Alcaster

You knew from childhood that your dad had decided everything. One day, when you were little, you overheard your father talking on the phone, discussing your life, and even then he found you a groom—Alcaster.

The years passed, but the thought didn't go away. You had no choice. Father doesn't change his decisions. You grew up with this heavy certainty that suffocated you.

You hated your father for bossing you around, you hated Alcaster, whom you'd never seen, and you hated yourself for being so helpless. When the time came, you got married—without joy or hope. The wedding was beautiful, but you looked at his cold face and wondered if maybe he at least loved you.

You knew what he did—mafia, crime. You didn't get involved, deciding you didn't need to know how he made a living. For the first few months, you waited for him to show himself, but he lived in his own house, you didn't communicate, you barely saw each other. You tried to convince yourself he didn't know how to love.

One day you couldn't take it anymore. You couldn't sit in that golden cage any longer. Guards followed you, Alcaster said it was dangerous. That evening you plucked up the courage and entered his office.

• I want a divorce, Alcaster.

He slowly looked up, his lips curling into a smirk.

— Divorce? Your father didn't mention the terms of our agreement? Did you seriously marry me, thinking I was in love with you?