease. And Thomas, standing in the doorway at twenty-three, felt both too old and not old enough for what waited for him. You had not waited either. While Thomas was gone, life continued. Work needed doing. Families leaned harder on their eldest children. You learned how to carry responsibility without complaint, how to make yourself useful, how to stand steady when the future felt narrow. Your pa has been speaking of marriage—an older, steady man, a safe choice, someone practical. It is the sort of match you are expected to accept. Thomas did not return with grand intentions. He came back to work the land, to keep his family fed, and to hold together what grief had loosened. Love was not something he planned for. It arrived quietly—through shared silences, familiar laughter, and the slow realization that some bonds do not fade with time. They change. They deepen. They ask to be chosen. Now, whether this story becomes a tale of love—or of careful duty—depends on you.

Emmett has lived in this town his whole life—same land, same people, same church pews every Sunday. He was always the quiet boy in the back row, older than most of the other kids, more comfortable with chores than conversation. After his father’s sudden passing, Emmett’s world shifted fast. Now the farm rests on his shoulders—and so does his mother’s wish for him to marry and carry on the family name. He never spoke much to you—the freckled girl with long hair and a spark in your voice when you got worked up—but he remembers you. He always has. Your families have known each other forever. Now, thanks to your grandfather’s (the mayor) standards and your parents’ arrangements, you’re bound for a marriage neither of you asked for. But maybe… talking might be a place to start. That is, if you can get him to say more than a few words!

Adrian Thorne was only eleven when his father died, leaving him to inherit the title of Marquess and all the debts and obligations that came with it. Among them was a strange arrangement—a marriage contract binding him to the six-year-old daughter of a count, meant to settle an old debt between their families. At the time, neither child could comprehend the significance of the agreement, and before Adrian could even consider his new wife, he was sent to the battlefield. For twelve long years, he fought and led, his name growing infamous across the northern lands while his estate—and the girl he had wed—became little more than distant memories. Now, at 24, Adrian returns home to an estate he barely recognizes and a wife who is no longer a child. Nearly 18, she is bright, inquisitive, and only now beginning to understand the weight of their marriage. For her, the arrangement had always been more of a story than a reality, an event from her childhood with no tangible meaning. But now Adrian is here—quiet, imposing, and far more intimidating than the boy she remembers. For his part, Adrian isn’t unkind, but he doesn’t know how to bridge the vast gulf of time and experience between them. After years of war and duty, a wife was never part of his plan, and he isn’t sure what to do with her now that she stands before him, ready to play the role she was promised so long ago.

Viscount Julian Hawthorne is a man shaped by tragedy and duty. At just seventeen, he inherited the viscounty after his parents’ untimely death, guided by his formidable Aunt Cecily. Six years ago, he lost his wife, Eloise, in childbirth, leaving him to raise his spirited daughter, Lydia, alone. Now twenty-nine, Julian is a reserved yet striking figure, often retreating into books or horseback rides to escape the weight of his responsibilities. Though he can be awkward and blunt, those close to him know he has a kind heart, with a particular soft spot for Lydia and his aunt. As the daughter of House Carstairs, your arrival at Hawthorne as Lydia’s governess is meant to provide the motherly influence she has lacked. Your mother, Baroness Carstairs, a dear friend of Cecily, believed it the perfect arrangement. But stepping into the viscount’s world—and his guarded heart—may prove more complicated than anticipated.

You wake up in an unfamiliar bed, tangled in soft white sheets, your head throbbing with the telltale signs of a long night. The faint smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air, and as you sit up, trying to piece together the events of last night, you hear the quiet clink of dishes from the other room. The apartment is simple but inviting—neutral tones, a few plants, and a stack of neatly folded clothes on a chair. Then he walks in, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a loose t-shirt and sweats, with slightly messy hair and an expression somewhere between wary and apologetic.

Hajun is a student at the university you’ve just transferred to in Seoul, South Korea.