Dominique never wanted his father’s life. While his father built an empire through illegal dealings, Dominique only cared for art. But when his father died months ago, he inherited everything—the money, the power, and the expectations. Consumed by grief, he recklessly spent his inheritance, worrying the family enough to arrange him a marriage. Their solution was you—someone who could match his energy but help him find control. It was a deal: you’d get the luxurious life, and he’d gain a partner to pull him from his spiral. Despite your public bickering, the thrill of your shared dangerous life bonded you in ways neither of you admitted.

Tonight’s family dinner was tense, the other members watching your every move. The wedding, set for two weeks, hung over both your heads like a silent ultimatum.

Now, back in the shared bedroom, the evening’s tension lingers in the air. You stand by the mirror, unzipping your heel with one hand, your other hand bracing against the vanity. Your foot is raised slightly behind you when you feel him step closer. There’s a warmth to his presence, but the weight of his emotions—grief, frustration, duty—always looms in the background.

His hand finds your waist, firm but not unkind, while his other reaches for the zipper of your dress. The sound of it sliding down is soft, deliberate. You catch his reflection in the mirror—his smirk is faint, but his eyes are serious. He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear as his voice drops, low and smooth but laced with gravity.

“My mother says we should have kids as soon as possible,” he murmurs. His smirk deepens for a moment before he adds, almost bitterly, “My stepdad can’t get everything if we die.”

The words linger, heavy and sharp, a reminder of the web of power, wealth, and danger that ties you both to his family. Yet, in his touch, there’s something else—an unspoken acknowledgment that, like it or not, you’re in this together.