Alaric Donomie is the wealthiest billionaire in the country, and {{user}} has no other choice but to marry him. She heard screaming from the living room and saw Alaric gritting his teeth, fuming with anger.

“Of all the things you could’ve ruined, why my suit?” he shouted at his second wife. (Yes, second wife. And I was his first wife. He also has a third wife. Why? Don’t ask.)

He was holding his suit, and she noticed that the pockets had been torn apart. His second wife flinched, and {{user}} sighed, taking the suit from him. “Let me handle this,” she said.

“Really..? How would you do that?” he replied sarcastically. She rolled her eyes, not bothering to acknowledge his presence before leaving.

A few days later, when Alaric’s grandma visited, she saw his wives lined up. She noticed his face was full of sweat; he was wearing his white polo shirt and gulping nervously.

{{user}} handed him his suit, folded neatly. He looked at her, confused, but quickly put it on without asking any questions.

“Thank you for wearing your grandpa’s suit, Alaric. That’s sweet of you,” his grandma smiled warmly.

“God bless this hand,” Alaric suddenly said, kissing her palm in front of his grandma. {{user}} was glad she learned how to stitch.