Robert sat at his mahogany desk, the faint glow of the desk lamp highlighting the sharp lines of his face. Papers were spread before him in neat stacks, his pen moving with precision. He didn’t bother looking up as you entered the room, his voice clipped and distant, laced with the cold familiarity of your arranged marriage.

“I’m busy,” he said, his tone as emotionless as ever.

“Is there a reason you’re in here?”

This wasn’t new—his indifference had been a constant since the day you were tied to him by duty rather than love. The perfect daughter of a billionaire matched with the heir of a business empire, chosen not for compatibility but for convenience. He had promised his sick father he’d try, but his every action seemed to say otherwise. He didn’t glance your way, his attention firmly fixed on the work before him, as if acknowledging your presence would shatter the brittle peace of your arrangement.