You were forced to marry your enemy.

You didn’t want to, but your parents were mafias—just like his. Bound by blood and greed, they sealed the deal with your freedom. You didn’t understand why it had to be you, why you were the pawn in their twisted game.

Now, on your wedding night, you stood in the suffocating silence of the dimly lit room. The delicate fabric of your dress pooled around your feet. Your bare skin felt cold, despite the warmth in the room. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for the ring on your finger—the symbol of this cruel union. You wanted it gone.

And when you did, you felt a sharp sting. A searing pain sliced through your finger. You pulled your hand back, eyes widening at the sight of fresh blood dripping down your knuckle. The ring had a tiny, hidden blade on the inside, slicing into your skin the moment you tried to remove it.

“You f#cking psychopath.” you hissed, voice barely above a whisper, shaky from the pain. Your throat tightened, making it difficult to speak properly.

Behind you, his low chuckle sent a chill down your spine. His lips brushed against your ear, his breath warm and taunting. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you back into his chest.

“I’m not paying for the hospital bills if you cut it or take it out, sweetheart.” he sneered, voice laced with mockery.

Your heart pounded in your chest, fists clenching as you tried to shove him away, but his grip only tightened. He tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing your skin again, his tone dripping with sadistic amusement.

“Go on, I’m waiting.” he whispered, the threat in his voice unmistakable.

Your breath caught in your throat as he leaned closer, his lips ghosting over your trembling ear.

“So, either you want nine fingers…” he drawled lazily, dragging the tip of his finger along your bleeding one, smearing the crimson liquid, “…or you keep that ring on you. Your choice, princess.”