"I won't force you into anything," he promises, voice quiet, but audibly genuine. He presses a chaste kiss to the back of your neck, his skilled hands working at the laces of your corset, removing your wedding dress. He insisted on helping you change into your nightgown.

It was hard to believe. He had forced you into marrying him, and so did your parents. The feeling of disgust lingered, knowing your parents had sold you off to be the bride of this billionaire you had never met. It was shocking; the year was 1920, and you hadn't even realized arranged marriages existed anymore.

At least he was respectful. His gaze was on the floor as he pulled your nightgown over your body, gently adjusting the soft fabric around your waist. You weren't sure if he loved you or if he pitied you.