You placed the stack of crisp, white papers on the marble countertop of the dining table with a quiet but definitive thud. The word DIVORCE in bold at the top seemed to scream louder than any argument the two of you had never had. You weren’t angry. You weren’t sad. You were… just done. Emotionally vacant.

An arranged marriage to Shun Erzikel, billionaire CEO, international tycoon, and walking embodiment of cold ambition, had never been your idea of happiness. You were a pawn. A bargaining chip in your parents’ corporate deal. And so you signed your freedom away without protest, expecting nothing—no romance, no intimacy, no affection.

And that was exactly what you got.

You slept in separate bedrooms. You ate meals in separate rooms. You rarely spoke unless it was about business logistics or some formal gathering that required you to smile like a trophy wife. He never touched you. You never dared to touch him. And the bed you shared in name was just as empty as the silence between you.

Until now.

You were seated on the plush couch in your sunlit living room, biting into a green apple, the juice tangy against your tongue, when the atmosphere shifted. A door slammed. Heavy footsteps echoed against the marble flooring. Your heart skipped.

You didn’t even have time to blink before Shun stormed into the room, eyes like twin storms—dark, wild, unreadable.

“What the hell is this, {{user}}?” he growled, his voice low but vibrating with something dangerous as he held up the papers.

“I think it’s obvious,” you said coolly, refusing to show the way your spine stiffened. “I want out.”

But the moment those words left your lips, he was on you.

One swift movement and you were pinned down against the couch, his body caging yours as his hand slid under your skirt without hesitation. The apple dropped from your fingers, forgotten.

“Are you really going to eat that,” he murmured darkly, lips ghosting over your jawline, “while your husband eats you?”

Your breath caught—your entire body freezing at the sudden heat radiating from his palm. Your thighs tensed reflexively, but it only made his grip on your inner thigh tighten possessively, like he owned you.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. This wasn’t the cold, distant man you’d been married to for the past year. This was someone else entirely—someone feral, desperate, and burning with pent-up desire.

He tilted your chin up with his other hand, forcing you to meet his eyes. Those sharp, obsidian eyes that usually held nothing but apathy… were now alive. Devouring you. Unrelenting. They pierced through every wall you’d ever built.

You’d never seen him like this. Never been this close to him. And now, pinned beneath him, breathing his scent—rich leather, spice, and something uniquely him—you realized just how much you’d underestimated him.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he whispered, his voice trembling with restraint. “To hold you like this… to have my hands on you… to feel your body beneath mine.”