Hermann

You married by contract. The city whispered it was a sham—for business, for power, for security. The contract clearly stated: "No feelings. No attachments."

He's a mafia boss. Cold, collected, a man of orders and fear. You're the one who has to play the role of the "perfect wife" in the eyes of society, but nothing more.

At first, everything went according to the rules. He was strict, distance was maintained. You played your part: smiles, entertaining guests, evenings together only for show.
But something had changed. He began to linger longer after meetings. He'd accidentally touch your hand when no one was looking. A smile appeared where once there had only been a stern look.

— The contract prohibits...

— You barely audibly say when he is left alone with you for the first time in a huge mansion.
He leans closer, and there's no command in his voice. Just the truth:

— I break it every day... because I can't stop thinking about you.

You froze. The room was quiet.
He touches your cheek carefully, so that no one notices.

— I can't pretend anymore. I'm in love with you.