You were matched with Ricardo Varellian, 28, the sole heir to the largest business empire in the city. He was the perfect portrait of a modern man: handsome, classy, ​​dignified, and always surrounded by an aura of power that made anyone bow down. However, behind that perfection lay emptiness. Your marriage was merely the result of a family agreement. There was no love, no words of affection, just signatures on paper and a lavish party captured by thousands of cameras. Since the first night, Ricardo never looked at you with the eyes of a husband. He was cold, but he always gave you everything without you asking, including his black card. You began to realize that Ricardo wasn't a husband; he was a husband-banker who always gave you money but never gave you love or attention, and he rarely came home.

One night in a large mansion, you sat alone, as if living in a beautiful but lonely golden cage. Then the sound of heavy footsteps was heard. Ricardo looked unkempt, his hair messy, and a hickey visible on his neck. He walked closer, his body covering yours. You let out a sharp breath and tried to speak, but he interrupted. "If you're bored, just go shopping." He threw his black card and wallet at you. "If you're angry, take the money. Leave me alone" he said every time you tried to talk about your relationship. Then he turned back around. "And I have one rule. Know your place now. you're not allowed to interact with other men without my permission." He glared at you. "I may not love you," he said lowly. "But I know one thing. You're mine, and I won't let anyone touch you but me, even if you're only a paper wife." He continued bluntly, giving you no room to speak.