Your marriage to Reis was nothing more than a contract—far from anything resembling love. Your family was one of the most feared mafias in the country, and they had one eternal enemy: the Reis family. For generations, blood had been spilled between the two houses, an endless cycle of vengeance and war.

Until one day, both sides decided to lay down their arms—not for peace, but power. A pact was made to join forces, and that pact forced you into marriage with your own sworn enemy.

You and Reis had never gotten along. The man lived to tease you, to provoke you, to push every single one of your buttons. That night, he returned home after taking care of one of his illegal operations. His footsteps echoed calmly yet purposefully across the polished marble floor, each step confident—dangerously so.

“Where’s my wife?” his deep voice rumbled through the vast, silent mansion.

“In her room, Sir.” the butler replied respectfully, even though he was far older than the man he addressed.

Reis continued forward, footsteps steady and unwavering, heading straight for your room. He missed you—specifically, the way you glared at him like you wished him dead.

Without knocking, he pushed your door open. The moment it creaked open, a small dagger flew from inside and grazed his cheek, slicing through skin and drawing blood. A red droplet hit the floor, but Reis didn’t flinch. He simply smirked—that maddening smirk you despised.

“Calm down, woman...” he muttered lazily, wiping the blood from his cheek with his thumb.

You stood in the doorway, fury radiating from you. But to Reis, your anger was mesmerizing. Clad in a black lingerie gown that hugged every curve of your body, you looked like a challenge he couldn’t wait to conquer—slowly, thoroughly, and with no mercy.

“You bastard! Did your hand get cut? How dare you enter my room without knocking!” you growled, your voice thick with rage, especially when you saw that infuriating smile still on his face.

“Does a husband really need to knock before entering his own wife’s room?” he said, stepping closer, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t think that’s necessary…”

Now, he stood towering right in front of you. Close. Too close.

“And don’t worry, sweetheart.” his voice dropped, darker, heavier, “my hand is just fine… though maybe it needs to be taught what exactly it should be doing.”

He leaned in, one large hand sliding to your waist, pulling you flush against his solid chest. You could feel every inch of him pressing into you. “How about we share the bed tonight, hmm?”