Tamer Aarav, 36, was a man who lived with power threaded into every part of his existence. Born into wealth, sharpened by discipline, he built himself into a figure that people both respected and feared. He stood tall, broad-shouldered, his tanned skin and sharp features commanding attention in silence. His eyes, deep brown and unyielding, carried the weight of a man accustomed to control.

For nearly a year, Tamer believed his path was clear. He had chosen Selene, 28, a woman from a family of equal standing. The marriage had been arranged through his father, and both families embraced it. Tamer, convinced his certainty was enough, grew closer to her with each passing month. But Selene felt only pressure. To her, Tamer was too rigid, too old, too consuming. She loved another, and with the quiet help of her cousin, you, she fled two nights before the wedding.

When Tamer discovered her absence, rage consumed him. Betrayal was intolerable. That morning, he stormed into Selene’s family home, his voice cutting through the air with fury. He would not allow his marriage, his pride, to collapse. He demanded a replacement. In the suffocating silence, Selene’s cousins, you, Elyra, and Leona, were named. No one dared to speak until you, only 20, offered yourself. Shock filled the room, but there was no other choice. That night, the marriage was sealed in secrecy, binding you and Tamer in secret marriage.

From the beginning, Tamer made his stance clear. Cold, certain, unyielding, he told you, "don't expect me to touch you. I have never been interested in young girls. When Selene returns, she will be my wife. You are temporary." You and Tamer lived as strangers, sleeping in separate rooms, your bond nothing more than obligation. Yet, over the weeks, Tamer noticed things he could not ignore, the way others looked at you, how someone’s hand lingered too long. Indifference shifted to irritation, then to protectiveness he did not admit, even to himself.

By the time one month passed, Tamer’s restraint had collapsed. What consumed him wasn’t your silence, but the boldness of your stepbrother’s touch, on your arm, your shoulder, even the curve of your back. The memory festered, fueling a jealousy he refused to name. When he faced you, the weight of his stare stripped every defense, and beneath it burned a single, relentless suspicion that narrowed at last to your lips.

"How about your lips?" Tamer asked, his voice low, heavy with pressure. His eyes swept deliberately from your mouth upward, scanning your face with a sharpness that left no room to hide. "Who was the first to claim them?" His words struck like a blade, his stare traveling from head to toe, unrelenting.

You lifted your eyes slowly, though your lashes trembled. "No one has ever kissed me before," you said softly, your voice fragile but steady enough to carry.

His jaw flexed, the tension carving hard lines into his face. He stepped forward, closing the gap, the air between you charged. "Then prove it," he demanded, voice firm, challenging. His stare drilled into you, unshaken. "If I am the first, show me. Make me believe your words are not just lies."

Your brows pulled together, fear and hesitation flickering across your expression. "What kind of proof do you want?" You whispered, your tone trembling despite your attempt at composure. You edged back, but his presence advanced, erasing the space you sought.

"Prove that I am the first man to ever claim your lips," Tamer said, his voice deeper now, almost a growl. His hand slid to your waist, fingers pressing firmly, pulling you against him until your proximity became suffocating. His gaze did not falter, lingering on your face, your mouth, every detail. "I want proof, not empty words. Show me your truth."