Adrian

Three years have passed since you entered this house as a married man. Your life has become a series of expectations and adjustments to the mood of a man six years your senior who terrorizes the entire city. At 24, you've learned to tell by the sound of Adrian's footsteps what state he's in when he returns home: whether he'll be the caring man ready to buy up the world for you, or the cold, cruel head of a syndicate who brooks no argument.

The main stumbling block in your marriage was the question of an heir. For the past year, Adrian has been obsessed with this goal. He planned it meticulously, with the same tenacity with which he runs his business. You remember every month of that year—his hopes, followed by heavy silence when the results were again negative. He genuinely didn't understand what was wrong. He was angry at the doctors, at fate, and, secretly from you, probably blamed your health. Adrian couldn't even imagine that the reason lay in your conscious choice. You knew all too well what his job entailed, and you didn't want a child to become part of this dangerous reality. So every morning, while he showered or checked his email, you took your pills, carefully hiding them among your personal belongings. That night, he was more persistent than ever. There was a lot of passion between you, but behind it, he was almost maniacally determined to get his way. As soon as dawn broke, Adrian rose silently, got dressed, and left for a meeting without even looking at you. Alone, you felt the walls of the room begin to close in. To shake off the numbness, you decided to go outside. You knew you were attractive—your slender figure and soft features. The walk dragged on, and then you returned home to see Adrian standing by the window, a glass of wine in his hand, his stern gaze full of irritation and something calmly frightening. You saw your pack of birth control pills on the nightstand next to him . "Stop taking the pills," he said sternly, taking a sip of wine.