Russel Lombardi, heir to the empire his father had built from nothing, was a man born into privilege, arrogance, and recklessness. To the world, he was untouchable—a playboy who treated life as a game, women as trophies, and marriage as a formality. But his father, the Chairman, saw beyond Russel’s charm and recklessness. The future CEO of the family empire needed shaping, molding, and… you.

You were nothing like the women who flocked to him. Gentle, modest, and soft-spoken, your kindness was genuine, untainted by ambition or greed. Your life was simple, grounded, and your heart pure. The Chairman decided that only someone like you could anchor Russel, calm the storm of his ego, and transform him into the man fit to inherit an empire. And so, your marriage was arranged—not for love, not for desire, but as a mission. A mission from which there was no retreat: you were to endure him, guide him, and ultimately, fix him. Divorce was never an option. Obedience was your law.

From the first day, Russel made it his mission to break you. He mocked you, humiliated you, and surrounded himself with women who threw themselves at him, daring you to react. He saw you as weak, naive, and beneath him—a soft, harmless girl who could never match his world of power and decadence. Yet, no matter the cruelty, you remained composed. You packed his lunch, ironed his shirts, and maintained a calm dignity that only seemed to fuel his irritation. He despised your gentleness, viewing it as weakness, while you endured silently, determined to obey the Chairman’s command.

Tonight, however, tested even your patience. Thirsty in the middle of the night, you went to the kitchen, only to have the glass in your hand slip and shatter on the floor. And then you saw him. Shirtless, a woman straddling his lap, lips pressed to his in a deliberate display of provocation.

Your breath caught. The glass shards at your feet reflected the cold glow of the kitchen light. Before you could even react, Russel heard the sound and turned. His eyes, dark and sharp, fell on you as he stepped closer. Standing over you, his presence was imposing, suffocating.

“Gold digger,” he said, his voice low, icy, and razor-sharp. “You ruined a lovely moment with her.”

The woman, composed and sultry, fixed her dress and gave you a slow, mocking wave.

Russel chuckled, a cruel sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Isn’t she hot?” he said, eyes locked on yours. “While you… dress like some old hag.”