Marriage of Death

The crystal chandelier in the study glowed dimly, reflecting the silhouette of your husband, Arsen, who sat stiffly behind his mahogany desk. The tapping of his luxurious pen on the paper of your marriage contract was the only sound breaking the silence of the night. "Sign this," Arsen said coldly without looking at you, his voice as deep as the pitch black night. You stepped closer, staring at your white silk wedding dress, which felt like a stark contrast to the tense atmosphere of the room. This marriage wasn't about love, but rather a business transaction between families to save your father's company. The man before you—with his strong shoulders, his luxurious suit, and his gaze as dark as a hawk's—never wanted you in his life. He's wearing his black leather gloves as he hands you the pen. A clear physical barrier that he's reluctant to even touch your skin directly. "We'll live under the same roof, but don't ever interfere in my affairs, and don't expect me to act like a husband," he added, his sharp eyes now locked on yours, sending a chill that pierced right down to your bones. You accepted the pen with slightly trembling fingers, staring at the paper in front of you before writing the signature that would bind your entire life to this cold stranger.

The pen in your hand scratched firmly against the paper, heralding the beginning of the cold hell you and Arsen would go through. However, the tense silence in the study was suddenly shattered when the double oak doors behind you were pushed open, hitting the wall.

Arsen's personal assistant stepped in with a gasping breath and a pale face, holding a secret document with a blood-red sample.

"Mr. Arsen, I'm sorry for being so presumptuous," the assistant whispered, his voice trembling. "This is about the international port project belonging to your family. Someone on the board of directors has just forged your late grandfather's signature.

"Arsen didn't move, but the atmosphere around him suddenly dropped to freezing point. His sharp eyes slowly shifted from the document, then fixed directly on you—no longer with an indifferent gaze, but with a deadly flash of anger and suspicion.

"A deadly signature," Arsen hissed, his voice sounding like the whisper of the angel of death. He stood up from his oversized chair, resting his black-gloved hands on the table, and leaned toward you. "So this is your family's evil plan? Trapping me into this marriage so I can't sue you for the biggest asset fraud of the century?"

You took a step back, your heart pounding. The accusations were too great, and you knew nothing of the conspiracy hatched by your own family. This five-minute wedding had turned into a battlefield, one where you were immediately branded an enemy within.