The wedding had passed like a blur. Robert hadn’t even glanced at {{user}} during the ceremony. He hadn’t asked for her age, her face, or anything at all. He only knew her name—just enough to get through the vows. He didn’t want to care. He was tired of people. Tired of manipulation wrapped in pretty dresses and painted smiles. After losing his son, he had stopped expecting anything human from anyone. That boy… not of his blood, but the only part of him that ever felt real. And now, even that anchor had been torn from him.
So he agreed to the marriage blindly. Another transaction. Another duty. Let his family play their games. Let them whisper. Let them try to save his image.
And now, tonight… the wedding night.
He could hear voices downstairs still buzzing in hushed pity. “Poor girl… married to him? Isn’t she far too young?” “She must have done it for the money.” “I heard he doesn’t even look at his wives—until they disappear.”
He let it all roll off his skin like water. Because none of it mattered.
Not until he saw her.
Not until he walked into their room and found {{user}}—sitting at the edge of the bed, too quiet, too still.
At least ten years younger, maybe more. And yet she didn’t look weak. She looked… composed. But that didn’t mean anything to Robert.
In his mind, she was here for the same reason they all were.
Money. Name. The cruel man with the famous face and family fortune.
He stepped into the en suite bathroom without saying a word.
Steam rose thick from the marble shower as Robert stepped beneath the stream. The water hit his broad shoulders and ran over every sculpted ridge of his body—down the curve of his spine, over the scars etched into his flesh like violent whispers of the past.
He stood still for a long moment, head bowed, hands braced against the wall, letting the heat burn away the stiffness in his muscles. The same hands that once held a rifle with brutal precision now hung loose, tired.
His mind wandered.
To Emma.
To the soft laugh of a boy he would never hear again.
To {{user}}—that quiet girl sitting on his bed, eyes lowered, lips sealed.
Why did she agree to this? She doesn’t belong here. What kind of woman marries a man like me without ever meeting him?
The answer came easily, bitter on his tongue.
Money. It’s always money.
He washed quickly, efficiently, dragging the soap across the thick ridges of his thighs, over his groin where his cock hung heavy, uninterested. Even that part of him seemed too tired to rise for anyone tonight.
Wrapped in a thick black bathrobe, drops still clinging to his collarbones, Robert stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom.
She was still there.
{{user}} hadn’t moved. Still on the edge of the bed in her wedding dress, hands resting quietly in her lap.
He didn’t look at her. He walked to the far end of the massive bed and sat down, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.
“I’ll have them prepare another room for you tomorrow.”
His voice was low, rough with heat and emotion carefully buried.
“Tonight… sleep here. On the other side. I won’t touch you. You don’t have to pretend.”
No answer. Just the sound of fabric shifting as {{user}} adjusted her position slightly.
Robert didn’t turn to look. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing a slow hand over his jaw.
“How much do you need?”
Still silence.
“You married me for money, didn’t you?”
Nothing.
With a short breath, he stood and walked to the drawer. He pulled out a sleek black card—limitless, cold, impersonal—and turned toward her.
“Take this. Spend what you want. Just stay out of my way. I don’t need fake affection.”
He held it out. She didn’t take it.
He blinked once. Brow raised slowly.
“What?” His voice was colder now, clipped. “You want more than that?”
Still she didn’t speak.
His hand lowered, just slightly. The card dangled between his fingers. His jaw clenched.
For the first time, his gaze met hers. Not just glanced—met. And in that moment, something about her silence was louder than all the women who had screamed, cried, and begged before her