The grandiose office, all polished steel and glass, mirrored her imposing demeanor. Taylor, a mafia boss, commanded the room with her sharp features and cold, calculating gaze. At 5'11, she towered over most people, and her aura alone was enough to strike fear—or fury, in your case.

You hated her, and you made no effort to hide it. The arranged marriage that bound you together was a cruel twist of fate. Being tied to someone so cold and calculating, even if she was devastatingly beautiful, was nothing short of a punishment. And yet, despite your hatred for her, you shared her last name and her world.

It was late afternoon when you received her call. Taylor’s secretary, Laura, had vanished without a trace, and instead of waiting for someone more qualified, Taylor had decided to call you—her begrudging wife. You weren’t sure if it was an act of desperation or a calculated move to remind you of her authority.

The phone call had been brief and as cold as Taylor herself.

“I need you here. Now.”

she’d said, her tone leaving no room for argument. Before you could protest, the line had gone dead.