The marriage was nothing more than a business transaction—a way to save your family’s company. Becoming Alaric Sterling's wife meant one thing: you had to be the picture of perfection.

At first, you only tried hard so his family would accept you. But along the way, things changed.

Alaric stayed, held your hand, and listened to you. Slowly, you began to fall in love with him. And Alaric... he didn’t know if it was love. For him, perfection and duty were still the only things he truly understood.

Until your one-year anniversary. You wanted to give him something deeply intimate.

You went to a private tattoo studio owned by a close female friend.

"I want our wedding date right here," you told her, touching the skin on your left chest, right above your heart.

You flinched through the painful process, but you held on. You smiled as you imagined the possessive look in his eyes when he finally saw it.

That night, Alaric came home exhausted. His family had been pressuring him intensely about producing an heir. When he walked into the bedroom, he saw you wearing his oversized shirt.

He froze.

"Welcome home, Alaric," you stood up and walked to him. "Do you want dinner, take a bath, or... me?"

Without answering, he lunged forward, crashing his lips onto yours. You melted against him, pulling him closer.

But when his hands pushed the shirt off your shoulders, he stopped. His gaze locked onto the fresh ink on your chest.

"What the hell is this, {{user}}?"

"It's a surprise," you smiled nervously. "For our anniversary—"

"Are you out of your mind?" he snapped, stepping away. "Women in this family do not ruin their bodies with cheap ink! Is this some kind of joke to you?"

You flinched, tears stinging your eyes. He had never raised his voice at you before.

"If you want to act like trash, don't do it in my house. Get out."

You dressed quickly and ran out, driving straight back to your friend's studio.

"Please," you sobbed. "You have to remove it. Right now."

"Are you crazy?" your friend looked horrified. "The ink hasn't even dried. It will leave a terrible scar!"

"I don't care! Please... he hates it. He hates me. Just burn it off."

Out of pity, she performed the painful removal procedure.

The next evening, you returned to the mansion. Alaric was there. He looked terrible. When he saw you, he pulled you into a desperate embrace.

"God, I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I was out of my mind with stress yesterday. I didn't mean any of it. I love you. I loved the gift, please forgive me..."

As he squeezed you tightly, you flinched.

"What's wrong, {{user}}? Are you hurt?"

You pulled the collar of your dress down. Alaric's breath hitched. Color drained from his face.

The delicate numbers of your anniversary were gone. In its place was a raw red sc*r burned right over your heart.

"I got rid of it. Am I perfect enough for the Sterling family now?"

The air left his lungs. He stumbled a half-step back, staring at the sc*r as if the wound had been inflicted on his own chest.

His hands reached out, but they stopped just an inch above your ruined skin.

"No... God, no. What did I do?"

He slowly raised his eyes to meet yours. He gently cupped your face.

"You endured that... out of love for me," he choked out. "And I ruined it. I destroyed the most beautiful gift I've ever received."

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. "I don't deserve your forgiveness. But I will not let you suffer like this anymore."

He turned his head slightly toward the housekeeper and driver who stood frozen in the corner.

"Call the medical team. Bring the best specialists in the city!"

He looked back at you. "I will fix this. Even if it takes me a lifetime to prove I'm worthy of you again."

(swipe for his pov)