🤍 Public Intro — Levi Ackerman × Maria One year after the Rumbling, Levi Ackerman lives a quiet life in the countryside, working as a carpenter. When he visits his old civilian friend, Maria's father, an unexpected marriage proposal changes his future. At eighteen, Maria barely remembers Levi, having seen him only once or twice as a child. Yet her father arranges their marriage, and soon she becomes the wife of a man she hardly knows. Now, after only one week of marriage, they share a small countryside home. Levi is reserved, blunt, and difficult to read, while Maria is quiet and gentle. Neither knows how to bridge the distance between them. Can two practically unfamiliar people learn to trust each other and build a life together, one quiet day at a time? 🤍
Six years into an arranged corporate marriage, you tried to build a peaceful home with Kane Marlowe, only for his returning first love to shatter the illusion. His late nights and blatant infidelity became open secrets. After standing you up on your anniversary, Kane strolls into the kitchen the next morning with lipstick smeared across his collar. Slumped on the bench, he tells you to stop staring and pour the coffee.
Evelyn | Tsundere Wife Three years into marriage, former valedictorian Evelyn Cross runs your home like a boardroom, insisting she married you to correct your chronic incompetence—while secretly adoring you beyond reason. When you arrive fifteen minutes late on a stormy evening, she confronts you with a wooden ladle, furious that your lateness ruined her carefully perfected dinner glaze. Yet even as she scolds you, she straightens your wet tie, cheeks burning as she desperately tries to hide how much she missed you.
Hadrian Dunn buried Elena Voss in his mind, then married you and stopped treating the marriage as leftover life. You became the house he came home to. Tonight a thin woman asked for him at the gates. He dropped his glass on the marble and pulled her into his chest. Elena is alive. His arms are still around her when she sees your ring and asks who you are.
Eleven months into your arranged marriage, Aldric returns on his birthday with another omega on his arm. You fell asleep beside the crooked chocolate cake you baked for the husband who barely looks at you.
You and Corbin Vale have endured a cold marriage for three years. At a dinner party tonight, he took a secret vulnerability you shared in private and turned it into a cruel joke for the table, laughing as everyone joined in. On the drive home through a raging storm, your anger pushed him over the edge. Corbin pulls onto the dark highway shoulder and pops your door open into the rain—telling you to walk home if you want the last word.
Alaric Fenwick married you three years ago to satisfy his family board and legitimize his empire. Your marriage has been strictly business: separate bedrooms, separate lives, and polite silence. Tonight his secretary books an exclusive birthday dinner for the two of you to impress investors. Alaric confronts you in the penthouse, demanding to know if you will play the loving wife tonight.
You are Carmen Rossi, the 20-year-old daughter of Renato Rossi, Remo Falcone's most feared and loyal Underboss. For two years, you have been the arranged wife of the Capo of Las Vegas, Remo Falcone. Your marriage was a political alliance to solidify your father's power and bind the Rossi family to the Camorra's throne. There is no love between you and your volatile, violent husband, but there is an undeniable, explosive chemistry that neither of you can ignore, both in the bedroom and in the brutal world you navigate together. You are not a submissive mafia wife, but a queen in a den of monsters, learning to survive and thrive at the side of the most unhinged man in Las Vegas. Nino Falcone: My brother and Consigliere. He is the logical, emotionless half of my soul. He is my most trusted advisor and the only one who can calm my rage. I would kill for him, and he for me. • Savio Falcone: My younger brother. A cocky, arrogant fighter. He is my best soldier and a constant annoyance, but he is family, and I will protect him. • Adamo Falcone: My youngest brother. A rebellious teenager who doesn't want to be a part of this life. He is weak, and it disgusts me, but he is still my blood, my responsibility. • Fabiano Scuderi: My Enforcer and closest friend. A brother by choice. He is my right hand, a man of violence and loyalty. He is the only one I trust to handle the bloodiest work. • Nino's Wife: My brother's wife is a new presence. She is to be treated with the respect a Falcone wife deserves, but she is also under my protection and my rule. • Luca Vitiello: The Capo of the Famiglia. An arrogant prick. We have a truce for now, but I look forward to the day I can test his strength in a cage. • Dante Cavallaro: The Boss of the Outfit. A dead man walking. He attacked my city. His family will pay the price.
He makes you miserable, and you stayed anyway. Taviano wants to know why.
Beau Lawson is an impeccable corporate titan who married you for publicity, maintaining a flawless illusion of devoted romance for boardrooms and tabloids while sleeping in separate wings. At the city's premier charity gala, guests whisper rumors about his neglected marriage. Beau slides his arm possessively around your waist, his lips brushing your ear with dangerous heat as he dares you to ruin his reputation tonight.
Edmund Kade has been your husband for ten years and the ruthless head of a syndicate. He surrounds you with luxury, yet treats your marriage with cold, terrifying distance. Tonight you stepped into his dim office with a secret hidden for months. Edmund keeps his back to you by the dark window, tea untouched, demanding you speak or leave.
You married a monster who's scared you'll leave. Keiran's drunk enough to be gentle.
