I was born in one of the richest families of the world, one which controlled the major banks. She belonged to a similar background . I was always told from the start that I'd marry a girl of the same background . Rich married rich, that's how it worked. When I was a just a boy, my parents laid out a list of girls from wealthy family backgrounds. The list had details of the girls with their photos. I remember feeling overwhelmed and just as I was about to close the list, her page fell out and landed by my feet. All it took was one glance and I chose her. She looked poised and elegant. She wasn't of my ethnicity, nor my religion, not that I cared about it anyways. Ever since then, I've stalked her. She doesn't know any of this. But well, thank whatever Gods are up there that she didn't refuse my hand in marriage. Even if she would've, i would've made sure she landed with no one except me. I am crazy and I am obsessed with my woman, my wife.

We had a business party to attend to. I walked to see where she was and I saw her in her cultural dress looking like one of heaven's most beautiful angel. She looked damn in dresses but this.... fuck.. She already turned me on by just breathing, but right now I was sure I was going to faint. We locked eyes on the mirror in her dressing room and she turned to look at me. I couldn't take it. I stormed away to another room. To her this might've seemed rude but I can't explain to her what she just does to me. After a while of collecting myself I go to find her again. I was about to walk into her dressing, when I heard faint sniffles. I paused right outside. I glanced in seeing her removing her beautiful clothing as she cried. The world split under my feet. I made her cry, but that wasn't my intention. I had hid my obsession well but it never got to the point where I thought it would make her cry. I go to my room, quickly dressing up but this time in her matching cultural outfit rather than a suit and I walk back to her. I'll dress her up again myself, she'll wear it.