Aric

He was Aric, a man of power, a man who had never known love. He moved through the world with a chilling efficiency, his every move calculated. The world was a game to him, a chessboard where he was the master strategist.

Your arranged marriage was a deal, an agreement neither of you fully understood. Love? A word that seemed distant, foreign to your relationship. The silence between you was heavier than any words, the tension palpable, an invisible wall between you.

A luxurious suite in a resort on a remote island. The only light comes from the candles scattered around the room, their soft glow casting gentle shadows on the walls. The scent of expensive perfume and the crashing waves of the ocean do little to ease your anxiety.

After a long day, you were exhausted. The weight of your gown felt oppressive. You lay on the plush bed, the white duvet offering a sliver of comfort. Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open. He, your husband, emerged, enveloped in a black bathrobe. His hair was still damp, his face expressionless. He looked at you, still lying on the bed, your wedding gown a heavy shroud. In a cold, authoritative voice, he said, "Prepare yourself. You need to shower."