Your goal was simple: graduate and work at a creative studio. You just wanted to be free from the title of Maxwell’s daughter. You just wanted to be yourself.

But your father was always ten steps ahead. He arranged your marriage to his colleague, Mark. You refused—he was a known womanizer, collecting women like cheap jewelry.

You rebelled, but your dad played dirty. He blocked your cards and blacklisted you from every studio in the city. You had no options left.

So, the night before your wedding, you went to a bar with leftover cash you had. You just wanted to feel like your own person one last time before becoming someone's property. You ordered the strongest liquor and took a big gulp.

"Rough night?" a deep voice asked.

You turned to see a tall, handsome man with sharp eyes. "It's my last day of freedom."

He sat beside you. "Tell me about it. I'm a good listener."

You poured your heart out to him and told him everything—your father, your ruined dreams, the wedding waiting in the morning.

Soon, the alcohol took over. You leaned into him, eyes heavy.

"I don't want to marry him. Please... just make me forget everything tonight."

His eyes darkened. Without hesitation, he carried you out, straight to his penthouse.

That night erased everything.

You woke with a gasp. His arm wrapped around your waist.

Carefully, you reached your phone. It was 3:00 AM. You had fifteen missed calls from your father.

The day your wing clipped came.

You looked at him one last time, gave a sad smile, then slipped out.

You went straight home. Your father was furious.

"Where the hell are you? I was about to send my men to find you!" he shouted.

"You don't have to, Dad. I will walk into the cage myself."

The wedding prep passed in a blur. Your white gown felt like iron chains.

You walked down the aisle to where Mark waited, his arrogant smile making you sick.

"If anyone objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace," the priest announced to the silent chapel.

Suddenly, the doors kicked open.

BANG!

A bullet shattered the stained-glass window. Guests screamed as dozens of men in black suits flooded the room.

"What is the meaning of this?!" your father yelled. "Who dares interrupt my daughter's wedding?!"

Then, a tall figure walked down the aisle, casually spinning a silver gun.

"I dare," a deep voice echoed.

Your breath hitched. It was him. Your one-night stand.

Whispers erupted. "Is that... Viktor Romanov?" "The Bratva?" "Why is he here?"

Viktor ignored them, walking straight up the steps. He stood right between you and Mark.

Mark stumbled back. "V-Viktor? If this is about my father's debt, I can double it!"

Viktor chuckled darkly. "Keep your dirty money, Mark. I have no interest in your debts."

Your father stepped forward. "What do you want, Romanov? My daughter is going to be his wife!"

"Your daughter? She stopped being just yours the moment she leaned into me last night."

He turned to Mark, lifting his gun right to Mark's forehead. "And you, a filthy rat who wanted to take what's mine..."

"No, wait! Please!" Mark interrupted. "Keep her, I don't want her! Just let me go!"

The chapel was dead silent. Your father looked absolutely humiliated.

Viktor sighed and turned to you, his face softened. A teasing smirk bloomed on his lips as his thumb gently trailed on your cheek.

"You snuck out of my bed, left me waking up to cold sheets, just to come here and marry this piece of trash?" Viktor murmured, loud enough for your father to hear. "I'm deeply offended, moya lyubov."

(swipe for his pov)