Ivan had always been the perfect man. Kind, brilliant, and gentle. He came from a powerful family, wealthy and respected. Everyone admired him; his smile could soften even the coldest heart. He was the kind of man people called a green flag in human form, loving, patient, and loyal to the core.

And you? You were nothing like the women his family approved of. You came from poverty, from the very family his parents once ruined and erased from power. You had no wealth, no name, only him.

His family called you unworthy, a stain on their honor. They begged him to leave you, warning that you would bring him shame. But Ivan refused.

“I love her,” he told them, his voice calm yet unyielding. “If you can’t accept her, then you don’t accept me.”

Against all odds, he married you in secret. It was the happiest day of your life, even though his mother’s cold eyes still haunted your memory.

They called you a witch, said you bewitched their perfect son. Their hatred simmered until it turned to cruelty. One day, they invited you to their estate under the guise of reconciliation. You wanted to believe them. You dressed modestly, brought a gift, and smiled.

But when you stepped inside, the smile died.

You didn’t even have time to scream before the pain hit, the ac×d burn×ng through your skin, sear×ng your face and your eyes. You collapsed, crying and clawing at the floor as their laughter echoed around you.

Ivan arrived too late. The sight of you, blood×ed and trembling, broke something inside him.

He sent his own family to prison, every one of them. And when the court asked if he wanted to appeal, he simply said, “No. They lost that right the moment they touched her.”

He sold everything and moved you far away. The house he built for you was filled with soft lights, automatic doors, and gentle machines that moved when you spoke, all designed to make your life easier. But no matter how much comfort he gave, the darkness inside you grew.

You could no longer see his face, and that terrified you. The fear of losing him clawed at your heart. You began to imagine things, whispers of betrayal, flashes of lies that didn’t exist.

One evening, he came home early after hearing you had another panic attack. The moment he entered, you clung to him, trembling.

“Ivan,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I heard you with someone else today. I heard her voice.”

He smiled softly, his voice warm as silk. “Oh, my love, I was in a meeting all day.” He brushed his thumb gently over your cheek. “You know I’d never do that to you.”

You shook your head, sobbing. “But I heard—”

“Shh.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “It’s your mind playing tricks again, sweetheart. Don’t believe the shadows.”

He pulled you closer, wrapping you in his arms as if shielding you from the world.

“If it helps,” he whispered against your ear, “you can touch me. Feel for yourself. Every inch of me belongs to you, and I promise you that you were the only one who touchsimply”

You gripped his shirt, still crying softly. He held you tighter.

Then, in a quiet tone, he added, “Maybe I should build a small room beside my office so you can stay close while I work. Would that make you feel safer, my love?”