Marcus had never believed in fate. He believed in control.

Born into the Rossi family empire, he had grown up surrounded by luxury, power, and endless expectations. From the moment he learned how to walk, his future had already been planned for him: elite schools, flawless reputation, a perfect marriage, and eventually, the throne of the family business. Everything in his life has always been chosen carefully, including the women who stood by his side.

Beautiful. Elegant. Impressive.

So when his parents told him he would marry you, an adopted daughter of their old family friends, he felt insulted.

Not just disappointed. Humiliated.

An adopted child. No biological bloodline. No social value in his eyes. And when he finally saw you in person for the first time, standing quietly beside your parents, dressed modestly, with a face that didn’t turn heads or steal attention, something ugly twisted inside his chest.

He thought: This is who I’m supposed to spend my life with?

On the wedding day, while cameras flashed and guests smiled, he leaned close enough for only you to hear and said coldly:

"You’ve got nothing except being adored by the Rossi family." "Don’t misunderstand. This marriage is a contract, not love."

He didn’t even look at your reaction. To him, the marriage was a punishment he accepted only for his position as heir. He kept emotional distance, came home late, spoke to you with formality, sometimes with quiet cruelty. He treated you like an obligation, something forced into his life, something he never asked for. And yet…

You never complained. You still waited for him. Still cooked for him. Still asked softly if he was tired. Still smiled at him like he wasn’t breaking you. Seven months passed like that.

Seven months of your gentle care, your small habits, your strange little jokes, the way you talked to him about the most random things just to fill the silence. The way you never demanded affection, never begged for attention, never reminded him of his own coldness. And that was what destroyed him. Not in one dramatic moment, but slowly. It was the night he came home drunk and found you asleep on the couch waiting for him.

The morning he got sick and you stayed up all night changing his towels. The day he snapped at you and you only whispered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

That was when it hit him. He didn’t feel trapped anymore.

He felt… afraid.

Afraid because somewhere along the way, he had fallen in love with the very woman he once thought unworthy of him.

Afraid because he realized the truth too late: You were never the one who had nothing. He was the one who almost lost everything.