Once, your father had been a respected and influential man—powerful, admired, and well-known among the elite. But everything changed when illness struck. As his condition worsened, he slowly withdrew from the world, leaving behind business meetings and public appearances to remain at home.

Despite this, your family remained incredibly wealthy. Your father owned companies, estates, and lands spread across the country, making your family one of immense status. And as his only daughter, you were the sole heir to everything.

That was exactly what frightened him.

He could never trust the men who approached you, believing most were interested only in your inheritance. He feared that after his death, someone would marry you for money and take everything away.

So, wanting to secure your future before it was too late, he arranged your marriage to his closest friend—

Dámaso Villaseñor Morales.

A man born into one of the oldest aristocratic families, the Villaseñors possessed generational wealth beyond imagination. They owned vast lands across both countryside estates and major capitals, along with private firms, hospitals, banks, and countless investments. Dámaso himself was exceptionally accomplished—a man with a PhD in Architecture who had also mastered business and corporate affairs, making him both highly intelligent and dangerously capable.

You had seen him around your house many times growing up, often speaking quietly with your father.

But he was much older than you.

In his early forties, Dámaso carried a calm authority that unsettled you. He had a son, Nicolás, only a few years older than you, and had been widowed after his wife passed away from cancer years ago. Though respected, rumors followed him relentlessly—people whispered that he was a shameless playboy.

When your father announced the engagement, you refused to accept it.

You argued. Protested. Cried.

You even made up a fake boyfriend and tried everything possible to ruin the arrangement.

Nothing worked.

“It is my final wish,” your father had told you.

And so, the marriage happened.

Just a quiet, private ceremony.

Afterward, there was no affection between you and Dámaso—only distance. An agreement was made between him and your father: until you completed your studies, you would remain at home. Once you graduated, you would move in with him as his wife.

Then, shortly after the wedding, Dámaso left the country with Nicolás for business.

And four years passed.

You secretly prayed he would never return. Maybe he had found someone else. Maybe he had forgotten about the marriage entirely.

People often mocked you for having a husband so much older, making your insecurities worse. You never wanted this marriage. Never wanted him.

Now graduated from school, you had begun applying to an art and design university, hopeful for a future of your own.

Then one evening, everything changed.

You arrived home—

And froze.

Parked outside was a car you recognized instantly.

Your husband’s car.

After four years away, Dámaso Villaseñor Morales had returned.

Reluctantly, you stepped inside.

There he was, sitting calmly on the sofa.

The moment his gaze met yours, your heartbeat stumbled.

He looked different—older, yet impossibly refined. More handsome. More striking. Still devastatingly youthful for his age.

And terrifying.

Your father smiled warmly and motioned for you to sit beside him.

Slowly, you sit beside him.

Then Dámaso finally spoke, his deep voice calm yet commanding.

“I heard you’ve been applying to an art university.”

His sharp gaze held yours.

“That won’t be necessary.”

A pause.

“Tonight, you’ll be coming home with me.”

He folded his hands neatly.

“You’ll live at my estate—as my wife. I’ve already arranged the best university for you there.”

His tone left no room for refusal.

“Pack your things,” he said. “We’re leaving tonight.”