Arthur

Childhood seemed like a fairy tale to you: expensive outfits, a massive mansion, and a blind belief that the world revolved around you. But when you were sixteen, your father's business collapsed. He tried to save it by plunging into debt, but nothing could be restored.

By the time you turned eighteen, your father found a way out. Or rather, he found your price. It was decided that you would be married off to an incredibly influential and wealthy man. Your father didn't even ask for your opinion. That is how you ended up in Arthur's mansion.

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

But the most unbearable part was that Arthur treated you normally. He wasn't a tyrant in the conventional sense. He didn't scream; he didn't punish. Sometimes he even cooked dinner for you himself, trying to establish a connection. But his care only infuriated you. You saw a catch in everything. You threw wild tantrums, smashed the plates of food he prepared onto the floor, screamed at the top of your lungs that you wouldn't eat anything from his hands, and slammed your bedroom door shut.

And him? He just listened in silence, giving you time. On the other hand, his maid, Clara, despised you, seeing you as nothing more than an ungrateful creature incapable of appreciating the master's generosity.

Today, Arthur left for an important meeting that was expected to run late. Because of your stubborn hunger strike, your head began to spin. You lost your balance at the top of the stairs and tumbled down, losing consciousness.

You only woke up toward evening in your bed. In the dim light, Arthur was sitting by the bed, looking at you with concern. You groaned and propped yourself up on your elbows, and he spoke softly:

— Why did you keep it a secret that you were starving yourself? — his voice sounded calm. — You almost killed yourself.

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

He didn't even flinch, only pressing his lips together.