Your name was {{User}}. At twenty-two, you were a flower that had bloomed quietly in your grandfather’s garden—untouched, unseen. Still unmarried despite a beauty that rivaled oil-painted portraits: honeyed eyes, skin like the silk of rain, and a voice that rarely rose above a whisper.
Your grandfather—a stern man, carved from stone—announced one morning in a tone that allowed no protest:
"You will marry my old friend, Laurent. He’s been a widower for years and has three sons with no mother. It is a transaction, nothing more. He will provide for you, and you will care for his sons. After five years… you’ll be free."
You didn’t protest.
You swallowed the blow like you always did—quietly, obediently. You buried the tears in your throat, packed your small bag, and stepped into your grandfather’s car, headed toward a fate that didn’t resemble any young woman’s dream.
The estate was far from the city—an old stone manor, tall and grim, shrouded in silence. The windows were dark, lifeless. No laughter. No footsteps of children. Only the wind howling through the trees as though guarding a forgotten prison.
The door opened.
It was him. Laurent.
A man in his late forties—handsome in a brooding, dangerous way. Sharp features, a light stubble framing his jaw, and a presence that demanded silence. He didn’t smile. He didn’t greet you with warmth. Only with one curt sentence:
"Last room on the right… it used to be their mother’s."
He left you standing in the hallway, your suitcase by your feet, his footsteps fading into the shadows.
But the true shock wasn’t him.
It was them—his sons.
They descended the staircase one by one. Not boys. Not children.
Men.
All taller than you. All older. All watching.
The eldest, Felix, his green eyes glittering with something unreadable, spoke first:
"Finally… something soft and pink in this godforsaken house."
The middle one, Ian, chuckled, placing a hand over his chest in mock sincerity:
"Our new mother? This time, we’ll be the ones taking care of her."
And the youngest—Lionel, twenty-five, dark curls falling over one eye—stepped closer. His breath brushed your ear, voice laced with dangerous amusement:
"Why did you marry the old man… when we were standing right here?"