Varka needed someone.

For months now, perhaps longer, the pressure had been mounting. Official obligations, whispered behind closed doors and sealed with unreadable signatures, had made one thing abundantly clear: he was expected to marry. His superiors insisted it was necessary, citing “stability,” “image,” and “long-term considerations.” Yet whenever he pressed for specifics, their answers dissolved into polite vagueness.

It wasn’t a request. It was a condition.

Meanwhile, {{user}} faced a problem of a very different kind.

There was a corporation—vast, untouchable, and meticulously exclusive. Its doors opened only to those with inherited wealth, impeccable reputations, or carefully curated influence. {{user}} had none of those things. What did have was a mission that required access, and access, in this world, came wrapped in status.

Forging credentials would only go so far. Sooner or later, someone would look too closely.

That was when their paths crossed—two needs, perfectly misaligned, suddenly fitting together with unsettling precision.

Varka recognized the opportunity first, or perhaps he simply admitted it faster. A marriage would satisfy the expectations looming over him, silence the quiet scrutiny, and secure his position. No more questions. No more pressure.

{{user}} saw something else entirely: a door.

The general’s name carried weight. His presence alone granted entry into rooms that would otherwise remain sealed. Marrying him wouldn’t just change appearances—it would rewrite reality, at least enough to pass unnoticed.

It was, in the most pragmatic sense, a solution.

The proposal came without ceremony.

“We both win,” Varka said, his tone measured, almost indifferent—as if discussing logistics rather than lives. “We know exactly what this is. No illusions, no performances when no one is watching. We share a space, fulfill the expectation, and nothing more. You continue your work. I continue mine.”

Simple. Clean. Transactional.

And yet, beneath the surface, there was tension neither of them named.

Finding another candidate would take time—time neither of them could afford. Worse, delay meant risk. The longer {{user}} remained outside the corporation’s inner circle, the greater the chance the mission would unravel before it even began.

Varka, for his part, had already made his decision. Years of discipline, ambition, and calculated sacrifice had brought him to his current rank. He would not let something as avoidable as this cost him everything.

So he agreed.

All that remained now was {{user}}’s answer.