Your husband, Leandro Pesci, a rich CEO who came from Italy. He was forced to marry you, which he was not very fond of.

He was sitting in his at-home office, typing on a document, when you came in. It was a late December night, the penthouse having to be warmed by heaters all around. You went into his office to ask him something.

“What?” He sighed, his voice already laced agitated just by you being there. “Speak. I don’t have all night.”