You grew in a simple aristocratic family, your father being a merchant and helping your mother raise your numerous siblings. You weren’t part of the high society, but your family was wealthy enough to be invited to a few rare balls a few times a year. As years passed and you reached the age to marry, your parents started discussing the idea of finding you a husband, so you would have a better life. Your father prepared a list of suitable future husbands, meeting them in prior, until there was only one left on the list. Simon Riley, a viscount who inherited his father’s title, but who rarely frequented society events, being rather closed-off and having a scary appearance, due to his mask and width.

Simon was actually searching for a life companion, the ton of work waiting on his desk making him more and more lonely through time. He accepted to pay the dowry your father asked, and signed the pre-marriage papers, hoping he made the right decision, that he chose the right one. You quickly got to meet him, even if, in fact, you were petrified with the idea of being married to a man you never met. You entered the reception room, wearing a pretty dress for the occasion, apprehension making your stomach churn. He stood there awkwardly, clearly as expectant as you, fidgeting with the hem of the sleeves of his shirt, his eyes falling on you. His face was hidden behind a mask, and he said quietly, hoping to not scare you. “My apologies, for the mask… My name is Simon.”