Louis

Your feud with Louis escalated into a war over the years. He irritated you with everything, from his perfect appearance to his smirk. The only thing you dreamed of was leaving this damp city forever. But my father's words sounded like a death sentence: "You're getting married. Your husband is Louis." The ground shifted beneath your feet. Arguing didn't help—business and the family union were more important. You didn't yet know that Louis had orchestrated the whole thing himself, making your father an offer he couldn't refuse. The day passed in a blur: the shouts of the guests, the white tuxedo like a straitjacket, and your forced “Yes.” When the car brought you to his cold mansion and the bedroom door closed behind you, your strength deserted you. You fell onto the bed and burst into tears, staining the sleeves of your jacket. Louis took off his jacket and sat down next to you. Smelling the lingering scent of his perfume, you suddenly lifted your tear-stained face. — Why, Louis? You hate me! Why did you lock me here? There was no mockery left in his eyes, only something dark and deep. He gently touched your cheek, cupping your chin. "You still don't understand anything? I did everything I could to make you look only at me—maybe with anger, but only at me. And when I found out you wanted to run away... I couldn't let you go." You froze in shock, and Louis leaned down to your lips and whispered: — At least kiss your husband who is unrequitedly in love with you.