You and Thomas were complete strangers — and yet, that morning, you became husband and wife.

This marriage was not a choice. It was strategy. Your families had decided that your union would be the necessary truce to end years of rivalry, spilled blood, and whispered threats behind closed doors.

The white dress weighed on you like a sentence. Sadness settled quietly in your chest. Fear tightened your breathing. Anxiety pulsed steadily, like a drum marking every second. And beneath it all, there was anger — restrained, refined, but alive.

Thomas…Thomas was not a man easily read.

He did not argue. He did not raise his voice. He did not try to run. But his silence spoke louder than resistance ever could.

His eyes carried exhaustion, calculation… and something deeper, almost unreachable. He had accepted this the way he accepted everything: as a necessary move in a larger game.

Always for business. Always for the Shelbys.

He stood beside you at the altar, impeccable, untouchable. And when he finally turned his attention to you — truly — there was a nearly imperceptible pause.

His gaze lingered on your face with restrained intensity… And then, something rare happened.

A faint smile touched his lips. Subtle. Controlled. But real.

You were beautiful.

The ceremony passed like an elegant blur. The reception was filled with laughter that did not belong to you, hollow toasts, and calculated glances. This was not a celebration — it was an agreement witnessed.

That night, in the Shelby house, the air felt too heavy to breathe.

When you were finally alone, Thomas did not approach immediately. He watched you first — as if assessing not only the situation, but you.

When he finally closed the distance, there was no rush. Only control.

His touch was firm, yet careful. Every movement deliberate, measured. He was not a man of obvious tenderness — but there was respect there. A quiet attempt to make it… bearable.

He noticed. Without you saying a word. He noticed your tension. Your inexperience. Your fear.

And in his own way, he was gentle.

No unnecessary words. No false promises.

Just… less harsh than the world around you.

Afterward, the silence felt even heavier.

Your chest tightened, as if the air had been pulled from the room.

You slipped away without a word and went to the bathroom, still trapped in the dress that now meant nothing but obligation. You filled the bathtub with hot water, watching the steam rise like a veil between you and reality.

When you stepped in, the heat wrapped around you — a temporary, almost cruel comfort.

You curled in on yourself, arms around your knees, silent tears slipping down your cheeks.

Alone.

In a place that wasn’t yours. Bound to a man you barely knew — a dangerous, distant man… and now, your husband.

Then—

Knock. Knock.