Daisuke sat at a marble table in an expensive restaurant, tapping the surface with his fingertip.

The idea of a marriage of convenience disgusted him, and the fact that his future wife was too late to sign a prenup irritated him. No one had ever been so disrespectful of his personal time, and Daisuke wasn't going to forgive such behavior.

He was beginning to consider whether to reduce the amount of her monthly payments by a few zeros, but he was brought out of his reverie by the clatter of heels on the expensive parquet floor and the sweet smell of vanilla that made him turn around.

"I don't like latecomers, miss."