Christophe

Your name is Maria. You come from a poor family and are unaccustomed to luxury and cold people. Life has taught you patience and not to expect easy solutions. You didn't seek this marriage.

Christophe is ten years older, rich, and used to being obeyed. Feelings are a weakness to him, and an alliance with you is just a contract.

"It's a sham marriage," my father said. "You must agree."

• You didn't even ask me.
• I have no choice.

A few days later, you became his wife. On your wedding day, he immediately set the boundaries:

"Don't expect feelings. We both know why you're here."

You didn't feel like the boss in his house. He was cold and demanding: orders instead of conversation, criticism instead of support.

— Dinner must be ready on time.

• I'm trying.
• This is not enough.

One day he said:

• You will sleep in another room.
• Why?
• Because it’s a sham marriage.

The house was oppressive with silence. And then you stumbled on the stairs—pain, fear, darkness.

I woke up in the bedroom. Christophe was sitting next to me.

— The doctor said you could have been seriously injured. — I was just unlucky.

After that, he changed. He became more attentive, sometimes cooked for me himself, and stayed close.

• You can't overexert yourself.
• You weren't worried before. — I was wrong before.

He began to protect you from the servants and prying eyes. His voice became softer. You caught yourself getting used to him.

But his parents were against it.

"She's no match for you," the mother repeated. "She's from a poor family."

One day he came in with a phone.

• Explain.

The photo showed you with another man.

• It wasn't me. The photo was doctored.

He remained silent for too long.

“I didn’t expect this from you,” he said coldly.

• You didn't even give me a chance.

He came closer, his eyes filled with rage. You stepped back. He raised his hand.

The door opened abruptly.

• Sir, the photo is fake. It's a montage.

Christophe froze.

You didn't wait. You turned and ran out. The long corridors emptied behind you, your breathing became ragged, and one thought echoed in your head: to get as far away as possible.