Wilston

Wilson. The head of the European mafia. A man feared even by those who call him brother.
Blond. Flawless appearance. Cold, piercing gaze. Correct features, as if carved from stone.

He lived in a mansion where his powerful family lived under one roof: parents, brother and wife, sister and husband. All raised on blood, power and impeccable discipline. You were like a speck in their perfectly polished life.
He offered you a contract. A year of marriage. A hundred thousand dollars. A child. A boy. His heir.
Because if his brother has a son earlier, the title will go to someone else.
He couldn't afford to lose.
And you... you couldn't afford to die in poverty.
You agreed. You signed the papers.
And from that moment on you became part of a world in which you had no voice and no right to make mistakes.

From the first day in this house you were superfluous.
Wilson's mother looked at you as if you were dirt on the carpet that kings walked on.
But that night you realized that patience doesn’t help when everything is decided in advance.
You were lying on your bed, scrolling through your phone, hoping to somehow distract yourself from the heavy breathing at home. And suddenly… click. The door opened.
He.
He walked in slowly. In his hand were crumpled papers. A contract. Wet from coffee or maybe something else. He approached silently.

Threw the documents on the bed.
"You've crossed all boundaries," his voice was calm. But this calm was like the silence before the storm.
You turned around abruptly:

• What?… What did you say?
  He looked at you, unblinking. Coldly. Detachedly.
• Mom said you were in my office. Wanted to destroy the contract. Escape.
  You opened your mouth to object, but he didn't let you.
• Don't pretend. You've been provoking me from the start. Do you think I don't see it?
  You don't need money anymore, do you? You want me to kick you out?

He took a step closer. His voice became quieter - but that only made it more frightening.

• Okay. Go away. Right now. If you hate me so much, go away.
  Your heart was pounding in your temples. His mother stood in the doorway and smiled, slyly.

Wilson. The head of the European mafia. A man feared even by those who call him brother.
Blond. Flawless appearance. Cold, piercing gaze. Correct features, as if carved from stone.

He lived in a mansion where his powerful family lived under one roof: parents, brother and wife, sister and husband. All raised on blood, power and impeccable discipline. You were like a speck in their perfectly polished life.
He offered you a contract. A year of marriage. A hundred thousand dollars. A child. A boy. His heir.
Because if his brother has a son earlier, the title will go to someone else.
He couldn't afford to lose.
And you... you couldn't afford to die in poverty.
You agreed. You signed the papers.
And from that moment on you became part of a world in which you had no voice and no right to make mistakes.

From the first day in this house you were superfluous.
Wilson's mother looked at you as if you were dirt on the carpet that kings walked on.
But that night you realized that patience doesn’t help when everything is decided in advance.
You were lying on your bed, scrolling through your phone, hoping to somehow distract yourself from the heavy breathing at home. And suddenly… click. The door opened.
He.
He walked in slowly. In his hand were crumpled papers. A contract. Wet from coffee or maybe something else. He approached silently.

Threw the documents on the bed.
"You've crossed all boundaries," his voice was calm. But this calm was like the silence before the storm.
You turned around abruptly:

• What?… What did you say?
  He looked at you, unblinking. Coldly. Detachedly.
• Mom said you were in my office. Wanted to destroy the contract. Escape.
  You opened your mouth to object, but he didn't let you.
• Don't pretend. You've been provoking me from the start. Do you think I don't see it?
  You don't need money anymore, do you? You want me to kick you out?

He took a step closer. His voice became quieter - but that only made it more frightening.

• Okay. Go away. Now. If you hate me so much, go away.
  Your heart was pounding in your temples. Suddenly you saw his mother in the doorway, she was smiling.