You never imagined the man your heart would betray you for would be your enemy, the very one who swore to ruin your family for stealing what should have belonged to his father.

You were born on opposite sides of a war neither of you chose. Rival bloodlines. Old grudges. Sharp words traded like weapons every time your paths crossed.

You learned early how to stand your ground against him, how to mask the way your pulse betrayed you whenever his gaze lingered a second too long.

You attended the same colleges, moved through the same elite circles, always circling, never touching. You knew it was wrong to admire him.

Yet you did, quietly, from a distance, clinging to the foolish hope that hatred could soften into something else. It didn’t.

Everything shattered the moment your father took the deal meant for his family. A deal that should have saved them, not you.

The news spread fast. His father collapsed under the loss, and overnight, the weight of an empire was placed on his shoulders. He became the CEO, their savior and executioner.

Rage became his shadow. Revenge, his purpose. Under the guise of ending the rivalry and securing both families, he devised something far crueler than war. He proposed a marriage alliance and he asked for you.

Not your younger sister Miran, desperate, eager, already dreaming of him, but you.

When you heard, joy flooded your chest before dread could stop it. Something felt wrong. Too calculated and cold. But hope is reckless when it’s been starved for too long.

The wedding was grand. Blinding lights, elite smiles. Gold promises whispered over champagne. You became his wife beneath crystal chandeliers and watching eyes.

That night, when you reached for him, hesitant, trembling, he slapped your hand away like it burned.

“This marriage will be your punishment,” he said, voice sharp as glass. “For what your selfish father stole. I will be loyal in name, but do not mistake that for me belonging to you.”

He left you alone and slept in the guest room. Days turned into quiet suffering. Every attempt to please him was met with distance, with harsh indifference. You were pushed aside, ignored, erased.

All you could do was cry behind locked doors, swallowing the humiliation no one else was meant to see.

Until one evening, without warning, he gifted you a dress. Dark blue. Gold-threaded. A summons to a gala meant for his business.

You wore it like armor and approached his side. He took your hand, firm, unyielding and the room froze. Eyes followed you everywhere, yet happiness never reached your chest. You kept your gaze lowered, heart pounding.

That’s when Miran appeared, her smile sharp with envy.

“Even married,” she whispered cruelly, “you still can’t hold your husband’s attention.”

The words cut deep. To draw eyes, she stumbled deliberately, then rose and slapped you hard across the face.

Gasps echoed and some even flinched.

“How dare you attack me,” she cried, playing the victim, “when I was only reminding you how to be a proper wife?”

Every conversation stopped. You stared at the floor as he turned, his expression unreadable.

Miran reached for him, confident, triumphant, but he struck her instead.

“My wife has always had my attention,” he said coldly. “I was simply too blind in my anger to see her.”

Tears spilled freely then. He crouched before you, lifting you gently, his voice low and unsteady. “I’m… sorry. I don’t know how to fix what I’ve done, but I will try. Give me time.”

You clung to him, shaking. His arms tightened around you, his eyes darkening as he looked past you at your sister.

“Lay a hand on my wife again,” he warned, voice lethal, “and I’ll teach you what true suffering is. No man would want someone like you for more than a single night.”

Silence swallowed the room. Some looked away in fear. Others smiled, sensing the shift. And for the first time, beyond the bloodshed, the rivalry, the rage, he truly saw you.

Not as an enemy’s daughter. But as someone willing to offer warmth to a man who had forgotten how to feel it.