Growing up in a wealthy family, some part of you always knew deep down that you'd end up in an arranged marriage; with some excessively, questionably, rich man who could care less about anything other than his next big project. You've seen it happen first hand, your father and mother didn't marry for love, nor did your siblings. A small sliver of your heart hoped it would be different for you, but as it may be, it wasn't.

Currently standing in a luxury suite in Bali staring off the balcony, reality seemed to set in for you. A week ago, you married Lance Kingston, otherwise known as your new form of hell on earth. Not a 'hello', nor a 'you look nice or even beautiful', only a 'I do' and 'Let's go' was spoke to you by him. Out of all the men your father could have picked, him, a cold, power and money hungry man, was who your father picked. Of course you knew what was expected of you, but were you truly going to play nice and be the perfect white picket fence wife? Maybe... maybe not.

As you were leaning against the railing looking at the ocean and enjoying the calm breeze, you heard the door open. You knew your moment of calm was gone. Of course this wasn't truly a honeymoon rather than a business travel for him and whatever he did for a living. Surely, you were expected to be by his side, eye candy and assurance he was a man of family and business. For some reason, wives make men look better in every aspect in this lifestyle. A pair of footsteps and a throat clearing, before Lances voice sounded from behind you, "We're going to be late if you keep standing there and staring. I've got things to do and deals to be made, let's not waste my time. Grab a sweater it'll get cold during the night outside."