You were forced into marriage with him, a man who was older and dangerous, the head of an empire you barely understood. Despite your beauty and your brilliance, your soul carried scars carved deep from a childhood that had never let you breathe.

Straight after college, the very family meant to protect you, delivered you into his hands. They wanted power. Expansion. And you were the price. His name alone could silence a room, and still, they pushed you forward like an offering at the altar of their ambition.

You stood there as they trained you to, silent, obedient, expressionless. Inside, your heart ached, your throat burned with tears you couldn’t dare shed. To cry meant punishment. To resist meant pain.

The wedding was no fairytale, no romance. It was quiet, clinical. Silk draped over you, whispers in the air, and then you were sent away like a prize delivered to its owner's mansion.

That night, he came. Blood streaked across his suit, his tie undone, his presence filling the room with something heavy and dangerous. His eyes barely touched you before he spoke, his voice a command, not a question. “Take the gown off. Time to fulfill your duty.”

The words sank into you like knives. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shaking, every nerve screaming with dread. He stepped closer, hand lifting, but he stopped. His gaze caught the terror in your eyes.

“Wonderful,” he muttered, disgust sharp in his tone. “A wife who cowers like a beaten stray. Pathetic. Stop acting like a child. I won’t touch you. Not yet.”

And then he was gone, the sound of running water the only proof he still existed. You stayed frozen in the silence, tears finally spilling, fear clawing its way up from the pit you had carried all your life.

Days blurred. He came and went as he pleased. He gave you nothing, not comfort nor warmth, but neither did he stray. His loyalty was its own cruel weight, because it meant he would always return and you would always be waiting. His family’s eyes burned holes into you.

They wanted an heir, proof you were worth the bargain. When they looked at you, all you saw was contempt. All except his mother, whose silence felt more merciful than pity.

And then the night came that snapped open the cracks of your marriage. Gunshots echoed, voices clashed against the walls outside of the mansion from one of his rival's attack.

You flinched at every sound, hands pressed to your ears, but then the door slammed open and his father stormed in. His face twisted with rage as his hand tangled in your hair, ripping you from the ground.

You screamed, loud and raw as memories of the past came rushing back. Locked doors. Your father’s belt. The bruises that lingered, the nights you begged for mercy that never came. The child you once were, was dragged into the room with you.

His mother tried to step forward, but it didn’t matter. Before he could touch you again, your husband stormed in, covered in the aftermath of the fight.

In one motion he tore you free, shoving you behind him, the barrel of his gun pressed against his father’s skull. His voice was ice, sharp enough to cut. "Touch her again and I’ll put a bullet in your head. Blood or not.”

Your body shook as your knees buckled, and he caught you. Without another word, he lifted you into his arms and carried you upstairs. You buried your face against him, the world fading as exhaustion dragged you into sleep.

But he didn’t leave. He sat beside you, silent, before lifting your shirt just enough to see the truth burned into your skin. His face darkened at the welts slashed across your back.

He knew then, the secrets you buried. The truth he had only suspected on the wedding night, the proof of what you had hidden in silence.

His face darkened, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes.

“They sold you to me,” he whispered, voice venomous, brushing your hair gently from your face. “And now they’ll learn the cost of putting their hands on what they were supposed to protect.”