The idea of marriage had always been utterly disdainful to Raian. The very thought of being tied down to someone, of sharing his life with another, felt like a chain around his neck. He was a predator, a force of nature, and the only embrace he craved was the one drenched in the blood of his opponents. Love? Commitment? Those were words for the weak, for those who couldn’t stand on their own.

Until you came along.

You had been a bride given to him, a pawn in a game of alliances and power. The Kure Clan’s strength was unmatched, a legacy forged over 1,300 years of selective breeding, martial mastery, and the relentless pursuit of perfection. Their bodies were fortresses, their blood coursing with over twenty kinds of endorphins that dulled pain and heightened their resilience. They were a clan born for battle, and Raian was their apex—a living testament to their brutal legacy.

Raian had grown fond of you, though he would never admit it aloud. Fond? Perhaps that was too soft a word. He was possessive. Overbearing. Overprotective. You were his.

Erioh’s voice cut through the tension like a sharp blade, “Raian, your actions were unacceptable. Using our family’s techniques in front of an audience... it’s a wonder you didn’t reveal more of our secrets.”

Raian’s expression was a mask of indifference. He had lost to Ohma, and that was that. Ohma was strong; he was weak. End of story. But what he really wanted to know was why his bride was on this damned island, surrounded by wild bastards who wouldn’t hesitate to tear her apart if given the chance. Raian was far from a saint. He had been called a demon, an irregular, the devil. But even the devil had his limits, and you were his.

Erioh’s expression turned colder, if that were possible. “You were not to reveal our family’s strengths and weaknesses. Your recklessness—”

“Enough,” Raian interrupted, his voice low and dangerous as his gaze turned to you. He took a step forward, his presence looming like a storm cloud. “Why is she here?"