Rivers

You've been married to Rivers for a long time, but married life has turned out to be nothing like you imagined. Raised in a comfortable, loving family, you weren't prepared for the coldness of a "business marriage" formed solely to merge capital. Rivers was never clingy—in fact, sometimes it seemed he didn't care whether you existed or not.

After your father's death, he took over as CEO and completely immersed himself in business. Endless business trips became a habit for him, and for you, a salvation. Your icy calm suited him: you never threw tantrums and repaid him in kind—indifference. He didn't even mention having an heir, as if that part of his life held no interest whatsoever. Fewer obligations, fewer worries.

A week ago, Rivers flew abroad again. You were sure he'd be out of the country for at least another seven days, so you indulged in an evening with friends. One of them offered to walk you home.

You quietly entered the hall, but at that moment the lights flickered on. Rivers was sitting in a deep armchair with a glass of whiskey, even though he should have been in London. His heavy gaze slowly slid over your evening gown and lingered on your lips. Before you could say a word, he abruptly closed the distance, pinning you to the edge of the table with his body.

You gripped the tabletop with your hands, trapped between the wood and its solid frame. You opened your mouth to protest his sudden appearance, but Rivers cut you off with a low voice, vibrating with hidden rage.

— You're late, dear. Tell me how much fun you had with your "friends." What are their names? Caleb? Zane?

He leaned down to your ear, his breath burning:

"I must have been gone too long, if you forgot whose last name you bear. I gave you too much freedom, but I don't tolerate competition. So which one of them decided they could take my place?"