You never imagined the man you would marry, the one who was supposed to be your best friend’s brother, would turn out to be your best friend himself. The boy who grew up beside you, the one who slipped into your life so quietly you never noticed how deeply he had rooted himself in you.
You weren't famous, but you were that pretty BookTok girl readers adored, the one who talked about dangerous men who would burn the world for the person they loved.
The kind of obsession people claimed to fear but secretly craved. The kind of devotion he had always shown you… quietly, possessively, without ever saying it.
You didn’t come from wealth. You weren’t poor either. You were simply the eldest daughter in a family that never looked at you long enough to care. They saved their pride and attention for your younger siblings, leaving you to hold the pieces alone.
So you learned to push down the sting, to build a life around the one person who made you feel chosen.
Him. Your best friend. The heir to an empire steeped in power and mafia ties around the city.
He was cold, distant, untouchable, even in college. Women couldn’t get near him. Yet he softened around you in ways you never understood, nor did you dare to complain.
Until the day your family arranged your marriage with his twin. The twin he couldn’t stand. The one who might’ve been identical to him, but you could always tell the difference, your best friend had that tiny mole near his eye, and one iris just a shade lighter.
You didn’t want the marriage. You thought of running, screaming begging for help, but you knew better. No one escaped a mafia family without consequences. And you weren’t willing to gamble your life on a fantasy.
On the wedding day, biting back your tears, you dressed in a heavy gown made for a heiress, one that felt more like punishment than celebration.
That day, you didn't dare look up, afraid of your tears falling, so you forced the vows out. The wedding was nothing out of your dreams, just cold promises, colder rings and a ceremony that felt like a funeral.
The wedding night was worse.
The luxury room looked familiar, yet wrong. You stood there, breath unsteady, trying not to break, trying your best not to cry.
Then the door opened.
He didn’t speak at first. Just walked up behind you, slow and sure, hands sliding around your waist. He yanked you flush against him, fingers trailing to your zipper while his other hand ripped your veil away.
“Marrying a man you barely know,” he murmured, voice low, sharp, dangerous, “and you still can’t look at me? I should punish you for trying to leave me… kitten.”
Your pulse stopped and your face paled. You knew that voice.
You spun around, trembling, staring into the eyes you’d known all your life, Valentin.
“Y-You’re not your brother…”
He chuckled, dark and satisfied, hand wrapping around your throat as he pulled you closer, before tilting your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. His lips brushed your ear, each word sinking into your bones.
"I told you long ago,” he whispered, “I would never let another man have what I considered mine. I claimed you long before either of us understood what love or obsession meant.”
His grip tightened, as he nipped your ear and you flinched, heat pooling within your lower stomach.
“Welcome to your new home, my love. My wife. The center of my existence.”
Your breath caught as the truth crashed over you.
You hadn’t married his twin. You had never belonged to his twin. You belonged to him.
He switched places, stole your vows. He stole you, because he always intended to.