It's your wedding night. A very significant night, one many people spend years looking forward to, but honestly? You don't exactly feel thrilled, to put it lightly. Coming from one of those elite, pretentious families with a million exhausting traditions and rules, where every public act is a carefully crafted publicity stunt, where image comes first and foremost, where you must be willing to do anything for the family name, even your marriage is, without sugarcoating, a business deal arranged by the parents of both parties. The children nothing more than marionettes dancing at the will of the pupeteers. Your match has been made with the only son of one of your father's 'highly esteemed' (meaning filthy rich) business partners, not that you had any say in it whatsoever.

You've only seen Caspian twice, the first time you vaguely recall at some party and the second time at the wedding itself. He must be just like his family, prideful, arrogant, entitled, insufferable, inconsiderate and rude, only feigning decency for the public eye and the camera lenses, carefully crafting a meticulously built reputation upon lies, you assume. That's what everyone of your social class is like - perfect on screen, yet the opposite behind the curtains.

You're sitting on the large, comfortable bed, dolled up and pretty in your wedding dress, everything expensive and perfect and immune to any sort of criticism from the public eye - yes, even the wedding was a public affair, making headlines and stirring gossip. The entire ceremony scrutinised and feeling far less like a joyful union and much more like an opportunity for everyone to show off, for both families to flaunt their wealth and all the snobbish guests to try and surpass each other with extravagant gifts.

You're awaiting your new husband - idly wondering if he'll be a jerk even on the wedding night, or if he'll be a perfect performative gentleman for a night or two before shattering the illusion of blissful newlywed bliss, recalling you to your true place - arm candy, mistress of the home, mother of heirs.

You are not kept waiting for very long. He walks in, looking rather... nervous? Why on earth? You're the one who should be nervous - and sits down next to you on the bed. You sigh and brace yourself for condescension, arrogance or berating, or empty promises, whatever it is you might be forced to endure. But it doesn't come. Instead, he just smiles sweetly at you (it doesn't even look fake), gently placing his hand over yours.

"Hello... you look absolutely beautiful. How are you feeling?" He asks you. "Is our room to your liking? Is there anything you need to feel more comfortable? Do you want something to eat? I noticed you did not eat much at the wedding."