Supreme Spouse System.

Sisters Underneath the Shadow of Chains

The fingers were pale, graceful, firm. They grasped the edge of the cloth, pulling it back.

Light fell across the stranger's obscured face, stroking over the smooth line of her cheek.

A smooth complexion appeared first, pale skin that appeared to capture the candlelight and retain it. Shadows receded slowly—dark eyes, bottomless and keen, shining with feeling. Her chin fine, her forehead smooth, lips firm but soft, a jawline traced with strength.

And under the hood, locks of black hair cascaded, cut short to a neat bob around her face.

Her lips curved upward, bearing a smile not of a stranger, but of blood. Of home.

Natty's breath was taken. Her own lips parted. Seeing, something unraveled inside of her that had been bound up in silence too long.

".Natasha," she breathed.

The smile broadened on the figure's face, warm and tinged with sadness. The hood collapsed all the way back, and she was revealed in full—the spy, the warrior, the sister who had borne her name like a specter through hostile realms.

It was her. Natasha.

Natty stood up from the chair so suddenly that the fork fell against the plate. She did not move by walking. She ran. Her thin body knocked into Natasha's with a strength that defied her illness. Arms were knotted wildly, and in a second they were embracing each other—sister to sister, flesh to flesh, the years of torment crumbling in their arms.

Natasha's hold was vice-tight, as though releasing even for a moment would be losing her forever. Her cheek against Natty's hair, her smile shaking on the edges. But beneath it, sadness flickered—a shadow she could not hide.

"I missed you," Natasha whispered, voice shattering despite the smile she struggled to maintain. "So damn much."

Natty's own arms held her tight, grasping with equal urgency. She hid her face in the shoulder of her sister, words stuck but firm.

"Natasha… I missed you too."

They did not say a word for an instant. Their silence was more powerful than speech—heartbeat to heartbeat, sorrow and hunger heaped together.

When Natasha finally drew back, her hands stayed against Natty's shoulders, eyes scanning her sister's face as if committing every delicate detail to memory. But then something changed. Natasha stiffened. Her smile wavered. Her face hardened into something darker.

Her voice dipped, low and acute.

".Sis," she said slowly, black eyes narrowing. "What's this expression?"

Her voice dropped further, and when she spoke again, it was nearly a growl.

"By any chance… that slut Maria returned again? Did she behave improperly with you?"

Natty blinked in shock. The harshness of Natasha's tone pierced her heart. Her mouth opened, but instead of fear, warmth spread through her. This was her sister—ferocious, unyielding, overprotective for her own good. She couldn't help but smile, even with the pain.

"Leave it, Natasha. You know… that's always the standard."

Natasha's eyes blazed. She spat through set teeth, her body shuddering as if holding on by force of will to her rage.

"I know, sis. I know." Her jaw clenched. "But each time I remember, each time I see her smug face in my mind's eye—" Her tone turned blacker, laced with venom. "I wish to tear out her guts from her belly and hang her on the castle wall like a trophy."

Her words cut like a sword drawn, cruel and unvarnished.

Natty smiled weakly only. She had heard these words before, again and again, and every time they reminded her of one thing: that Natasha's fury had roots in love. A sister's love, hot as flame where Natty herself had long since burned out.

Her silence replied, and Natasha saw.

But then Natasha's eyes dropped—abrupt, harsh. Her eyes fell to the table.

On the plate.

Her body stiffened.

Her voice turned sharp with disbelief.

"…This," she hissed, her finger outstretched towards the stinking fruit and dried-up morsels, "is the food they feed you?"

Natty's eyes tracked her sister's outstretched finger, and then returned to the plate. She said nothing for a moment, simply gazing at the bruised fruit resting under the dancing light. She could feel Natasha's fury smoldering next to her, a storm waiting to unleash.

So she put on a smile. Soft. Weak.

"Natasha, I'm accustomed to it now. Don't worry. Yes… this is what I will eat. And it's sufficient. Truly."

The smile was soft, but Natasha immediately perceived right through it.

Her teeth ground so hard the grinding of the enamel made a noise in the air.

"Accustomed to it?" Natasha's voice quivered, shaking with fury. "Sis… if you would say it once—once only—I'd remove you from this accursed place."

Her fists balled, veins bulging against her pale skin.

"But you know what holds me back. That sick bastard's blood contract. Gary made me do it—us." Her eyes slashed, the words acidic. "If I violate it, if I remove you, the contract will kill you dead."

Her voice broke at the end, rage knotted with frustration.

Natty leaned up, putting her slender hand on Natasha's tight fist. She applied a gentle pressure, coaxing calm.

"Natasha… shh." She spoke softly, gently. "Don't bear that burden now. You said something to me once, you remember? You said his name. The one who will kill Gary."

She cocked her head, trying to recall the memory as if it was delicate glass.

"Mm… what was it? Leon, wasn't it?" Her mouth curved slightly. "You said he'll finish Gary. As soon as Gary's dead, the contract is dead too. So… don't worry."

The name fell softly, yet it carried like thunder.

Natasha froze. Her rage wavered, shifting into something else entirely. The moment the name "Leon" touched her ears, the shadows in her eyes loosened.

Her lips trembled, then curved upward. A smile. A real one.

"Yes…" Natasha whispered. Then louder, firmer: "Yes, you're right. Leon."

Her eyes became brighter, near-radiant. The anger was gone, driven out like smoke on the wind. Hope gleamed in its place.

"He's strong. Unbelievable. If anyone can take out that moron Gary, it's him. I know it in my heart."

Her smile intensified, radiating with a light that seemed almost supernatural, as if her belief itself had substance, as if it could warp the world in that direction.

Natty observed her sister's face, her own heart glad at what she saw. For the first time in years, the chamber no longer seemed a prison. For one small instant, it seemed home.