One-Shot Transmigration: Sorry I'm Here To Ruin Your Happy Ever After-Chapter 143: Behind closed doors, the crown means nothing(1)

Chapter 143: Chapter 143: Behind closed doors, the crown means nothing(1)

She nodded when he told her not to fail again.

She did not trust her voice to answer. But she did it anyways. "I won’t fail you again.."

Syris turned away before he could see the tremor in her hands and left the chamber with as much composure as she could gather.

The moment the heavy doors closed behind her, the control shattered.

Her steps quickened, then broke into an unsteady run through the corridor, skirts gathered in trembling fists as servants flattened themselves against the walls and lowered their gazes, pretending not to see.

She did not stop until she reached her own rooms.

The door shut behind her with a dull thud, and the silence hit harder than the slap had.

Syris pressed her back against the wood, chest heaving, breath coming in sharp, uneven pulls.

She wanted to scream—Gods, she wanted to scream—but nothing came out. It was as though something had wrapped itself around her throat, tightening with every breath.

Her knees gave out.

She slid down slowly until she was sitting on the cold stone floor, arms wrapping around her head as if she could physically hold herself together.

Her heart raced wildly, pounding against her ribs, each beat loud enough to drown out reason.

Her cheek still burned, a dull, throbbing reminder of his hand, but it was nothing compared to the ache spreading through her chest.

This was not how it was supposed to be.

She had loved him.

Truly loved him.

She had admired his strength, his sharp mind, the way he carried the weight of the crown with such intensity.

She had believed—foolishly—that marrying him would help him heal.

That if she stood beside him, if she bore him an heir, if she loved him enough, he would finally let go of Kaizar Amagi.

But he hadn’t.

He hadn’t forgotten Kaizar. He hadn’t forgiven him.

And no matter how many nights Syris endured beside him, no matter how she bit back pain and tears, no matter how she tried to mold herself into what he wanted—she was never enough.

Not when she wasn’t pregnant. Not when his obsession still lingered elsewhere, festering like a wound that refused to close.

Her marriage was hell.

The crown on her head meant nothing behind closed doors. She was a queen in name only, powerless where it mattered most.

Even intimacy had become something to endure rather than share, something that left her sore, shaking, and hollow. She was less than a wife, less than a partner—she was a vessel that had failed to fulfill its purpose.

Her fingers dug into her hair as a sob finally tore free, silent and broken.

I won’t fail again.

The words echoed cruelly in her mind. How was she supposed to promise something she could not control? How was she meant to will life into her body when it refused her?

She couldn’t stay like this.

The thought came suddenly, sharp and desperate. If she stayed, Radomir would break her completely.

Maybe not today.

Maybe not tomorrow.

But one day, she would not stand up again.

Syris forced herself to her feet, legs trembling beneath her. She crossed the room in unsteady steps and stopped at her desk.

Her reflection in the polished surface barely looked like her, eyes red-rimmed, face pale, cheek flushed where he had struck her.

Help.

The word pulsed in her mind.

She needed help!

She reached for parchment and ink with shaking hands and sat down, breath hitching as she dipped the quill.

For a moment, she stared at the blank page, unsure where to begin. Then the dam broke.

Her words came out messy, uneven, ink blotted by trembling strokes and falling tears.

To Kaizar Amagi,

I do not know if you will read this. I do not even know if this letter will reach you safely. But I have no one else left to turn to, and if I remain silent any longer, I fear I will not survive this marriage.

I am ashamed to write to you like this. I was the one who accepted the crown. I was the one who believed I could endure it. I thought marrying Radomir would stabilize him, that if I stood beside him as queen, he would finally let go of you.

I was wrong.

So terribly wrong.

I am not pregnant.

Every week the physician says the same thing, and every month his patience grows thinner.

The rumors have already begun to circulate in the castle—that I am infertile, that I am defective, that I have failed my duty as queen, as a woman.

He hears them and he believes them.

Now he looks at me as if I am a mistake he cannot erase.

He says cruel things to me, things I cannot forget. He tells me that if it were you, you would have already been pregnant by now.

He says this to my face, as if it is my fault that my body does not obey him.

When I remind him that you are a man and cannot bear children, he looks at me with hatred and asks why I cannot, since I am a woman.

I try.

I swear to you, I try.

I endure everything he asks of me, even when it hurts, even when my body feels like it is breaking apart. But it is never enough. It will never be enough unless I give him an heir, and I do not know if I can.

Today he struck me.

I am writing this with shaking hands and a bruised face, still burning where his hand landed.

He told me not to fail him again. I said I would not—but that was a lie born of fear. I cannot promise what I do not control. And I am terrified of what will happen when he decides words are no longer sufficient.

I am the queen of this kingdom, yet I am treated with less care than a servant, less kindness than a dog. Behind closed doors, the crown means nothing.

I am alone, trapped, and I do not know how much longer I can endure this before something in me breaks completely.