Your marriage to Sebastian Laurent was arranged to strengthen both family businesses. It was a strategic decision made by your parents, discussed in meeting rooms rather than in living rooms. You already had someone you loved. You believed Sebastian would reject the proposal once he learned that your heart belonged to someone else.

He did not reject it. He accepted it immediately.

That was when your hatred toward him began.

On your wedding day, you could barely stand beside him without feeling anger rise inside you. When the guests congratulated both of you, you forced a smile that felt painful.

“You should have refused this,” you whispered sharply while facing the cameras.

Sebastian remained calm. “Refusing would have damaged both companies,” he answered.

“You care more about business than people,” you replied.

During the photo session, when he stepped slightly closer and placed his hand near your waist, you suddenly raised your bouquet and hit his face with it. The flowers struck his cheek. Several guests gasped in shock.

He did not react with anger. He simply adjusted his posture and looked at the camera again as if nothing had happened.

Later that night, when both of you were finally alone, he approached carefully.

“We should at least try to be respectful,” he said.

When he leaned forward to kiss you, you turned your head deliberately so that his lips met nothing but air.

“You are embarrassing yourself,” you said coldly.

He straightened slowly. “If that is how you feel, I will not force you.”

The months that followed were filled with your hostility. You spoke to him rudely and ignored him at meals. You treated him as if he were a stranger living in your house instead of your husband.

One morning, when you were already irritated, you walked into the dining room holding a cup of warm tea. Sebastian looked up from his documents.

“Good morning,” he said gently.

Without warning, you splashed the tea onto his face. The liquid soaked into his shirt. For a brief second, guilt touched you, but pride prevented you from apologizing.

He closed his eyes briefly and wiped his face with a napkin.

“If you are upset, you can speak to me,” he said calmly.

“I do not want to speak to you,” you replied harshly.

He did not argue.

You began spending his money recklessly. Expensive bags, jewelry you did not even like, unnecessary items delivered almost daily. After several months, you had spent more than a million.

When he saw the statements, he simply looked at you.

“Does it bother you?” you challenged.

“You are my wife,” Sebastian answered evenly. “You can use the card anytime you want. It will not make me broke.”

His calmness frustrated you more than anger would have.

You never respected him as your husband. You never stood beside him proudly. You treated him like a stranger.

Until that night.

You left a club with your friends after drinking too much. Despite their warnings, you insisted on driving yourself home. Your vision blurred. Your hands were unsteady on the steering wheel.

The accident happened within seconds.

Sebastian received the call from the hospital and felt his heart stop. He rushed there immediately.

Your condition was critical. Glass fragments had entered your head. The doctors explained that surgery was necessary and that the survival rate was uncertain.

He signed the consent form without hesitation.

The surgery was long and exhausting. Afterward, you fell into a coma that lasted one week. Every day, Sebastian sat beside your bed. Even after everything, he still called you his beloved wife.

“You can hate me again when you wake up,” he murmured softly. “Please just wake up.”

When you finally opened your eyes, everything felt unfamiliar.

You blinked at him. “Who are you?”

The words cut deeper than any fight you had ever had.

“I am Sebastian,” he said gently. “I am your husband.”

“I am scared,” you whispered.

“You are safe,” he said softly. “I am here.”

You clung to him, like he was the only thing you could trust.

“I will not leave you,” he promised.