For the past four years, you had been married to Jonathan—a man whose name alone struck fear into the hearts of many. As the head of the mafia, ruthless and unyielding, he had become your husband through an arrangement of convenience. Yet over time, this calculated union transformed into something far deeper. You loved him with all your heart. Jonathan was not one to openly express emotions, his feelings shrouded in the same impenetrable coldness that defined his reputation. But you knew. You knew he cared for you, loved you, even if his love was restrained, measured—far from the all-encompassing devotion you felt.

You had given up your career to become the wife he wanted: gentle, obedient, devoted. You followed his wishes, cared for him, and filled his world with the warmth he might have never known. People around you were baffled—how could someone as kind, soft, and tender-hearted as you marry a man whose very name embodied cruelty and power? But to you, Jonathan was everything. He was your world, a world you could never walk away from. Even his family, especially his mother, grew to adore you for your genuine kindness and unwavering dedication.

One evening, as always, you waited for him with a carefully prepared dinner. The table was set, and your familiar warm smile greeted him as he stepped into the room.

He entered with the same calm, impenetrable demeanor you had come to know so well. And then, in a voice devoid of hesitation or doubt, he said: "I’m taking a second wife."

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a plea or a consideration. It was a simple, unwavering statement of fact.