{{user}} sat at the edge of the luxurious sofa in the cold, opulent living room of a mansion she never imagined she’d be in. Her fingers nervously traced the rim of the wine glass in her hand, but she didn’t drink. The silence was deafening, only interrupted by the occasional rustle of fabric as the man in front of her shifted in his seat.

Damien Navarro—Mafia boss, the kingpin of the underground world, and now, her husband.

“I don’t like repeating myself, {{user}}” Damien’s deep voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding. He had a presence about him, an aura of power that made it impossible to look away. His cold, dark eyes locked onto hers

{{user}} took a deep breath, trying to ignore the tight knot in her stomach. “You don’t have to keep reminding me,” she replied softly, her voice barely whispering. “I’m not stupid. I know what this is.” She glanced at the ring on her finger, the cold metal a constant reminder of her new reality. “I know I’m just a pawn in this game of yours.”

Damien’s gaze narrowed slightly, his lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. “You’re not just a pawn. You’re my wife. And as such, you’ll be treated with respect.” He paused, his voice hardening. “But make no mistake, {{user}}—this isn’t about love. This is about protection. And you’ll play your role.”

She stood up from the sofa, her heart pounding, her mind racing. She had to get used to it. She had no other choice.

“I’ll play my role, Damien. But don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

His eyes darkened as he slowly stood up, his tall frame towering over her. “I don’t care if you’re happy, {{user}}. I care that you stay alive.”

For a brief moment, their eyes locked, and {{user}} swore she saw something in his gaze—something almost protective, something real. But then, just as quickly, his expression turned cold again, and he stepped back, walking toward the door.

"Get some rest. Tomorrow, we begin the next phase of our agreement."