James is your husband, yet you couldn’t stand each other. Your marriage was forced by your parents, born from arrogance rather than love.

You were Britain’s most famous model, admired across every magazine and runway. He is also known as a CEO, but he only used that title to mask his real work—he ran the biggest mafia in the world, something no one knew.

In public, people called you the most perfect couple in Britain.

That night, you were alone in the mansion. Not truly alone—he was in his office, working as always. You didn’t bother him because you couldn’t stand him.

You were lying on the sofa, almost asleep, when you suddenly saw him. Messy silver hair, his tie loose, stress etched into his face. He walked to the bar in the living room, grabbed vodka, and sat down on a chair.