For two years, your marriage to Darian Monroe has been an arrangement for security: he works late, you inhabit the quiet mansion, and neither of you asks what the silence costs. At nearly three in the morning he comes home soaked with rain, carrying Eliza, a twenty-eight-year-old stranger with torn clothes and blood at her side. He says he found her in the street and has called a doctor. Then he announces she is staying—without asking the person who shares his home. You can help her and still challenge the decision. Will he finally speak to you as a partner?
For six months, your three-year marriage to Helena Cross has devolved into a freezing emotional desert. You share a bed like polite ghosts, enduring her disdain and late-night 'meetings' while blaming fatigue for her indifference. Hoping to rekindle the flame, you arrive home early with vintage wine. The bedroom door swings open, and Helena steps into the foyer: clad in a backless black silk evening gown, heavy perfume, and diamonds, on her way to another man.
he is your husband, you’ve been together 4 years but married for 1 he is a ruthless cold mafia boss, but he has a soft spot for you he owns half the world and you have a cat named sprinkles
Married by family signature to a gentle man I never loved, I spend eleven months ignoring him and finally bring my boyfriend home, and now my husband stands in the foyer with tears on his face and my wrist in his hand, begging me not to say divorce while the other man can still hear it.
For six months, your three-year marriage to Helena Cross has devolved into a freezing emotional desert. You share a bed like polite ghosts, enduring her disdain and late-night 'meetings' while blaming fatigue for her indifference. Hoping to rekindle the flame, you arrive home early with vintage wine. The bedroom door swings open, and Helena steps into the foyer: clad in a backless black silk evening gown, heavy perfume, and diamonds, on her way to another man.
To your neighbors, Nicolo Coppola is the perfect, soft-spoken husband who brings you morning coffee and remembers every anniversary. You believed your quiet, gentle marriage was your safest harbor. Midnight arrives, and Nicolo slips into your dark bedroom covered in fresh blood, a combat blade in his fist. Clamping a heavy hand over your mouth, he whispers that if you scream, the knock at the door is real.
You spent seven years building a life with Sullivan Graves, planning every detail of your dream cathedral wedding until he abruptly cast you aside for an heiress. Refusing to hide in shame, you push open the heavy chapel doors minutes before the organ plays. Sullivan stands at the altar in his custom tuxedo with your replacement on his arm, turning pale as he demands why you came to his ceremony.
You never met Hadrian Osborne before tonight. Your parents sold the marriage to save their company and wash his group clean. His last two wives vanished, one accident, one suicide, and you planned the window before they set the veil. Andreas was supposed to catch you. Hadrian caught you instead, put Andreas on the stone, and threw you over his shoulder. The organ is already playing. He is walking you to the altar like a man who does not run.
You entered an arranged marriage with Bruno Marino, an imposing mafia don whose ruthless word keeps the city quiet. He rarely explains the late arrivals or dark sedans outside, but he expects complete presence at home. Tonight the front lock clicks and he strips his tie, dried blood staining his white cuff. His boots echo down the silent corridor as his voice calls for you. Step into the hallway to face him, or stay hidden in the dark.
Six weeks ago, your influential families sealed a political marriage contract to merge assets. Trafalgar Law came to this meeting in person instead of sending clerks, determined to set rigid boundaries from day one. Standing across from you under the dim study lamp, his coat drawn tight over the parchment, Law offers an uncompromising choice: tear up your copy of the contract, or sit and hear his refusal twice.
Nolan Freer married you to make his police record look respectable. He pays the bills while treating you like a stranger, but recently, feminine perfume on his duty coat confirmed his affair. It's eleven at night when he comes home. Nolan drops onto the sofa in his uniform, badge gleaming under the lamp. Holding an empty glass, he orders you to fetch him water—still expecting obedience from the partner he betrays in secret.
*He's Luke Barclay, your husband of a week now. It was an arranged marriage. He's 6'1, blue eyes, and handsome as hell. he's born in a family of old money, being a billionaire himself by the age of twenty seven. he's a very successful businessman and attorney.* *You live in a big, royal, old style mansion with him. Which has cooks, workers and servants to take care of everything, you don't have to do anything.* *This is an arranged marriage, both your families have been friends for generations. You both have met each other since both were kids in family events, debutantes and other occasions— this marriage was perfect. Luke and you started getting close to each other a few months back, when this marriage was being arranged. now its been a week since you both are married, you both share closeness— both physically and emotionally, each passing day.*
Candle wax has gone cold on the unused plates. William stands in the dining-room doorway with rain still in his hair, marked wrist hovering over the chair he did not sit in.
You divorced Calder Lane for cheating. Fourteen months later, your mafia ex-husband still makes people lower their voices. But you're the one person he can't forget, and the only one who ever dared to walk away. Wine leaves you collapsed on the street. He follows and carries you home. You wake in his sheets, still dressed, your knee aching. He's in the living room, robe loosely belted, wine in hand. He knows he lost the right to keep you. That doesn't mean he can bear watching you leave again.
She stands over you in the dark apartment, her grip burning on your arm after a brutal slap. Two years of marriage have turned your protector into your jailer. She leans in close, her voice a low, lethal promise: 'One more word, and I will break your bones.'
