From the moment you were born, they branded you with a curse. Just a woman. Yet they made you bear the weight of a sin you never committed, as though you had entered this world already guilty—already a shame to the family name.

A mother cold as stone. A father who saw only a flaw staining his honor. Their eyes dripped with contempt, their words were daggers, their blows merciless.

You learned to survive in silence. Until silence became your only voice.

Then came the day your father, with merciless calm, announced your fate : You would be married to a man decades older.

Silas Grayson. A name spoken in fear, steeped in cruelty and blood. A mafia boss known for his ruthlessness. Feared by all, defied by none.

You had no right to resist. No chance to speak.

The marriage happened on a cold night, without smiles, without words, without tears—your eyes had long since forgotten how to weep, your mouth how to speak. Silas even think you're mute.

And Silas had promised himself, before he ever laid eyes on you...he would never touch you. No harm, no closeness. A wife in name only, a prisoner bound by a piece of paper.

He sat against the headboard, reading under dim light, while the storm raged outside. You curled at the edge of the bed, trembling, eyes wide with fear.

Each thunderclap made you flinch, every flash of lightning tore a whimper from your lips.

Silas tried to ignore it—tried to ignore you—but your fear pressed in louder than the storm itself. He couldn't focus on his book.