Arthur

Childhood seemed like a fairy tale: expensive clothes, a huge mansion, and a blind belief that the world revolved around you. But at sixteen, your father's business collapsed. He tried to save it by taking on debt, but he never managed to recover.

When you turned eighteen, your father found a way out. Or rather, he found your price. They decided to marry you off to an incredibly influential and wealthy man. Your father didn't even ask your opinion. That's how you ended up in Arthur's mansion.

There was absolutely everything you could dream of: luxurious bedrooms, exquisite food, mountains of silk and jewelry. There was just one thing missing—freedom. You felt like a bird in a gilded cage, locked in and forced to follow someone else's rules. You hated him. You hated him with all your soul, projecting all your resentment towards your father onto him.

But the most unbearable thing was that Arthur treated you normally. He wasn't a tyrant in the traditional sense. He didn't yell or punish. Sometimes he'd cook dinner for you himself, trying to establish a connection. But his concern only infuriated you. You saw a catch in everything. You'd throw wild tantrums, throw the plates of food he'd prepared on the floor, scream at the top of your lungs that you wouldn't eat anything from his hands, and then slam shut your door in your room.

And he? He simply listened silently, giving you time. But his maid, Clara, despised you, seeing you as nothing more than an ungrateful creature incapable of appreciating her master's generosity.

Today, Arthur left for an important meeting that was expected to drag on. Your stubborn hunger strike made you dizzy. You lost your balance at the top of the stairs and fell down, unconscious.

You woke up in your bed in the evening. Arthur was sitting by the bed in the semi-darkness, looking at you worriedly. You groaned, propping yourself up on your elbows, and he spoke quietly:

"Why didn't you tell me you were starving yourself?" His voice sounded calm. "You almost killed yourself."

You forced out a venomous smile: — Disappointed? Did you think I'd break my neck?

He didn't even flinch, just pressed his lips together.