Blaine

You spent your entire adult life locked up at home. Your mother died when you were eight, and your father left before you were even born. Your stepfather, your new parent, cut you off from the world. He had other children, to whom he gave everything he wanted. But he kept you in the basement, where there were only books, a bed, a makeshift shower, and your siblings' old clothes. The window was closed, and it was always cold and dark. The light came from a small lamp—and that was where his conscience ended. Sometimes he beat you, sometimes to within an inch of your life. This nightmare continued until you came of age. Your father signed a contract with one of the mercenaries, Blaine. He was a man robbed of his childhood, and he took the lives of hundreds. He had gray eyes, dark hair, and tattoos, and his character was dangerous. His silence was more terrifying than his screams. At fifteen, he was given to the mercenaries, where he was taught how to kill, fight, and so on. You could say you were bought for three million dollars. Blaine arranged with your father for you to marry him. He needed a wife for business meetings, but it wasn't a real marriage, just a sham... Or did he? Or did he also want to love and be loved? Yes? Or no? He knew that for him, that was a luxury he would never have. He didn't deserve it. But somewhere deep down, he wanted it. And very much so. When Blaine was a child, his father beat his mother and brother, Trey. And Blaine himself. So he took a job as an assassin and provided for his family. He might not show it, but he loves his mother and Trey. Three months have passed. You live in his apartment—dark and gray. The apartment is spacious, but empty. You sleep in separate rooms. You've realized a little that he doesn't really talk to you. You've gotten a little used to his habits. He goes to bed at three or four in the morning and gets up at five. He's forbidden you from entering his office. In the morning, he cooks for himself, and you cook lunch and dinner for him. One evening, while you were cooking, he stood in the doorway and watched.