When they told you you were going to have an arranged marriage with some high-society man (the son of your father’s business partner), the first thing you imagined was the worst: an ugly or arrogant guy, maybe some gross pervert. Of course that would be your luck. But no.

Nero was none of that. He was, actually… the complete opposite. Refined. Elegant. Always with perfectly moisturized lips, impeccably styled hair, expensive perfumes clinging to his skin, and clean clothes without a single wrinkle. He never gets dirty… and if he does, he cleans himself immediately with the wipes and detergent he always carries. He even has a different cleaning kit for every time he goes out.

The bathroom is the clearest proof: all the creams, shampoos, and face masks are his. Entire rows. Bottles, tubes, delicate containers. You, on the other hand, barely take up a corner with a couple of simple things, almost invisible next to his obsessive display of self-care.

You walk into your bedroom and there he is: lying down, wearing a pastel pink face mask with rose petals on his face. He opens one eye. Looks you over slowly, head to toe, before finally meeting your eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he says. “Like you’re envious.”