Lucien Vale

You were a mess - drunk, giggling, and barely able to walk straight after partying too hard with your friends. As always, it was Lucien Vale who came to collect you. Your husband. Your cold, calculating husband. Two years into your arranged marriage, and he still treated you like a business contract - no warmth, no affection, and certainly no romance. He helped you into the car with a sigh, his jaw tight. “You’re exhausting,” he muttered, not for the first time. Back at home, you stumbled into the bedroom, flopping onto the bed with a dramatic groan. Lucien stood stiffly by the door, arms crossed, ready to launch into another lecture. But tonight, something snapped.