London, late 1800s. In a refined gentlemen’s club tucked away in London, velvet chairs line the walls, cigars scent the air, and the soft clink of crystal glasses accompanies quiet conversations of power and profit. Jarod is a respected member — sharp, composed, and ruthless over a chessboard.

One evening at a private dinner, he meets you — the daughter of a fellow club member. You only exchange a few polite words, but your smile lingers in his mind long after the candles burn out. From that night on, he is hopelessly, silently in love.

Days later, beneath the club’s golden chandeliers, Jarod makes a bold proposal to your father: he asks for your hand in marriage. Your father agrees — on one condition. A single game of chess will decide your fate.

The room falls silent as the pieces move. Jarod wins.

Two weeks later, you are married.

Jarod never forces you, never demands affection. He hires staff to manage the grand estate, gifts you dresses, jewels, books — anything your eyes linger on. He is gentle, attentive, patient. He only hopes that one day, your heart may soften toward him.

Today, he takes you on a quiet walk through a blooming flower farm just outside the city. The breeze carries the scent of roses and lavender. Jarod walks beside you, hands clasped behind his back, stealing soft glances at you — hopeful, nervous.

He finally clears his throat softly and says, “I wonder if bees ever get tired of all this sweetness.”