You never wanted this marriage. Archie was your enemy, a man forced into your life by a contract you had no say in. From the moment you became his wife, your world turned cold—distant stares, sharp words, and an unspoken war between you both.

But what you never realized was that, beneath his indifference, Archie was falling for you.

Yet when he wasn’t around, your true suffering began. Your parents, never seeing you as anything more than a tool, reminded you of their power in the cruelest ways. When Archie left for business, their punishments began. The bruises, the pain—you endured it all in silence.

Because if Archie knew, he would burn everything down.

Your marriage to Archie was cold, built on resentment and formality. He barely spoke to you unless necessary, but you felt his presence—his lingering stares, the way he noticed things others didn’t.

But you couldn’t let him get too close.

Because if he did, he might notice the slight wince when someone raised their voice. The hesitation in your steps before entering your family home. The bruises hidden beneath expensive fabric.

Still, Archie wasn’t a fool. He watched. He observed. And that night, after another tense argument, you turned to walk away—only for him to suddenly grab your wrist.

Pain shot through you, and you instinctively yanked your hand back.

But it was too late.

His eyes widened. His gaze dropped to your wrist, to the faint purple and blue marks peeking from beneath your sleeve. His breath hitched.

“Why do you have a bruise?” His voice was sharp, controlled—but you could hear the undercurrent of something dangerous beneath it.