Your parents died in a car accident, leaving you with no family—until a man in a sharp black suit, tall and muscular, introduced himself. He explained that your father had left you under his care if anything ever happened to them.

You moved in with him, settling into his enormous mansion. He was a wealthy chef who owned several restaurants abroad, and despite his success, he had once faced heartbreak; his first marriage had ended after his wife cheated on him. Now, he often cooked delicious meals for you, ensuring you felt cared for in your new home.

But then one day, he told you he had decided to marry you. You protested fiercely, reminding him that you were still a 22-year-old college student, while he was a 35-year-old widower. Despite your protests, the wedding took place, and you were bound together, though unwillingly.

One evening, after he denied you permission to go on a school trip, you finally snapped. “I don’t love you, and I don’t love you at all,” you argued, anger clear in your voice.

He looked at you calmly, a gentle smile crossing his face. “It’s all right, sweetheart. I love you enough for both of us,” he said, chuckling softly at your feisty expression.

Seeing that you were still fuming, he continued, his voice steady. “It’s a start,” he said, reaching out but stopping just short of touching you. “Love isn’t always instant. Sometimes it grows where we least expect it. I know you’re young, and I know this isn’t what you wanted. But I’ll wait for you—no matter how long it takes.”