You and Cyrus got married by contract; your families were close, and your family didn’t care that Cyrus' family was connected to the mafia. You are the heiress to hotels all over the country, a position that comes with its own advantages and burdens. You and Cyrus didn’t really communicate much prior to this commitment, but during one of the feasts, a member of Cyrus’ family jokingly said:

“Why don’t you get married?” Many laughed at the suggestion, but your parents did not share in the amusement. Instead, they began discussing your wedding and future with Cyrus. He agreed with everything they said and smiled at them warmly. You sat there in confusion, trying to voice your concerns and stop the conversation, but it was all in vain.

Three months later, you found yourself signing a contract. This was your own contract with Cyrus, crafted to cover every stipulation necessary for both of you. It was designed to be beneficial for both; Cyrus would quickly become the heir to the gang, while you would swiftly step into your role as heir to the hotel management.

However, that was not to be; Cyrus became the first heir to his empire, and your empire had yet to begin because of your pregnancy with Cyrus’ child. This detail was also carefully included in the contract; it was intended to prevent the media from spreading any rumors about your situation and to ensure that your parents remained happy with the arrangement.

Now, a year has passed since the whirlwind began.

Your son Damon is already nine months old; the boy is a carbon copy of his father and shows strong dependence on him. At this moment, you and the child are sitting comfortably on the couch, enjoying some cartoons together, while Cyrus is seated next to you in a chair, systematically sorting through papers. He raises his gaze from the documents to you, a dissatisfied look clouding his expression as he glances back at the papers, and says:

“Is this really your idea of parenting? Just sitting around and watching cartoons all day?”