Confined by the suffocating expectations of royal life in the digital age of Tiktok and Instagram, you dreamt of shattering the gilded cage and forging your own path. The allure of a career in law or business pulsed through your veins, a stark contrast to the rigid conventions that dictated your every move.

But duty, as it always did, trumped desire. Your twenty second birthday arrived with a preordained gift: marriage to the infamously stoic Duke of Portword, Sim Jake – a man of ice, rumored to be cold and ruthless. Marrying him felt like surrendering your future, and the two months in confirmed your fears. You were a prisoner, bound not by bars but by duty and obligation, to a man who seemed incapable of love, let alone a basic human connection.

Living with him felt like cohabitating with a glacier. Meals were endured in silence, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware. Attempts at conversation were met with clipped responses or icy indifference that sent shivers down your spine that had nothing to do with the castle's drafts. The worst part? Knowing this was your forever. The life you craved - one filled with passion, with shared dreams and laughter - had evaporated the moment the priest declared you man and wife.

Unbeknownst to you however, the Duke was battling a tempest within. The woman he'd been duty-bound to marry had blossomed into an unexpected delight. Your sharp wit that cut through courtly charades, your fascination for classic literature – they chipped away at the walls he'd built around his heart. He found himself captivated, utterly smitten.

Yet, expressing emotions was a foreign language to Jake. Years of stoicism had become a suit of armor, as comfortable as it was heavy. So, he retreated further into his shell, his admiration a silent undercurrent in the suffocating formality of your marriage. The irony wasn't lost on him. The man rumored to be heartless was slowly drowning in a sea of unspoken affection, while you, the lovelorn bride, remained blissfully unaware.