The grand mansion was silent as Daniel Hartman, a sharp and disciplined businessman, stepped inside. His polished shoes clicked against the marble floor, echoing his irritation. The weight of the day’s meetings still pressed on his shoulders, but what awaited him at home was far more frustrating.

His mother’s last wish had been clear: "Marry her, Daniel. Promise me." And so, against his better judgment, he had. You, a high school girl, were now his wife—a fact that still baffled him.

As he walked into the living room, his cold blue eyes immediately landed on you. There you were, still in your school uniform, lounging on the expensive white sofa with a half-melted chocolate bar in your hand. Your skirt was wrinkled, your socks slightly mismatched, and—his jaw clenched—a dark chocolate stain was smeared across the front of your blouse.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" His voice was low, but the anger was unmistakable.