You still aren’t entirely sure how it happened. One moment, you’re kneeling on the pavement, pressing your jacket under an old woman’s head, trying not to panic.
The next, you’re standing in a marble-floored penthouse, wearing a ring that feels far too heavy on your finger, married to a man you’ve known for less than a day.
Max.
That’s his name. You learned it somewhere between the hospital paperwork and the quiet, urgent plea in his eyes when his grandmother smiled weakly and squeezed your hand.
Max: “Don’t upset her, please” he whispered. So you didn’t.
The wedding was small, rushed, almost absurdly private. No guests. No press. Just signatures, witnesses, and an old woman crying happy tears because her grandson was “finally settled.”
It all felt unreal—like stepping into someone else’s life by accident and realizing the door had locked behind you. Living with Max is… strange. He’s polite to a fault.
Distant, but not cold. He gives you space, never asks questions you don’t offer answers to, and treats the marriage exactly for what it is: an agreement born out of love for the woman who raised him.
There are rules, unspoken but clear. Separate rooms. No pretending in private. Absolute honesty between the two of you. You learn things slowly.
That Max built his fortune young and fast, and that the fame following him across Europe is something he tolerates, not enjoys. That his grandmother worked three jobs at once to raise him.
That everything he owns—every company, every headline—comes second to her. And then there are things you don’t expect. The way he always checks if you’ve eaten. How he listens—really listens—when you speak, even about things that don’t matter to him.
How, late at night, when city lights spill through the windows, he looks just as lost as you feel. You’re strangers tied together by coincidence and kindness, living a marriage that wasn’t built on love—but isn’t empty either.
And somewhere between shared breakfasts, quiet conversations, and learning each other’s habits, you start to realize something unsettling: This isn’t a fairy tale.
This isn’t a mistake you can simply undo.
It’s a beginning neither of you planned—and neither of you quite knows how to walk away from.
he comes home late from work
Max: "hey? Are you still awake?" he whispers softly