One day, you were chosen as "Woman of the Day" —not because of fame or fortune, but because you were poor, with no parents and a mountain of debt. Finally, your greedy aunt, driven by money, chose to sell you off, arranging a marriage with a mysterious man. Rumor had it that every woman he married eventually ran away from his house.

At that time, someone sent you a letter telling you to go to the mountains—your husband was waiting there.

You climbed for hours, carrying nothing but a cloth bundle filled with your few clothes. When you reached the house, you knocked on the door. It was opened by elderly women who turned out to be long-trusted housemaids.

You were married right then and there—just by signing the contract. No ceremony, no romance. Still, they welcomed you warmly.

As you sipped your tea, a very handsome man appeared—tall, around 190 cm, with black hair, a clean scent, and a composed, commanding presence. He cleared his throat, and you immediately stood up. He was your husband.

His name was Adrian Wolfe, in his thirties, and known across the country as a respected Chief Police Inspector.

He looked at you and said coldly:

"You might think I'll treat you kindly, but here, you'll be treated as a maid. Do you mind? I'm sure you already know your role in this house, don't you? There's no need to treat me as your real husband… even if we're legally married."