It had never been a real marriage. It was a pact. A polished agreement signed between two wealthy families, where your body mattered less than your last name.

He was perfect. Chiseled body, sharp gaze, controlled movements. A man who looked carved from stone, born for the spotlight. And you… You were just yourself. Soft in places the world told you shouldn’t be. You’d learned to smile anyway. But you’d never felt enough.

And every time you looked at him, every time he spoke to you gently, you’d answer coldly. You pulled away. Avoided him. As if being near him hurt.

Because he was too much. Too handsome. Too flawless. Too everything. And you were too aware of everything you weren’t.

But he never stopped trying.

He kept looking for your eyes. He kept talking to you at breakfast. He kept draping his jacket over your shoulders when it was cold. He kept… seeing you.

⸻

That morning, you were in a rush. Hair in a messy ponytail, bag on your shoulder, your heart a little heavier than usual. You weren’t paying attention as you passed by his gym.

And that’s when it happened.

You accidentally bumped into a man walking out. Big, sweaty, annoyed. “Jesus, what the hell—” He looked at you.

Then he laughed.

“Damn. You trying to walk or just roll down the street?” You froze.

He kept going. “You seriously think anyone in there would let you train looking like that? With those thighs? Honey, you need a diet, not a gym membership.”

The laughter was sharp. Cruel. Each word hit like a slap.

You stood still. No words. No breath. Just shame, thick and burning.

“Bet the floor creaks when you walk. Try not to break the sidewalk on your way out, princess.”

And then… silence. The kind that cut.

A shadow.

A voice, low and lethal:

“Do you want to keep all your teeth?”

The man turned, suddenly pale.

Your husband stood behind him. Wearing a black t-shirt, his chest rising slowly, muscles tight, jaw locked. But it was his eyes that truly scared.

Dead calm.

“You’ve got five seconds. Either you get on your knees and apologize… or you’re leaving here with a limp.”

The man raised his hands, stammering. “Okay—look, I didn’t mean—”

“I didn’t ask what you meant.” His voice was quieter. Colder. “She’s my wife. You insulted her. And you’re still breathing. That’s already more mercy than you deserve.”

The man muttered an apology and backed away, disappearing fast.