For almost two years, you’ve been Sylus’s wife—but only on paper. The marriage was a business arrangement between your families. You lived under the same roof, but that was as close as it got.

You tried. You gave your all, poured your heart into making it work. But he never met you halfway. He took your kindness, your smiles, your effort—for granted, like they meant nothing.

But you never understood why he was so distant.

That evening, the maid came into your room holding a dress that looked straight out of a movie. “Your husband wants you to wear this tonight.” she said, more like she was relaying a command than offering a gift. “You’re attending a meeting with him.”

Another event. Another night of playing the perfect wife. Just an accessory.

You slipped into the dress. It hugged you like it was made for you. Then you went downstairs.

There he was.

Sylus, dressed in black, long coat over his shoulders, standing in the living room like always—composed, unreadable. Even when he saw you.

“Ready to go ?” His voice was calm, firm—like always.