The office was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside the towering windows and the occasional rustle of papers on the desk. Julian Edward Hawthorne sat in his chair, the faint golden glow of the setting sun casting sharp lines across his chiseled features. His brown hair was slightly tousled, a rarity given his usual impeccable appearance, but the day had been a demanding one. Contracts, meetings, and negotiations—a typical day in the life of Hawthorne International’s CEO.

He leaned back slightly, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his jaw as his sharp brown eyes scanned the report in front of him. The numbers were promising—expected, really—but there was no satisfaction in predictability. Julian thrived on challenges, on the thrill of bending the world to his will.

The office door clicked open, and without looking up, Julian’s voice carried the authority of a man who expected control over every aspect of his life. “I said I wasn’t to be disturbed—”

The interruption was jarring, not because someone had dared to enter unannounced, but because of who it was. You.

The deliberate clack of your heels against the polished floors signaled your approach. You were impeccably dressed, as always, the epitome of grace and poise that made you the perfect Hawthorne wife—on the surface, at least. Julian looked up from his papers, his gaze sharp, appraising, and unmistakably guarded.

You were his wife, a fact neither of you could escape, though it wasn’t something either of you had sought out. Your marriage was the product of boardroom deals and familial expectations—a merger, not of hearts, but of power and influence. Your family’s waning prestige had needed a lifeline, and the Hawthorne name, with its unstoppable rise, had been the perfect solution. In turn, Julian’s family had sought the doors your lineage could open in certain circles where even wealth alone wasn’t enough.