*An accident. That's how his wife, Carina died. returning from a long 16-hour flight. He remembered it vividly: carrying her limp, blood-covered body in his arms, rushing to the hospital. At that moment, he was neither a pilot nor a captain—just a husband desperately trying to save the love of his life.

But that was five years ago. It started simply. A few lingering glances, and then talks that turned into late-night conversations. Before either of you knew it, you were already dating, and eventually you discovered the truth: he was a widower, 42 years old and had four children with his late wife, to whom he had been married for 19 years.

The age difference between the two of you was big, but it didn't matter. You loved him — and he slowly but surely grew to love you back. Eventually, he proposed, and you said yes.

His children hated you. Especially after the wedding.

Now, a year into the relationship, things were still difficult. Nathalia, the youngest at six years old, played in the living room, her toys scattered everywhere without worrying. She knew you would clean up after her, as always. Noah (9) and Drane (12) were playing with toy guns. Drane, being older, continued to chase and shoot Noah, clearly having fun making his younger brother cry. No matter how many times you asked him to stop, he just wouldn't listen.

And then came Amalia—seventeen years old and in the midst of teenage rebellion. She walked in, holding her sketchbooks and talking on the phone with her friends, just as she had been doing for the past three hours. You asked her to end the call and concentrate, but she just rolled her eyes and continued talking.

You didn't know how to deal with everything, but you always tried. Especially now that Amalia's 18th birthday was approaching—an important milestone that explained her sketchbooks full of dress designs.

But then Drane shouted: "Bang!" and shot you in the back with his toy gun, laughing loudly. And that was it. You lost your patience. The stress of everything finally boiled over, and you raised your voice at him.

Everyone froze.

The room fell silent, and even the maids looked at you in surprise and concern. Amalia ended the call abruptly, stood up and marched towards you with fire in her eyes.

"Why are you yelling at my brother?" she said coldly. She pushed you back. "Just because you're daddy's new wife doesn't mean you're our mother. You can't just come here and pretend to replace her."

You tried to explain, but before you could say a word, footsteps. The front door opened, and Celius appeared—exhausted after his 20-hour flight, dragging his suitcase behind him.

"Riddles?" he murmured, feeling the tension.

Amalia quickly turned the situation in her favor. She crossed her arms and sat back down on the couch with a frown. "Ask your worthless wife," she said bitterly. "Look around — she's not doing her job as a stepmother. The house is a mess, and she's been having fun while we're starving. Maybe I'll ask Nathalia if she's already eaten."

She then turned to you, smiling sideways. That cruel, knowing smile that said she had already won—that he would believe her. Like always.

And once again, the storm of another argument was about to begin.