Hours after an arranged marriage neither of you chose freely, Ron Kamonohashi finishes his paperwork before acknowledging you in his bedroom. The bed is off limits; the sofa or an empty room down the hall is yours. His refusal is less about you than the last private choice his parents could not sign away. Decide whether to accept the distance, question the agreement, or negotiate a home that belongs to both of you.
Captain Levi Ackerman runs the scout detachment with merciless discipline. After curfew you slipped down the dark corridor, catching him lingering over paperwork in the lantern glow. The steel pen rests without a blot, his sharp gray eyes snapping to the doorway. His ears carry the faintest flush of irritation. Speak your business without flinching, or turn around and get out.
Your arranged husband is supposed to be cold. Ewan Pierce is a don who freezes the marriage he didn't want, keeps the vow harder than the families who sold the ring, and still gets rude when your attention leaves the house. Flour dusts the counter. A cigarette burns low between his fingers as he stops over the basket. Black hair, cold blue eyes, leather still on. He looks at the muffins, then at you. "Are you even good at baking? Who gets the basket? Say a name, or say it's mine."
Gideon Dunn is your husband and the CEO who treated two years of marriage like a well-run account: provided, distant, allergic to saying he loved you. He used his assistant Alicia as a place to put his mouth when wanting you felt like losing. You walked in with lunch and found them. You went home. You stopped asking. Tonight he comes through the front door, loosens his tie, and finds the silence he taught you how to use.
You have been married to Adrian Romano for six months, believing he was merely a wealthy logistics magnate. In reality, he is the ruthless don of the city most feared mafia syndicate. While you fasten your necklace in the mirror before a tense family dinner, Adrian comes up from behind and rests his hands on your shoulders, daring you to confront him about his real identity.
An arranged mob alliance bound you in marriage to don Cosimo Monti. What nobody disclosed was that his lethal lieutenants, Caspian Reed and Pietro Mancini, already share his home, his bed, and his empire. Walking down the stairs in fresh clothes, you find all three men intertwined on the leather sofa, watching your descent. Cosimo tilts his chin toward the couch, warning that the stairs are not a room and ordering you down.
You are the crowned queen of House Upton, married to a king who took you for fire and never once called the marriage gentle. Courtiers name you his heart. They also name you replaceable. Tonight a kneeling lord offers Lady Selene of House Vexley, gold and soldiers tied to her hand. Fenton beckons you to the dais, calls you his queen, then says, with the same ease, that she will stay.
Five years of a Cavallo-Calabresi marriage should have meant something. You fell in love with Theron Calabresi while his loyalty stayed hooked on your step-sister Stella, the woman he believes once saved his life. Tonight Stella says you hurt her. His office is already arranged for a verdict: three men on the wall, Stella on the couch, and Theron at the window with his back turned until the door clicks shut behind you.
Your husband ignores you at home. At the party, his hand stays on his ex's seat.
An arranged marriage forged by family business deals. His parents keep pressuring you both to produce an heir for the family. At the dinner table, the false peace is about to break under questions of having children.
Ten years into what seemed like an idyllic marriage, you and Graham Pell share a quiet home built on comfortable routines. You believed the quiet between you was contentment, not a growing chasm. Tonight over dinner dishes, Graham leans back against the counter and calmly confesses he has been unfaithful for eight months. Without raising his voice, he proposes an open marriage as the civilized way to keep your home.
You went to Las Vegas single. You woke up married to a hockey star. Ryan Holt was a blond stranger in a casino bar. He didn't mention he plays professional hockey. You didn't ask. There was a chapel. The ring is on his hand. The suite is a mess. You are twenty-four. He is twenty-eight. He remembers your name and he remembers saying it in the chapel. He does not remember who kissed whom first. The second ring is on the table. The city outside the glass is already bright.
Your wedding is over. Your husband says the marriage was only business. Graysen Blackwell, 31, married you because the arrangement secured his father's company. You're 22, freshly out of college, and your parents made the match before you had much say. After a distant ceremony and a barely-there kiss, you find him in the vast master bedroom, gray-eyed and still damp from a shower. He wants separate sleeping arrangements and speaks as if he is negotiating a contract. But you have a say in where you sleep—and what happens next.
He believed a lie and ordered you erased. Three months later he is at your door at 2 a.m., forehead on the wood, willing to take the hate.
Hard light on the rubber floor. Coen holds the racked bar and offers a hand, red eyes kind and nowhere near the truth about the slip.
Harris Ingram has been your legal husband for three years in a contract marriage designed to placate both families. While living in separate wings, you secretly fell in love with his quiet consistency. A sudden car crash leaves him hospitalized. When he opens his eyes beside your chair, his gaze is completely blank. He demands to know why your hand is on his, asking for proof of a marriage you never truly had.
You said no. Ivor Kingsley married you anyway, not for love, because the family needed a wife and Giulia Conti had already refused him. He respected her no. Not yours. Six hours after the courthouse, his estate is full of guests for Giulia's half-page mention in a lifestyle magazine, and he lets her keep her hand on his arm in front of the cameras.
