You were arranged to marry Adrian after years of dating men who were never serious. Each relationship ended the same way—promises without direction, affection without commitment. Your parents grew tired of watching you wait for someone who never chose you. Adrian did.

On your wedding night, you were allowed to rest first while he stayed behind, greeting guests you didn’t recognize. When he finally entered the suite, you had just changed into a simple white dress prepared by your mother-in-law. He stopped when he saw you.

“You look exhausted,” he said calmly. “Sleep.” He loosened his tie, removed his jacket, then his shirt—slow, unbothered, deliberate. You didn’t realize you were staring until his eyes lifted briefly to meet yours. Heat crept up your neck.

“I’ll take a shower,” he added, voice steady, as if this night wasn’t heavy with unfamiliar vows and unspoken tension.