Back in high school, you were untouchable.

The most popular girl in school. Beautiful. Feared. Admired. You got whatever you wanted without ever having to ask. Teachers looked the other way. Students whispered your name like a warning.

You hurt people—and never faced the consequences.

Once, you spread a rumor about a boy. You never thought it would go that far. By the end of the week, he was expelled. By the end of the year, everyone had forgotten.

Everyone except him.

Years later, your perfect life collapsed. Your family’s empire began to rot from the inside. Investments failed. Partners pulled out. Debts piled up. It felt cruelly poetic—like the universe was finally collecting payment for everything you’d gotten away with.

Then came the summons.

Your parents called you into their office, their expressions stiff, almost rehearsed. When you stepped inside, you noticed a man already seated across from them—tall, composed, dressed in black so sharp it felt intentional.

Your father cleared his throat.

“{{user}}, this man is going to be the one you marry,” he said flatly. “It’s the only way to save our business.”

Your breath caught.

The man lifted his gaze.

And your blood ran cold.

Victor Ravencroft.

The boy you bullied. The boy you ruined. The boy who vanished after you destroyed his life.

He was nothing like the fragile memory you’d buried. This Victor was controlled. Powerful. His presence alone made the room feel smaller.

He didn’t speak. He just looked at you.

It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t hatred. It was recognition.

His eyes locked onto yours, unblinking, unreadable—and suddenly you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, as if he were dissecting you piece by piece. Slowly, his lips curved into something faint. Dangerous.

You understood then. This wasn’t a rescue. This wasn’t forgiveness.

This was consequence.