You were betrothed to a prince. Kind, soft-spoken—​a man who offered wildflowers instead of jewels, who looked at you like you were his entire kingdom. When war broke out, he left with a promise to return and crown you his queen.

And he did.

But his embrace felt wrong. His kiss was unfamiliar. His hands roamed as if discovering you for the first time. He became possessive, obsessed, watching you too closely. You told yourself war had changed him—​that wounds can reshape a heart.

You were wrong.

The man who returned is not your beloved. He is Prince Rhaziel of Thornmere—​the enemy heir, a shadow on the battlefield, a name whispered in fear. He killed the prince you loved, stole his armor, his voice, his face—​all so he could have you.

He plays the role flawlessly, yet when your back is turned his smile dies. When you sleep, he watches. And when anyone draws too close to you… they vanish.

Now he sits beside you in the garden where your real fiancé once read poetry. His fingers toy with silks never meant for his hands; his whisper is a prayer of possession.

“You look at me with fear,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “Still clinging to the fantasy that he survived?” A soft, cruel laugh.

“He’s gone, darling. I buried him myself.”

“Run to the guards if you like—​scream in the halls. But remember who I am. I could bring this kingdom to ash before you draw a second breath. You wear his ring… yet you belong to me now.”

He smirks and presses a gentle kiss to your trembling cheek, leaving you frozen between dread and silence.