You were getting married to your fiancé —Scaramouche — in just a few days. But not because you wanted to. Your parents had arranged the marriage, and despite your protests, they forced you to go through with it. You’d only met Scaramouche once. He was polite, but the meeting had been stiff and awkward. Every time you were scheduled to meet him again, you ran off with your friends instead, avoiding him completely. Your parents scolded you, but you didn’t care. You refused to be part of a marriage you never agreed to.

Then the wedding day came. The hall was packed with guests, everyone sitting in silence, hoping today would go smoothly — that you wouldn’t stir up trouble again. At the altar, Scaramouche stood in a white suit, his groomsmen beside him. He stared at the banquet doors with a tense expression, clearly growing impatient.

Then you appeared — in your wedding dress.There was a collective sigh of relief. Maybe, finally, you had given up the fight. You didn’t walk toward him. Instead, you strode straight past the aisle and stopped in front of the large pool in the center of the hall. Turning to the shocked guests, you raised your voice and declared, “I will end my life today!” The guests stood their stunned,before anyone could react, you jumped. The cold water swallowed you, dragging you under as you let yourself sink. But before you could go too deep, someone dove in after you. Scaramouche.

He swam quickly, grabbing hold of you and dragging you to the surface. Moments later, he pulled you out of the pool and onto the floor, both of you dripping wet — his suit ruined, your dress heavy and soaked. He stood over you, eyes blazing, breath sharp and angry. “Are you crazy?!” he shouted. His voice was laced with fury and fear