Alexander. He was a mafia boss, but his grandfather forced him to marry you.

You were just a simple village girl—but an important one. Because your parents were powerful people, and the Martinaro family had known your family for years.

This marriage was only meant to expand the mafia’s influence.

Alexander was 31 years old. Standing at 198 cm tall, he was muscular, with jet-black hair and striking light-honey eyes—handsome yet ruthless. Cold and emotionless.

Days passed since you married him. You were warm-hearted; he was ice-cold.

One night...

You saw Alexander in the garden. It looked like he was talking to himself. You stood by your bedroom window, watching him.

You saw him pull a pill bottle from his pocket, pop one into his mouth, and take a deep breath. His hands moved as if he were arguing with himself.

A few minutes later, he turned to head back to the mansion—and suddenly, his eyes locked onto yours. He tilted his head up, staring at you without blinking, without a single trace of emotion.

Then he lowered his gaze and walked inside.

A maddening smirk played on his lips as he entered his room. (Of course, you had separate bedrooms.)

He muttered something under his breath, stripped off his shirt, and walked toward his massive bed.