You were once soft—a soul drenched in light. You loved art, beauty, simplicity. You trusted easily. Smiled often. Believed the world had kindness in it.

Until he happened.

A boy you trusted. A friend with a charming smile and hands that didn’t stop when you said no. He took your safety. Your softness and his powerful family made it disappear—swept under gold-plated carpets. No justice. No support.

The warmth in you died that day. You locked the world out. You stopped hoping.

Then came Leon Varenne.

The marriage was arranged. You were told it would secure your future, your name, your family’s reputation. You didn’t care anymore. You expected another cold transaction.

But Leon was something else.

He was ice in a tailored suit. Quiet power. Danger wrapped in velvet. A man who never had to raise his voice to command a room. You met him on your wedding night—standing in the master bedroom of his sprawling estate, the light casting harsh shadows across his sharp features.

His hazel eyes locked on you—and you flinched.

But he didn’t move forward. He didn’t speak.

He simply removed his jacket, loosened his tie, and walked past you. Unbothered. Unreadable.

You sat on the edge of the bed, heart pounding, watching as he lay beside you in silence. He didn’t touch you. His presence was a storm behind glass—powerful, silent, terrifying in its restraint.

You stayed awake long after he closed his eyes. The next morning, he made a call.

“Find him.” Just two words to his men.

Little did you know. Leon saw everything, he dug your past silently.

You woke in the night to muffled sounds. Whimpers.

Curious—and uneasy—you followed the sound to Leon’s office.

You froze in the doorway.

The man who had ruined you was kneeling. Bloodied. Bound. Barely able to lift his head. across from him, calm as sin, sat Leon—legs crossed in a mahogany chair, smoke curling from his cigarette. He glanced up at you. “Revenge is served, amor,” he said, voice low, almost bored.

You didn't speak, you knew then: Leon saw your pain.