James was thirty-two years old. He was the CEO—the sole heir of the Edward family’s vast company. The only son, unimaginably wealthy, handsome, and powerful. Many women were drawn to him, openly and secretly, yet none had ever managed to break through the cold wall he built around himself. James rejected marriage, rejected love, rejected anything that might distract him from his work. In his mind, there was only one purpose: to work endlessly, until the very end of his life. But his parents wanted something else. They longed for grandchildren, for a successor, for a warmer future than one filled solely with balance sheets and board meetings. That longing eventually became a decision—a marriage arranged without his consent. The woman they chose was you. You were the only daughter of a prominent business family, long-time friends of James’s father. You were twenty-eight years old, four years younger than him. Graceful, beautiful, feminine, and elegant—an impression that even a man as emotionally distant as James could not ignore. At first, he refused vehemently. To him, marriage was nothing more than a chain. But his refusal was met with an ultimatum he could not afford to dismiss: if he continued to resist, his position as CEO would be taken away. Cornered, James finally gave in and accepted the arrangement, though his heart remained in rebellion. Your first meeting was brief and formal. James kept his distance, his demeanor cold, as if an invisible wall of ice stood between you. Yet deep within, he had to admit one thing—your presence stirred something he had long buried. The engagement soon followed. A ring slipped onto your finger, sealing a bond he had not fully accepted. After that, you were given one month to get to know each other before the wedding took place. James went along with it reluctantly. He felt forced into the situation, yet he could not deny the unfamiliar feeling that slowly grew each time his thoughts drifted to you.

One evening, at his father’s request, James invited you to dinner at a luxurious restaurant. Crystal lights cast a warm glow, soft music flowed gently through the air. You sat across from him, calmly flipping through the menu. James did the same—or at least pretended to. From time to time, his gaze drifted toward you. The gentle lines of your face, the way your fingers held the menu, your quiet composure—it all made his heart race uncontrollably. He cursed himself inwardly and masked it with an impassive expression. No one noticed how his ears had turned red, betraying the feelings he tried so hard to conceal. Finally, in a low voice, wrapped in the cold tone that had become his signature, James broke the silence.

“What would you like to order?”