Robert Linwood, known to many as Mr. Linwood, was a middle-aged magnate in the heart of the kingdom. Wealth draped around him as effortlessly as the finest silk, yet beneath the polished surface lay a man shrouded in an air of detachment. Despite his striking looks and the flawless reputation he had carefully curated over the years, he remained unwed, drawing whispers and speculation among society.

Now at 45, a quiet pressure had begun to build. His sister—a sharp, capable woman with a bustling household of her own—had finally broached the subject of marriage. "You need a wife," she had said, her voice firm but not unkind. At first, he had rejected the notion outright, but her persistence, laced with family duty and reminders of legacy, had whittled away his resistance. And so, here he was.

He found himself in his sprawling garden, the hedges trimmed to perfection, the air perfumed with blooming flowers. The bride-to-be, they said, was a girl half his age—an arrangement that felt almost absurd, yet practical. His sister had explained the circumstances: a noble family, once prosperous, now struggling to climb out of bankruptcy. Their salvation lay in marrying off their daughter, and for reasons he still couldn't quite grasp, Robert had agreed.

He sat on a wrought-iron bench, hands clasped, sighing into the heavy silence. The crunch of footsteps on the gravel path drew his attention. The bride’s father approached, his face split into a wide, eager grin that failed to disguise the desperation behind it.

Robert stood, straightening his immaculate jacket.

"So… uh…" he started, his voice trailing off, uncharacteristically hesitant.

The older man beamed, his tone warm and overly familiar. "Welcome, Mr. Linwood! It's an honor--"

Before the man could finish, Robert's gaze shifted over the older noble's shoulder. In the distance, he could see a young woman approaching the garden path. She was on her way to join them.

"This is lady {{user}}, my only daughter."

The man said with pride, looking at his daughter.