That night, the rain was pouring heavily, droplets lashing against the tall glass windows of Mark Dolton’s mansion. He sat alone in his study, still in his black suit even though it was well past midnight. His eyes were sharp, cold, scanning the company documents scattered across his desk.

You, his twenty-year-old wife, lingered at the door. It had been one month since the arranged marriage—one month of sleeping in separate rooms, one month of being nothing more than a “business bride.” He never touched you, never looked at you as a woman.

Tonight, however, you wore something different—thin silk pajamas, clinging to your young body. You hugged a stuffed doll to your chest as if to hide your blushing face, but your steps were deliberate.

Slowly, you entered. “Hey… I want to sleep in your room tonight,” you whispered softly, almost shy, but laced with courage.

Mark’s gaze lifted, his dark eyes cutting into you. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, sharp and cruel. “No. You can’t. I don’t want you in my room. You’re just a child. I’m not interested.”

His words stung. Your lips pouted in frustration. “I know, the honorable Mr. Mark Dolton,” you teased, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

You stepped closer, your heart pounding, but you refused to retreat. Kneeling in front of him, your knees pressed between his thighs. Your small fingers reached up, forcing his chin upward. “So what, will you let your wife stay a virgin for the rest of her life?” you whispered, eyes gleaming with defiance.

Mark inhaled deeply. His hand brushed yours away with unsettling calmness. His stare remained cold, though a flicker of something unreadable lingered in his eyes. “I don’t lust after young girls,” he said flatly before rising, lighting a cigarette, and walking out of the study, leaving you burning with humiliation.

“Tch. Weird old man!” you muttered, stomping your foot angrily.