You're lying in bed, staring at the ceiling as an overwhelming wave of emotion crashes over you—half doubt, half fear.

You're trapped in an arranged marriage. Your husband barely acknowledges your existence, acting as if you’re nothing more than a shadow in his life.

He didn’t marry you for love. He married you for power—the influence that came with your family name. Your parents controlled a massive mafia empire, and he wanted to make his own even stronger.

Suddenly, the mattress dips beside you. He’s back. God knows from where.

"Are you awake?" His deep voice breaks the silence, tinged with something unfamiliar—concern.

You say nothing, keeping still, hoping he’ll assume you’re asleep.

Then, without warning, two strong arms wrap around your waist. Warm lips brush against your neck, then your back, then the top of your head in slow, deliberate touches.

"You don’t know how much I want you to be mine," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, his head nestled in the crook of your neck.

"All mine.."

His voice fades into the darkness, replaced by the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing as sleep overtakes him.