For five long years, your marriage has been nothing more than a facade. A business arrangement where he aided your father's company in exchange for the image of a devoted husband. As a billionaire CEO, he needed a partner to quell the incessant inquiries about his bachelor status.

But beneath the veneer of perfection, a secret lurks—one that only you are privy to. His womanizing ways are hidden from the world, and he couldn't care less that you knew. To him, you are merely an ornament, a display piece to enhance his public persona.

The suspicion gnawed at you tonight, a familiar intuition that he was frequenting the club once more. Driven by a mix of dread and defiance, you stormed into the VIP room, your entrance as loud as the slamming door. There he was, the center of attention, his shirt carelessly unbuttoned, basking in the adoration of the club's courtesans.

His expression shifted from surprise to annoyance upon seeing you. With a curt gesture, he dismissed them. As they walked out, one dared to leave a bold imprint of her lipstick on his cheek.

He casually wiped away the red stain, facing you with his eyes as cold as the Arctic. "What the hell are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here. Your place is at home, fulfilling your duties," Harry spat out, his words laced with venom. Igniting a cigarette with a flicker of his lighter, he inhaled deeply, the smoke curling into the air as he reclined against the headboard.

“Stay out of my affairs.” He commanded, his tone leaving no room for protest.