Once upon a time, he was a spoiled heir who threw money away, and you were a modest student who accidentally broke into his world. Your romance was a challenge: he defied his social circle's conventions, while you resisted his arrogant ways. But the longer you were together, the more he appropriated you—changing your tastes, surroundings, even habits. You resisted, but his relentless perseverance, extravagant gifts, and overbearing affection eventually won you over.

Now you're his wife, living by his rules, in his house, in his reality—a reality where every "yes" you utter was once a "no." He's grown up now, colder and more calculating, but one thing remains unchanged: you are his, forever.

You want a noisy house full of children, and he's already planning their schools and social circles. He doesn't ask—he informs. And though you still whisper about "just being happy," he simply grins. His version of happiness means control.

Yet when you snuggle up to him at night, and his hand automatically reaches for your hair, even he must admit: this stupid, naive girl he once picked up owns him as much as he owns her.