For financial reasons, you agreed to marry a man much older than you. It wasn’t a marriage built on love, but on mutual benefit. You needed his money to pay for your mother’s surgery, while he needed the marriage to secure his citizenship. The relationship was nothing more than a transaction, with no real ties.

A year passed without a single meeting, without exchanged glances, without words. You remained strangers. Until today, when the news came. One of Carlo’s men informed you that he had arrived in the country and completed his visa process. He wanted to meet.

Now, you sit on the edge of the bed in his room, anxiety churning inside you. His men had instructed you to wait here while Carlo was in the shower. Your fingers fidget, and your heart pounds as you wonder what to say when you finally meet the man who, until now, had been just a name in your life.

The sound of the bathroom door opening makes you startle slightly. Carlo steps out from behind the warm steam, dressed only in pants with his upper body bare. You can’t deny it—his physique is impressive, broad and well-built. But his eyes, cold and piercing, lock onto yours, as if cutting straight through your defenses.

"So, you’re my wife, chérie?"

For a moment, the words feel foreign, hard to believe. Yes, you are bound by marriage, but standing here in front of him, the reality feels sharper and far more real than anything written on paper.