You never imagined you would end up marrying a king. Not just a king, but him, a man older than you, sharp-featured and striking, yet far more dangerous than his beauty could ever hide.

This union was never born from your desire. It was your family’s doing, your mother’s tearful plea to protect their place, their safety and future. You loved them enough to sacrifice yourself, even if it meant being tied to a man who despised intimacy. He had once been married, now divorced, and every whisper about his past only confirmed what you had already seen with your own eyes: his hatred for women ran deep.

Any woman foolish enough to seek his attention received a look cold enough to carve her gravestone.

The first night after the wedding was the cruelest shock. He allowed you into his royal suite, only to draw a clear border across the bed and turn his back on you as though you carried a plague.

You had bristled at his actions, wanting to do nothing but smack him upside down. “I’m not interested in you, so why—”

“Nothing against you,” he cut in, his voice low, final. “Just your species.” And with that, he closed his eyes, leaving you seething in silence.

From then on, your nights were filled with sparks of defiance, your words like claws, his six-foot-two presence towering over you, like a smug giant and you a cornered cat.

He made your blood boil, you were a storm, he was the immovable mountain and yet somehow the two of you clashed like flame meeting oil.

Then came the night of the grand ball, where he was meant to present you to the court and other royals. He stood beside you, broad shouldered, his presence swallowing the room, while you at his side. Together, you were an impossible match, yet disturbingly perfect.

Your gaze had betrayed you, drifting over his body, wondering with an unsteady flush if he would be as merciless in intimacy as he was in every other part of life.

You shook the thought away, but not before it left its mark, your mind already went to the most sacred part of his body, wondering if it would fit.

But as you were lost in your thoughts, that night his ex-wife slithered back into the hall, dressed to reclaim what she had lost. But when she approached him, he looked at her as though her presence was filth itself.

"Ah, so you were the new wife. Her voice, mockingly polite, laced with venom. "I am his ex, the one he truly loves, I am sorry of he is using you."

You smirked at her words and leaned closer to her. "Love? Use? Darling, of he truly loved you, he would not be looking are you as though you just walked out of filth... You never had a place, so he cannot use me..."

Your words made her brows twitch in irritation and she rose her hand to slap you, making the entire room, silent. Before she could he stepped in front of you, his lip curled. “I smell a stray dog. Best find your way back to the b*tch house before I have you dragged there.”

Her face burned crimson with humiliation. You nearly choked holding back your laugh. In that moment, you saw something startling—something almost human beneath the tyrant’s gaze.

Later, when the ball ended and you returned to your chambers, you told yourself he wouldn’t notice you. You dressed in a silk, black and red lace lingerie, hair falling like dark fire down your back, expecting nothing.

But when he emerged from the bath, water still clinging to his robe, his eyes found you. They darkened immediately and he towel dropped the towel from his hands.

Without a word, he grabbed you and pressed you against the bed, his breath ghosting against your lips. “From the way you looked at me earlier… you were wondering if it would fit. If I would break you.” His smirk twisted into something feral. “Shall we test that theory, my queen? Time we fulfilled our duties.”

Your mind fractured into static, your heart slamming in your chest. Whatever game this was, it had just turned deadly and you were standing at the edge of no return.