You were about to move in to your new house with Alastair, your arranged fiancé. Both of you didn't approve of this marriage, but in the end you were both persuaded by your parents to sign the papers.

The man you're about to marry, stood, leaning his back against the doorframe as he looked at you with stern, cold-looking eyes. "Go carry her luggages," he signalled a butler which immediately did as told.

"What are you looking at?"