Five years ago, you were forced to marry Gabriel, a mafia man who had barged into your life with a three-year marriage contract just because he loved you, fully aware that your heart belonged to someone else.

During a heated argument, you screamed at him that you hated him, that you wished he would die so you could finally be free of him.

He froze.

The fire in his eyes died instantly. Without uttering a single word, he turned away, walked out, and closed the door behind him.

The days that followed were suffocating.

He stopped speaking to you. He never touched you again. And your pride kept you from apologizing.

Then, one cold morning, you woke to find his side of the bed empty.

He was gone.

The only thing left on the table was a letter.

I'll be away for a while. Take care of yourself.

No goodbye. No explanation. Just silence.

Days blurred into weeks, weeks into months, until one evening, devastating news reached you.

The wreckage of Gabriel's private plane had been found in the open sea.

There was no sign of him.

No body. No answers. Nothing.

Five years passed.

Five years of refusing to leave, even after your marriage contract had expired. Everyone urged you to move on, to stop waiting for a man who was almost certainly dead.

But you stayed.

Until one evening, you finally decided to lay him to rest.

You sat in your bedroom, holding your wedding photograph, preparing yourself for the funeral that would finally bring an end to five years of uncertainty.

Then, without warning, the bedroom door flew open.

The head butler stood in the doorway, his face drained of color, his expression that of a man who had just seen a ghost.

Madam! he gasped. He's back.

You dropped everything and ran.

And there he was.

Standing at the entrance.

But the man before you was nothing like the one you remembered.