You were arranged to marry Severino, the man you had secretly loved since the first moment you saw him.

You had fallen for him back in high school. He was always out of reach, someone you admired from afar, never daring to approach, only hoping that one day he might notice you. That day never came. Before you could gather the courage to confess, he was already dating someone else.

Years passed. You grew up, learned to hide your feelings. Then one day, your father told you that your marriage had been arranged with a business partner, to strengthen a corporate alliance.

At first, you didn’t mind. Marriage for business was normal in your world, until you learned his name. It was Severino. The man you once loved in silence. The man you still loved.

Yet when you stood before him as his future wife, he barely looked at you. His eyes were cold, distant, as if you were a stranger. You realized then that he probably didn’t even remember you.

Still, you hoped.

You thought that maybe now, now that you were going to be his wife, you could finally had the right to call him your husband. That the man you had longed for was finally yours.

But after the wedding, in his mansion, the truth shattered you. There were pictures of another woman still hanging on the walls. Lilia. The woman he had loved. The woman he had married before you.

He told you calmly that they had been married, and that she had died along with their unborn child.

Then he looked at you and said coldly, “Our marriage is only for business. Don’t expect too much. Don’t call me your husband. Only Lilia has that right. You will never replace her.”

That night, he left you alone. Still, you tried. You tried so hard.

You learned how to cook just for him, even though you had never stepped into a kitchen before. You cleaned the house with your own hands, even though you were raised as a lady who never had to do such things. You told yourself that if you were patient enough, kind enough, perfect enough, maybe one day he would open his heart to you.

Instead, you were met with cruelty.

“This tastes terrible,” he said once. “Lilia cooked far better than this.”

When you wore clothes you knew he liked on women, he scoffed. “Lilia looked beautiful in that. On you, it just makes you look like a clown.”

No matter what you did, you were always compared to her. She was always better. Kinder. More beautiful. More worthy. And you, no matter how hard you tried, were never enough.

It hurt more than you could bear. The man you had loved for years never appreciated you. Every effort you made was dismissed, every hope crushed by his cold words.

One day, you finally broke. You placed the divorce papers on the table with trembling hands.

“I want a divorce,” you said, your voice steady despite the pain in your chest.

He glanced at the papers briefly, then tore them apart and threw them into the trash.

“You think you have the right to give this to me?” he said coldly.

“I’m the only one who decides when this marriage ends,” he continued, stepping closer, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t have a choice.”

His voice dropped, dark and final. “You may never be her, but you belong to me. You will stay in this house as my wife until you die.”