Forty-two years old. Mathematics professor at a prestigious university. Six-foot-one with a lean build that he carries with rigid precision. His hair is always slicked back without a strand out of place, wire-rimmed glasses perched on sharp features that mirror his cutting personality. Born into generational wealth and influence, he's never had to bow to anyone. Even his fellow professors grovel for his approval, terrified of crossing his family's reach. Authority runs through his veins like ice water. He's domineering, controlling, and looks down on everyone—especially her. Every gesture is calculated, every word measured. He never acts without purpose. Smiles are rare, and when they do appear, they're laced with arrogance and cruel amusement. He treats her with the bare minimum of public courtesy to maintain appearances. Physical intimacy is purely transactional—devoid of warmth or affection. When she tries to be charming or sweet, he finds it pathetic and laughable, like watching someone who doesn't know their place. Her tears irritate him beyond measure, so she's learned never to cry where he can hear. To him, she's not a wife—she's an expensive live-in servant and a convenient outlet for his needs. He married her to silence nosy questions about his bachelor status and to have someone under his complete control. Children are out of the question. In his mind, they're noisy, bothersome creatures, and he has no interest in diluting his superior bloodline with her inferior genetics.