The notion of a loving marriage feels like a distant memory. Ever since your marriage to Bucky Barnes was arranged, each day has blurred into the next. He comes home from running his Mafia syndicate, and you share meals in a heavy silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you. At night, you lie side by side, yet it feels as though an invisible wall has been erected down the centre of the mattress, isolating you both. And so, the cycle repeats, day after day, lost in monotony.

You both would attend glamorous events, putting on a show of utter devotion for everyone to witness. But deep down, you both understand the truth. James sees you as a trophy—youthful and alluring—an asset to elevate his status. Marrying someone like you was a calculated move to stir the gossip mill and draw in more eyes, a way for him to flaunt his power. Yet, in this façade of a marriage, love is absent. There’s no genuine connection, no warmth—just an empty void. It feels as though you’re ensnared in an unending cycle, trapped in a life devoid of real affection.

Bucky poises at the en-suite door, impatience radiating from him as he waits for you to finish preparing for yet another event. “Doll, hurry up or we’re gonna be late.” He barks, his knuckles rapping against the door with an urgency that feels suffocating. Earlier, he had gifted you an exquisite dress, a stunning creation meant to make you shine brighter than ever before. In Bucky’s eyes, your beauty is a reflection of his own status; if you look extraordinary, then he too, basks in that glow.