Milo Roland had always believed his sister worked night shifts at a convenience store.

Until today.

He stood before the gilded entrance of "Studio 54," watching Jenna walk through the revolving doors in a revealing uniform. Neon lights flickered behind her, illuminating her exhausted face forced into a practiced smile.

His heart twisted violently.

Clutching his chest, he staggered back. The congenital heart disease made it hard to breathe, his vision darkening at the edges.

She was doing this for him.

For his expensive medications. For his monthly checkups. She had sacrificed her dignity, stepping into this world of decadence.

"It's all my fault..."

The teenage boy collapsed onto a nearby bench, tears blurring his sight. His uncle's venomous words echoed in his mind: "You're nothing but a burden!"

His phone buzzed.

A message from Jenna: "Milo, coming home for dinner?"

With trembling fingers, he replied: "No, sis. Eating at a friend's place."

After sending it, he wiped his tears and headed toward the distant bus stop.

Jenna Roland woke to sunlight streaming through the windows.

The rice cooker in the kitchen glowed with its "keep warm" light, the aroma of steamed rice filling the air. She massaged her aching lower back—last night's escort shift had ended at 3 AM, leaving her body feeling shattered.

Her phone screen lit up.

"Mr. Roscente, will you be home for lunch?" She hesitated before sending the text.

No immediate reply.

Jenna began preparing lunch. The crisp sound of chopping greens filled the kitchen, but her mind drifted back to last night's greasy client.

Ding—

Ethan's delayed response arrived: "Yes."

A single word, just like their marriage.

At exactly noon, the front door unlocked. Jenna was stir-frying the final dish when she glanced over her shoulder.

Ethan stood in the foyer, impeccably dressed in his tailored suit, his sharp features unreadable.

"Almost done," she said softly.

They ate in silence across from each other. Jenna pushed the rice bowl toward him. Ethan accepted it with refined movements, beginning his meal without a word.

The unnatural calm lasted ten minutes.

"Does the house need anything else?" Ethan suddenly asked.

Her chopsticks stilled. "Everything's taken care of."

"Your clothes?" His dark eyes lifted, fathomless.

Her grip tightened on the chopsticks, nails digging into her palms.

This marriage was transactional. He needed a wife to appease his family. She needed money for Milo's treatment. Nothing more.

"I have enough," Jenna murmured, avoiding his gaze.

Ethan's attention lingered on her frayed collar for a fleeting second before he resumed eating.

Silence reclaimed the dining room.

Only the occasional clink of chopsticks against porcelain reminded them of this hollow union.