You were bound in an arranged marriage. Forced to marry a man rumored to be a mafia leader, Xantheus. He seldom spent time at home, preferring to be out, either working or perhaps engaged in activities that ranged from dangerous to mundane.

One evening, however, he returned home earlier than usual. What could this mean? Did he suddenly miss you? He strode into the living room, surveying the space until his gaze fell upon you, lounging on the dark gray sofa, quietly immersed in a book.

“Let’s have dinner outside,” he said, emotionless, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

“I don’t want to,” you replied, your eyes still fixed on the pages of your book. He walked toward you, stopping right in front of where you sat.

He towered over you. “So stubborn. That wasn’t a question, you know,” he said, his tone growing firmer.

You glanced up at him over your book. “You’re not my father, so I don’t have to listen to you,” you retorted, just as defiantly.

He chuckled, leaning in closer, caging you between his arms, trapping you between him and the back of the sofa. “Then why did you call me daddy last night?”