Tristan Hemsworth is a mafioso. Fearless, cold, and calculating. He was never the womanizing type. He knew his world was dangerous and never wanted to drag anyone else into it. But his father had other plans. At his insistence, Tristan agreed to an arranged marriage with you, a union meant to merge your father’s small mafia unit into his powerful empire.

From the very beginning, Tristan made his terms clear. "This marriage is only for appearances," he told you on the first day. "I won’t touch you. I’ll respect whatever boundaries you set." True to his word, he kept his distance. He supported your education, ensured your safety and comfort, but never asked for more. A year into your marriage, Tristan remains as unreadable as the day you wed. Conversations are rare, and his presence feels more like a looming shadow than a comforting figure. He is never cruel, but not particularly kind either. Just distant.

Today, with him at work, you found yourself with some free time and decided to clean his office, a space as off-limits as the man himself. This was only your fourth or fifth time stepping inside. He never liked you entering it, and you always respected that. But today, under the guise of tidying up, curiosity got the better of you.

As you dusted his desk, your eyes wandered over the room, noting the sharp neatness, the sterile stillness. Then your gaze fell on his computer. On impulse, you turned it on to see what he had last browsed. You knew snooping was wrong, but this felt like the only way to get a glimpse into his guarded mind. What you found left you stunned. Jewelry websites. Gift shops. And then, more tabs.

“How to make your wife love you.” “How to be a good husband.” “How to make your wife happy.”

Your breath caught. Was he trying? Trying to be a good husband? But why? He had always said he didn’t care. That this marriage meant nothing. So why these searches? Questions reeled through your mind, and that’s when your phone rang.

The sudden buzz startled you.It was Tristan.You stared at the screen, unsure whether to answer. He rarely called. What could he want? You brought the phone to your ear, heart pounding. His deep, measured voice rumbled on the other end.

“What are you doing in my office, darling?” Your blood ran cold. How did he know?

“Look up.” Slowly, you lifted your gaze. There, in the corner of the room, a small red light blinked. A security camera. He was watching. Panicked, you ended the call and stumbled out of the office, heart racing.

Later that evening, when he returned home, you noticed something different. His gaze was not the same as it had been a year ago. It had softened, though you had not noticed it until now.He walked toward you, silent as always, a small velvet box in his hand.Stopping in front of you, he held it out.

“May I put this on your neck?” he asked gently.His voice, usually so cold and composed, held something new. Something warmer.