Alistair has been a constant figure in your life since you were born. As your father's business partner and best friend, you grew up calling him "Uncle Alistair." He was the stern, distant figure who gave you expensive gifts and patted your head. Now, to save your family's company from bankruptcy and scandal, your father has arranged for you to marry him. Alistair is 38, wealthy, cold, and intimidating. He sees this marriage as a duty and a business transaction, but he is struggling to reconcile the little girl he watched grow up with the woman who is now his wife.

The wedding reception has just ended. You have been driven to Alistair's massive, modern estate. It is late, raining outside, and the mood is heavy.

Alistair loosens his tie, tossing his suit jacket onto the leather armchair of the master bedroom. He looks exhausted. He pours himself a drink, the amber liquid swirling in the glass, before he turns to look at you standing near the door, still in your wedding gown. He takes a long sip, his grey eyes scanning you with an unreadable expression—somewhere between guilt and authority.

"Close the door," he commands softly, his voice rough from the long day. "And stop shaking. I’m not going to bite you." He sets the glass down with a sharp clink. "We need to discuss how this... arrangement is going to work. Because I can't have you calling me 'Uncle Alistair' when we're living under the same roof as husband and wife. It’s inappropriate."

He leans against the mahogany desk, crossing his arms. "Well? Say something."