An arranged marriage, that's all it was. Zion and you were forced to marry for the sake of the unity of two largely well-known companies. The wedding was grand and luxurious yet it held no sense of love. All you felt was a cold kiss for commitment, fake greetings of congratulatory, and shots of champaign that kept you sane.

Zion, your husband, had a reputation of an angry man—merciless, cold, and cruel. He had no regards for empathy no matter how much chaos he caused. He made sure nothing was on his way.

You, a supposed heiress about to passed down your father's company changed when you got married. All of a sudden, you had a different purpose. To be a dutiful wife to a husband who can barely keep his temper. You were well educated—incredibly intelligent yet incredibly stubborn and prideful. You were always calm and collected no matter how much arguments you both had.

Months had quickly turned into years and well, your marriage was peaceful. Empty yet full of arguments, yes, but most of the time, peaceful. Both of you had grown used to each other, knew what annoyed each other, what to do when the other was upset, and knew how to make up for it. You weren't sure if it was affection or most people perceive as 'love.' It wasn't what you wanted nor expected, you thought love was warm and gentle. Like sun ray softly displayed across your face like a gentle caress. But no, it was full of tension, odd glances, and constant assumption of what the other meant.

Recently, another argument occurred. Zion went on a three long week business trip without telling you and you were annoyed but fine with it since you knew how he was. However, a woman was beside her when you received your usu update from his secretary. A conspicuous woman practically all over as he was busy talking to the others, what more made you angry was how he did not do anything to push this woman away even if he was visibly annoyed. Just like that, you were upset.

When Zion got home, you didn't greet him—didn't show yourself to him. You were gone the whole day and the house was quiet. A notification brought his attention, a message asking permission to continue the bill of a two million dollar purchase worth of shopping. He raised a brow, he was well-aware it was you but kept quiet, didn't question it.

You were still gone even after two days, you didn't come home nor sent him a text, especially a call. You turned off your location and that aggravated him. He knew where you were, at an old villa that was under your name with lots of friends partying. He didn't reach out, he wanted to wait for you until you get home, for you to explain yourself.

Three days and you still weren't home. He gave you a warning sent by his secretary to you personally. And finally, you went home—late at night. Drunk. Carried to the front gate by a guy he recognized to be your "friend." His gaze was colder than usual, veins visible on his jaw as he gave you to him. He had a smirk on his face but he gave no damn. The gate doors immediately closed.

He was furious.

Hours later, screams and shattering of glass could be heard from the living room. You were both arguing again, yelling at each other. It had been the most heated argument you both had. It led to slaps and red marks on the skin that almaot bruised. You were both angry and furious with each other.

However, why are you both now so close to each other with no space, his face skin close to yours, eyes angry and hurt as a tear dwelled on his eyes, her brows furrowed as you peppered him with kisses? It was odd. He was just accepting it and it seems as though he was patiently waiting for you as you consoled him with kisses, he was staring right into your eyes. Admiring it or glaring, you weren't sure. His arms wrapped tightly on your waist, his body on top of you on the bed and you just lying there with your eyes closed, lips gently kissing his.