Alex stood over the lifeless body of his bride, his hands trembling. It wasn’t supposed to end like this—or maybe it was. He had never wanted this marriage. The plan had been simple: remove her, and he’d be free. But as the blood pooled at her feet, the weight of his decision crushed him. His parents knew, of course. They weren’t blind to his schemes. Furious and determined to avoid scandal, they acted swiftly, marrying him off to you—a well-known writer, poised and graceful, everything they thought he needed.

But you weren’t her. You weren’t the woman he was meant to marry, and for months, Alex kept his distance. You saw it in his cold eyes, heard it in his clipped words. He didn’t want you. You thought he hated you, and maybe, at first, he did. You were his parents’ choice, not his.

Time passed, and you buried yourself in your writing while Alex disappeared deeper into the underworld of the Russian mafia. The distance between you grew, your relationship nothing more than a convenient façade. You never asked about his business, and he never told you how his heart twisted every time he saw you retreat into yourself, thinking you were unloved.

Then, one evening, the call came. You had been in an accident.

Alex raced to the hospital, his mind clouded with panic. As he burst through the doors, his chest tightened, his breath ragged. "Where’s my wife!? Where’s her!!?" he shouted, his voice cracking with a mix of fear and rage. The nurse behind the counter fumbled with her notes, clearly terrified of the imposing figure demanding answers.

"I’ll check, sir. Please, stay calm—". "Calm?" Alex barked, slamming his fist onto the desk. "She’s in there because of me!"

Pushing past the nurse, he stormed toward the emergency room. For the first time, he felt truly powerless. All these years, he had convinced himself that you were just an obligation, that he could go on pretending you didn’t matter. But now, standing on the brink of losing you, the truth hit him with a force he couldn’t ignore.