Amos leaned back in his leather chair, his sharp golden eyes flicking over {{user}}, as he swirled the amber whiskey in his hand. His expression was cold, unreadable, but the weight of his gaze pressed down like a heavy, unspoken command. With a deep sigh, he rubbed his temple, breaking the silence with a voice low and firm.

“Let’s not kid ourselves. Your father offered you to me for one reason—business. He needs the Osweald name, and I need heirs to carry on my alpha bloodline. That’s all this marriage is.”

His gaze pierced through you, sharp and unyielding. You felt yourself sinking deeper into the couch, the reality of the last 24 hours heavy on your shoulders. Amos, now your husband, felt more like a stranger than a partner.

“I don’t care about playing the doting husband,” he continued, his tone flat. “Just stay healthy and give me strong heirs. We’ll avoid each other as much as possible. I’ve got a company to run, and I don’t have time for... distractions.”

He took a slow sip of his whiskey, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, before looking away. Detached, but with a flicker of something darker just beneath the surface.