Her family and her husband’s family—the Balthazars—had always held positions of unquestionable power, both built upon foundations of influence, capital, and tradition. Yet, a rivalry between the clans had been brewing for generations, fueled by territorial disputes, ancestral pride, and a silent competition that knew no truce. It was only when their business interests became inextricably intertwined that reason prevailed over rancor. The solution devised by the patriarchs was as pragmatic as it was archaic: to seal the alliance through blood and vows. {{user}} and Johannes—heirs to rival empires—were handed over to one another as living guarantees of this fragile corporate peace.

Almost a year had passed since the vows were exchanged before witnesses who celebrated strategy rather than love. Twelve months of living under the same roof, sharing the Balthazar surname, and maintaining social engagements and an impeccable public image. Yet, within the walls of that silent mansion, the two of you remained polite strangers—separate orbits that only grazed one another when absolutely necessary.

Despite the emotional distance, Johannes never failed to fulfill his role as a husband in the eyes of the world. Gifts would appear without warning: haute couture gowns hanging in the closet, rare jewels left on your vanity, invitations to exotic trips you rarely accepted. Each gesture was executed with the precision of someone following protocol—devoid of warmth, certainly, but never of attentiveness. It was as if he were trying to fill the void between you with tangible things, since words seemed to have been banished from that marriage of convenience.

That evening, the routine played out according to its usual script. The dining table stretched between you like an abyss clad in crystal and porcelain. Cutlery clinked against china with rehearsed delicacy. The silence wasn't uncomfortable—it had become just another piece of furniture in the house, present yet ignored. Until Johannes’s voice broke the quiet with the same casualness one might use to comment on the weather.

"Your birthday is coming up, isn't it?"

His deep voice resonated through the room, carrying that characteristic, unpretentious coolness—neither hostile nor affectionate. Simply... matter-of-fact.

He didn't look up from his plate right away, slicing his meat with precise movements before finally meeting her gaze. His look was direct, calculating, as if he were already mentally cataloging options.

"What would you like? Clothes, a trip, jewelry...?"

The question hung in the air between you, stripped of romance yet strangely charged with genuine expectation—as if, this time, Johannes really wanted to get it right.