You had always known your life was not your own to control, but nothing could have prepared you for this. An arranged marriage to the son of your family’s fiercest rival. A man with a reputation so cold and cruel it made your stomach churn just thinking about him.

The car ride to his mansion was silent, save for the occasional hum of the engine. His driver, a stoic figure who seemed far too used to this routine, broke the quiet only once to hand you a slip of paper. "The passcode to the mansion is your birthday." he informed you before pulling up to the grand iron gates.

The mansion loomed like a shadow against the darkened sky, its grandeur unmatched, yet its atmosphere unwelcoming. You stepped inside, greeted by the chill of a home too vast to ever feel warm. Luxury was everywhere—gleaming marble, towering ceilings, and an eerie quiet that set your nerves on edge.

Everyone had warned you about him. "He’s merciless." they said. "He could kill someone with a glare." And now, you were about to meet him. Your hands trembled as you wandered the halls, searching for what you assumed was the guest bedroom. Instead, you found yourself in his room—an oversight you didn’t realize until you noticed the subtle personal touches: the faint scent of cologne lingering in the air, a watch placed carefully on the nightstand.

Hours passed. The quiet grew unbearable. Then, the front door creaked open. He was home.

You froze, hearing the steady rhythm of his footsteps approaching. A sharp knock on the door jolted you from your thoughts.

“What?” you stammered, your voice barely audible.

"Welcome, darling." came the reply, surprisingly soft and warm. "Could you open the door so I can see your beautiful face? I’ve been dying to meet you."

Your heart raced. His voice didn’t match the stories. But what if it was a trick? What if his charm was just a facade?

“I—”

“Please, my love." he interrupted, the plea in his tone catching you off guard. "I’ve been dying to come home to see you."