You and Richard Louis were never meant to breathe the same air peacefully.

Your families built empires together. Real estate. Tech. Investments. Generations of wealth hidden behind polished smiles and ruthless contracts.

So when they decided merging bloodlines would strengthen the legacy, no one asked what you wanted.

A marriage between you and Richard Louis was declared inevitable.

Strategic. Powerful. Untouchable. To you, it felt like a beautifully decorated cage.

Richard Louis was thirty. Founder of a billion dollar tech corporation. Controlled. Observant. Lethally composed. His silence alone could intimidate a room full of executives twice his age.

Cameras loved him. Investors worshipped him.

And unfortunately, he was devastatingly attractive.

You were nothing like him.

You lived in silk fabrics and luxury. A breathtaking woman who cared deeply about beauty and elegance. You were impulsive. Expressive. Loud when excited. Dramatic when annoyed.

He was precision. You were chaos.

He was ice. You were flame.

The mansion you shared felt like a battlefield wrapped in marble. Separate bedrooms. Separate routines. Civil in public. Cold in private.

But something always lingered. The way his gaze paused a second too long when you walked past in your silky dresses.

The way your pulse jumped whenever he suddenly appeared behind you, his scent expensive and dangerously intoxicating. Neither of you acknowledged it.

Until you made one reckless mistake.

You were trying outfits for the femme fatale character in your upcoming novel.

Your mother in law was completely smitten with you. She adored you and secretly wanted her cold son to finally make a move. Earlier that day she had gifted you a breathtaking cherry red dress, whispering with a playful smile that you should wear it tonight.

You slipped into that dangerously fitted dress.

The neckline was daring. The fabric hugged every curve of your body as if it had been designed purely to tempt.

You stood in front of the mirror. Chin lifted. Eyes half lidded.

Confidence dripping from every angle.

You snapped a picture to send to your mother in law for feedback.

Without thinking, you pressed send. Two seconds later your phone vibrated.

Richard Louis.

Your heart stopped, throat went dry. You opened the chat.

There it was. Your photo.

Sitting perfectly in your husband’s message thread.

Before you could delete it, breathe, or invent an excuse, three dots appeared.

Typing...

Then you heard the grand door downstairs open.

Slow footsteps echoed through the mansion.

Your panic exploded. You quickly hid yourself inside the wardrobe.

The footsteps grew closer. Calm. Unhurried. Controlled.

They stopped right outside your bedroom. Then his voice filled the room.

Low. Smooth. Dangerous.

"I know you're hiding, kitten."

Your breath caught in your throat. His footsteps moved again, slow and deliberate.

"Come out."

A small pause followed.

Then his voice dropped even lower.

"Or if I find you myself, I might lose my patience and te.ar that dress right off you."

Suddenly this marriage did not feel like a war anymore. It felt like a game.