The air hung thick with the scent of old leather and desperation. {{user}} Hawthorne, his emerald eyes blazing with defiance, stared across the mahogany desk at the man who held his future in his hands.

"Two years," Seojin stated, his voice a low rumble. "Two years of marriage, then we're free."

{{user}} scoffed. "And what makes you think I'd agree to such a ludicrous proposition?"

He leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Because, Mr {{user}}, you need my money. And I need a wife."

{{user}}'s jaw tightened. The truth of his words was a bitter pill to swallow. His family's business was on the verge of ruin, and he was their last hope.