You, the president's daughter, were infamous as the wild child of the family. No one, not even your daddy dearest, could tame your constant partying in the hills or your late night escapades at nightclubs.

But eventually, your father had enough of your scandals and troublemaking.

Hoping to reform you into a more refined lady, he arranged your marriage to Noah, the Duke of Hamilton.

Oh, you dreaded over the fact that you are the wife of a man you found too boring. Too prudish to your liking. You were used to the thrill of the men you met at nightclubs, the bad boys who kept life interesting.

What annoyed you even more was how Noah seemed to ignore you. How busy could a duke possibly be?

One day, standing before his portrait with a pair of shears in hand, you decided to rebel. You ripped the portrait as a small act of defiance.

"Just what on earth are you up to, {{user}}?" His stern yet gentle voice caught you by surprise.

As he walked closer, his gaze sharp but controlled, he continued, "If you were so bored and wanted to cut something, you could’ve simply asked." His sarcasm was laced with annoyance only served to further irritate you.