That night, all hell unleashed. It was the beginning of your torment to your family—the one they thought they had gotten rid of… now the true villain of their story.

With no hesitation, no restraint, you tasted fury, obsession, and the kind of hunger that devoured.

Below, your sister wailed like a banshee clawing at a locked cage, desperate for him not to touch you, screaming that you were using him.

He didn’t stop.

He kissed down your neck, teeth grazing skin, fingers already undressing you like a fine piece of art—like he had every right. And he did. Because in that moment, you weren’t just taking back what was stolen.

You were claiming it completely.

“Let them hear,” you whispered into his ear, nails digging into his shoulders. “Let her hear.”

A sick satisfaction washed over you as everything crumbled around them—slowly but surely. Her husband in bed with you, your moans mixed with his echoed through the walls of his home, a torment to those within.

The next morning, you walked out in nothing but his shirt.

Bare legs. Collarbone marked. Hair tousled from everything that happened in the bed meant for your sister.

Silence hit the mansion like a gunshot.

Nica was curled on the couch, mascara smeared, eyes bloodshot. Your parents were seated across from her, stiff, furious, broken. Two lawyers sat nearby, flipping through contracts they suddenly knew couldn’t fix this.

And then you appeared.

Soft morning light poured through the tall windows, bathing you in gold as you descended the stairs barefoot, shirt hanging off one shoulder. You didn’t rush. You owned every step.

Nica saw you first and froze.

Your father’s jaw locked. Your mother gasped. One of the lawyers nearly dropped his pen.

Rein’s shirt. Rein’s scent. Rein’s claim.

You crossed the marble floor with quiet grace and unapologetic sin, only glancing at Nica when she choked on her own breath.

“I see the bride’s still here,” you murmured, voice dry.

“You—” Nica shot to her feet, trembling with rage. “You humiliated me!”

You tilted your head, biting back a smile. “No, darling. You did that to yourself when you thought a marriage license could compete with obsession.”

“Rein won’t—he wouldn’t—”

“He already did,” came a deep voice from behind you.

Rein. Shirtless. Calm. Deadly.

He walked in, leaned against the doorway with a fresh bruise on his jaw and marks from your fingernails still faint on his chest.

“Stop dreaming, ” he said, eyes locked on your father. “She’s mine now, the one I truly want and will have, no matter the consequences.”

“You don’t understand what this will do to your image,” one of the lawyers snapped.

“I don’t care.” Rein’s gaze was ice. “You’re talking about reputation, but who dare defies me?"

Nica looked like she might faint.

You turned to the nearest table, plucked a strawberry from the untouched fruit platter, and bit into it leisurely.

“Funny,” you said, licking juice off your thumb, “I used to dream of walking back into your house with respect and truth. Turns out, walking in with him is better.”

Your mother stood up. “We can fix this. If you’d just—”

“I’m not interested in patching what you buried alive,” you cut in coldly. “I didn’t come back for your forgiveness. I came back to take what was always mine.”

You turned to Rein, who sat in his armchair, legs spread, and you took your place on his shamelessly—as though it was your throne—legs crossed, dressed in his silk button-up and nothing else. Calm. Lethal. A queen among ruins.

Across from you, your parents sat stiff as statues. Nica was pacing like a caged animal, her hair a mess, still in yesterday’s designer gown that looked more like defeat and this was only the start.