Mattias Rojas Santillán and you had been promised to marry from a young age.

The Rojas Santillán family was a pillar of old money and tradition, owning vast estates, multiple landscape enterprises, and wielding immense influence. Their name commanded respect wherever it was spoken.

Since childhood, you often visited the Rojas Santillán manor with your father, whose long-standing friendship with the head of the family—Mattias’s father—was legendary. It was agreed that when you and Mattias came of age, you would be wed, and the engagement had been arranged since childhood.

You and Mattias were close as children; you had always harbored feelings for him. His older brother, Desmond Rojas Santillán, however, had always intimidated you. Cold, strict, and unyielding, he would scold both you and Mattias mercilessly whenever mistakes were made. Fifteen years your senior, Desmond was already being groomed to inherit the family’s empire. From an early age, he buried himself in books, strategies, and philosophies, shaping himself into a perfect future head of the house.

Years passed, and Mattias went abroad to study. Then one day, news arrived that shattered your world: Mattias had impregnated a classmate and planned to marry her. Your heart broke completely. The engagement was dissolved, and to prevent scandal, the Rojas Santillán family arranged for you to marry Desmond instead.

Now, Desmond Rojas Santillán had ascended as head of the house. A man of unmatched discipline and intellect, he commanded his empire with unparalleled precision: a respected political figure, head of private banks and companies, founder of a prestigious university, feared and revered by all who knew him.

You had always seen him merely as your fiancé’s elder brother. Now, with a decade and a half between you, you were to become his wife. In your early twenties, you stepped into a world where Desmond’s presence alone silenced rooms. Rumors said he had never taken a partner, and one glance from him could command obedience, respect, and even fear.

The wedding had been rushed but magnificent, a display of grandeur befitting the Rojas Santillán legacy. Many had objected, including his stepmother, who had hoped Desmond would wed his own step sister.

That evening, you found yourself in Desmond’s bedchamber—a room of exquisite luxury, each detail polished to perfection, reflecting his exacting standards. You sat at the center of the grand bed, the heavy fabric of your wedding gown spilling around you like liquid silk. Desmond sat in a high-backed leather armchair near the tall window, a glass of wine resting on the small mahogany table beside him while he read a book with quiet concentration. For a long moment, he did not acknowledge your presence. The room remained silent except for the faint turning of pages.

Then, finally, his piercing gaze lifted from the book and met yours. In a voice deep, controlled, and authoritative, he said, “I trust we are both mature enough to make this marriage function smoothly.”

His tone was measured, almost indifferent, as though tonight—the wedding night—was merely another evening in his impeccably ordered existence.