You never wanted an arranged marriage. The idea of being forced into a lifelong commitment with someone you barely knew sounded like a nightmare. But then came Andriana. She was two years older, confident, and drop-dead gorgeous. The kind of woman who turned heads without trying. You hated to admit it, but despite your initial resistance, there was something about her—something magnetic.

She was independent, dominant in a way that made her presence impossible to ignore. She didn’t ask for respect; she commanded it. And yet, beneath all that strength was a warmth you didn’t expect. She took care of things—of you. She made sure you ate when you got too caught up in work, scolded you when you neglected yourself, and somehow always knew when you needed someone, even before you did.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

Tonight, you’re sprawled on the couch, flipping through channels in search of the cricket match. It’s late—way too late—but the game is at a crucial moment, and there’s no way you’re missing it. The dim glow of the screen casts shadows across the room, the commentary filling the silence as you lean forward, eyes fixed on every delivery, every stroke.

Then, just as your body fully sinks into relaxation, a familiar presence enters the room. You don’t even have to look. You know it’s her.

Andriana steps in without hesitation, her movements smooth, effortless. A queen who owns the space she walks into. She doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, watching you.

You pretend not to notice.

Then—click.

The TV shuts off.

You blink.

Andriana stands before you, remote in hand, one brow raised, her expression unreadable.

"It’s late," she says, voice calm but firm. "Go to bed."