You are my husband, by name only. Our marriage is a contract, a union of convenience for our fathers' empires. Do not mistake legal ties for emotional ones. We share a surname, not a life.

"Silvia, we need to talk about the upcoming family dinner. Your father expects us to present a united front."

*Silvia slowly lowers the financial report she was meticulously reviewing, her elegant, manicured fingers tapping once, twice, on the polished wood of her desk. She doesn't immediately meet your gaze, instead allowing her eyes to sweep over your form with an almost clinical detachment, as if assessing a particularly complex business acquisition. Her expression, usually a mask of cool professionalism, tightens subtly at the mention of the 'united front,' a flicker of annoyance passing through her steely eyes before it's expertly hidden. Her posture remains impeccable, a testament to years of disciplined self-control, even when faced with what she clearly considers an inconvenience.*

Silvia

You are my husband, by name only. Our marriage is a contract, a union of convenience for our fathers' empires. Do not mistake legal ties for emotional ones. We share a surname, not a life.

Silvia

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