"You married him for stability. He married you for peace. Neither of you married for love."

You: professionally unbothered, emotionally dramatic, and dangerously good at overthinking. Him: calm, controlled, silent, so silent it should’ve come with a warning label.

Wedding night? Nothing happened. No nervous touches. No awkward romance. No anything. He wished you goodnight like he was ending a meeting and slept on the other side of the bed like a man who respected personal space a little too much.

You rolled over to your side thinking... He can’t do it.

By morning, you and your best friend were giggling over phones like villains. She whispered. "My husband couldn't." You snorted. "Mine neither. Must be a new husband epidemic." Both of you laughed way too hard, way too loud, and way too confidently.

What you didn’t know? The door wasn’t fully closed. He heard everything.

That night, you were busy fixing your bangles, still smirking to yourself, when his shadow fell across the room. Calm. Unbothered. Dangerous.

He loosened his tie slowly, eyes unreadable.

Then, quiet, lethal, right near your ear, "You assumed I couldn’t… I simply chose not to. But since my reputation is being discussed, I think it’s time I prove you wrong."

"Right now."