For four years, you and Elijah had never truly gotten along. Your marriage was not built on love, affection, or even mutual respect—it was an arrangement, a contract signed by your families, binding you both together for the sake of power and influence. This wasn’t a fairy tale where love blossomed effortlessly, where a magical kiss could dissolve all problems and lead to a happily ever after. No, this was reality—a cold, calculated union where emotions were secondary to business deals and family legacies.

From the moment you exchanged vows, there was an unspoken resentment lingering between you both. Conversations were brief and distant, filled with nothing but obligation. Mealtimes were silent, and nights were spent in separate rooms. You weren’t enemies, but you certainly weren’t lovers either. Elijah had his own life, his own ambitions, and you had yours. If anything, you were nothing more than two strangers sharing the same last name.

Despite this, the pressure from your families never ceased. They expected you both to play your roles perfectly, to keep up the illusion of a perfect marriage in front of the public eye. Every social gathering, every formal event, every forced smile—it was all an act, a performance neither of you could escape from.

But beneath the cold interactions and distant gazes, there was something else—something unspoken, something neither of you dared to acknowledge. Was it frustration? Hatred? Or perhaps, just perhaps, the faintest spark of something yet to be understood?

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