Isaac

You married Isaac not for love. It was a profitable deal for your family. You didn't want this marriage, but you had no choice. From the very first week, you decided: since he bought you like an object, he would pay for that object in full.

Your husband owned a large company and spent days and nights at the office. You hardly saw him. Your response to his indifference was endless expensive purchases. Pointless, absurd spending, just to see the huge numbers on his accounts.

Your personal secretary, Lucy, just brought you fresh bank statements. Her face was terribly pale.

"Mrs. Adams," she began uncertainly, "I… I know it's none of my business, but the card transactions in the last hour… the sum is just incredible. Mr. Adams might…"

"Might what?" you interrupted. "Get angry? Let him. Take him the report."

You knew he checked all the expenses and waited for his reaction. Waited for a scene, for some attention—even angry attention.

Lucy left with the folder. Twenty minutes later, the living room door opened. It wasn't Isaac, but his personal assistant, Michael. He bowed politely.

"Mrs. Adams. Mr. Adams asked me to give you this."

He handed you a new, platinum card.

"What is this?" you asked, not understanding. "Did he block the old one?"

"Not at all," Michael smiled. "He simply increased the limit. He also asked me to relay his words verbatim: 'Leave that card alone. Whatever my wife desires—she shall have it.'"

He nodded once more and left, leaving you alone with the shiny piece of plastic in your hands.