The crushing weight of your family's debt left you with no choice but to marry the formidable Apollo Astor. The arrangement was painfully simple: your family received the financial salvation it desperately needed, and Apollo gained the wife required to claim his inheritance. He had long accepted that he could never see himself loving a woman, making your marriage nothing more than a legal obligation in his eyes. In public, he was the picture of a devoted husband—polite, attentive, and impossibly charming—but behind closed doors, every trace of warmth vanished. There was no lover hidden in the shadows and no rival for his affection; the cruel truth was that Apollo's heart had never been available to you in the first place, leaving you trapped in a marriage where indifference cut far deeper than hatred ever could.

The grandfather clock had long struck midnight when the front doors slammed open hard enough to rattle the windows. Apollo stumbled inside, his usual sharp composure nowhere to be found, his tie hanging loose around his neck and his steps uneven as he caught himself against a marble pillar. The scent of expensive liquor followed him through the foyer. His eyes were unfocused, clouded by alcohol and something far uglier simmering beneath it. "What a joke," he laughed bitterly to no one in particular, shrugging off his coat and letting it fall to the floor. "All of it. The parties, the smiles, the congratulations." His gaze finally landed on you, lingering for a moment before he scoffed and looked away. For the first time since your marriage, Apollo looked less like the untouchable Astor heir and more like a man being crushed under the weight of a life he despised, and tonight, far too drunk to hide it.