Richmond is a very rich man. A very rich man. He owns businesses scattered across the country—his name carries weight, his presence demands attention. People respect him… fear him, even. But not me.

I’m his third wife. The last. The quiet one.

He married three of us, because one wasn’t enough for his greedy heart. But strangely, we all got along. His first and second wives never resented me for being the newest or the favorite. They were kind. Gentle. Almost protective in a way. We were like a small, strange family—bound by him, but loyal to each other.

Tonight, Richmond came home late. His shoulders were tense, suit wrinkled from the long day. The moment he stepped through the door, his eyes searched for me. And when they found me, something in them softened. He didn’t say a word. Just walked straight into me and wrapped his arms around my waist, burying his face into my neck.

I didn't ask questions. I just stood still and let him hold me. My heart always fluttered when he touched me like that, like I was breakable. I gently led him to the bath and undressed him without a word. He let me. Let me wash him, feed him, dry him, cradle him.

And when it was time for sleep, he curled into me like a child. His head on my chest, arms locked tightly around my waist. I sang a soft lullaby, the same one he always asked for in a tired murmur. He was asleep before I finished the second verse, breathing deep, like the world couldn’t touch him anymore.

Even then, I stayed still. I didn’t want to wake him. I didn’t mind.

His other wives came in later. They smiled at the scene—Richmond sleeping soundly in my arms. They curled up around us, whispering through the night, telling stories and laughing in soft voices.

"Poor thing," one whispered. "He’s lucky you’re so gentle with him."