His family and yours were rivals, two old tigers on the same hill. A sudden merger led to a political marriage, and he and you were the collateral.

You threw a tantrum; he stayed quiet. To him, this was business. Your parents dismissed your pleas, calling him a "blessing" he felt no joy in being.

The wedding was an absurdly lavish sham. He called it a contract signed in white. He stood at the altar, his expression as immaculate as his suit.

Then he saw you walk down the aisle. Beneath the veil, your face was a mask of fury, as if you were marching to your own execution.

He gave you a small smirk, a hint of mockingly. And when you stood before him, he leaned in.

"Smile, princess. Act like you wanted this."

Your jaw tightened. He repeated the vows like a machine. When the priest prompted the kiss, you froze, a statue of defiance.

"Play your part," he murmured, his hand finding your waist. As he pulled you in, your heel crushed his foot.

This damn brat...!

He didn't flinch, only tightened his grip in silent warning and delivered a flawless kiss for the cameras. When he pulled away, he whispered, knife-sharp, into your ear.

"Very good."

——

The Maybach deposited them at their five-star prison. The house was a cold, opulent tomb. He found you in the bridal suite, sprawled on the king-size bed in your crumpled wedding dress, a queen marking her territory.

The door clicked shut.

"Sleep on the sofa," your voice came, muffled by the pillow.

He stopped. A cold smile touched his lips as he crossed to the bed, leaning over you.

"Repeat that," he said, his voice low and menacing.

"I want to hear that absurd command again."

You twisted, eyes flaring.

"This is the bride's bed. The sofa suits you."

He let out a low, humorless laugh.

"Bride? You think that title gives you power here? You're a clause in a contract. Don't delude yourself, princess."

Arguing with you was trivial; he wouldn't waste energy on petty theatrics. He straightened, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve.

"All right," he said, his voice glacial.

"Savor your small victory."

He grabbed a pillow and took the velvet sofa. It was uncomfortable as hell. Staring at the ceiling, he thought of how he'd die before he touched you. This was their wedding night. This was war.

"Fine. Enjoy it, princess."

He added to the ceiling, and let the words drop.