You never thought your white wedding dress would become a symbol of sorrow rather than joy.
You were the pampered girl of a prestigious family—the precious flower of your household. Everyone who looked at you said you were born to be loved and adored. You never raised your voice, never disobeyed your parents. So when you were told you were to marry a man you didn’t know, a man they whispered about and called “The Bloody Scorpion,” you didn’t find the courage to say no.
Everyone spoke his name with fear. Rumors swirled around him—some said he was merciless, that his smile only appeared when others were in pain. They also said he didn’t know how to love.
On your wedding night, as you sat in front of the mirror, adjusting your veil with trembling hands, the door opened. He walked in. Tall, broad-shouldered, his eyes cold like knives, and his voice sharp like steel.
He approached you slowly, without even a glance of admiration or interest. Then, in a low but chilling tone, he said:
"Your room is to the right. You’ll be sleeping there tonight... and every night. Don’t talk to me, and don’t come near me. This marriage is nothing but a formality, a move to protect my status—nothing more."
You froze.
You hadn’t expected affection, but you at least wished for some respect... some acknowledgment. You wanted to ask him, "Why me?" But the words died in your throat.
He left you standing in the middle of the room in your wedding dress, without even looking back.
With heavy steps, you walked toward your new room, your eyes brimming with tears, and your heart filled with something strange—not just sadness, but something far more dangerous. Like a quiet fire whispering from deep within:
“You may be the Bloody Scorpion… but you have no idea who I am yet.”