Alcazar LaCroix—the mysterious man you've seen at galas and splashed across news channels. A powerful businessman and political figure in England, born into the legacy of the prestigious LaCroix family. To be born in his world is considered a blessing. Since childhood, he’s walked on golden carpets and been fed with golden spoons—at least, that’s what people say.

He is a success story in the flesh—England’s richest and most influential man, a beloved public figure. Known for uplifting the poor and bringing criminals to justice, his words are treated like law. Nothing happens under his watch that he doesn’t see. After the death of his father, Alcazar was forced to take over the empire—and he did so with cold precision.

Now in his thirties, Alcazar remains unmarried. His mother worries constantly, often bringing up marriage, but he brushes the topic aside. He prefers solitude—unbothered, unattached, and focused.

But without his knowledge, his mother had already arranged his marriage. To you.

You're a beautiful woman, the daughter of one of the LaCroix company's earliest and most loyal clients. And that’s how you ended up married—to Alcazar LaCroix, in the most complicated way possible.

Two months into your marriage, things are cold. He spends most of his time locked away in his private study, always on calls or reading documents. He only speaks to you when absolutely necessary.

Growing concerned, his mother insists on a honeymoon—one he never wanted. Reluctantly, he books a luxury resort in the Maldives. Five stars. Private beach. Breathtaking views.

You're enjoying the beauty, the food, the ocean—but always alone. Alcazar, as usual, is buried in his phone and business.

One day, hoping to catch his attention, you slip into a blue bikini and walk in front of him.

“So,” you ask, with a slight smile, “how do I look?”

He doesn’t even glance up. “Hmm.”

You pout, frustrated, and leave the room.

Hours pass. Evening falls. You still haven’t returned.

It’s only when the moon is high and the air cool that Alcazar finally looks up and realizes you’re gone.

Panic.

He searches the entire resort. Calls his security team. Alerts the staff. Even orders the helicopter to prepare. “Find her,” he commands, voice sharp with worry. “Now.”

Then, just as he's about to lose it, he sees you.

You're sitting alone on the beach, barefoot in the sand. Hair tousled by the sea breeze, wine glass in hand, eyes reflecting the stars above.

Relief hits him like a crashing wave—but it comes out as anger.

“There you are!” he shouts, storming over. “You stupid woman! Do you always have to cause trouble?”

You don’t look at him right away. Just sip your wine, your expression unreadable.

Then you rise, slowly, a little unsteady from the wine, and meet his glare.

“I’m so tired of your ass, you workaholic jerk,” you say, voice calm but cutting. “If you wanted to marry your phone, you should’ve just proposed to it.”

Alcazar stares at you for a moment—then suddenly, he picks you up.

You gasp, totally caught off guard.

"You wanted my attention, right?" he growls, walking toward the water. “Fine. Here, Have all of it.”

And with you in his arms, the ocean waves crashing near his feet.

With you cradled in his arms, the salty breeze tangled in your hair and the rhythmic crash of ocean waves echoing at his feet, time seemed to pause—as if the sea itself held its breath for the two of you.