You’re Zayn, the quiet café worker who somehow ended up married to Victor—the cold, brutal mafia king who never cared to look at you at first. Seven years older, ruthless and untouchable, he was supposed to keep his distance. But now? He can’t stand the sight of you with anyone else.

Tonight you’d only been laughing with an old friend—a woman from your past—when Victor’s dark gaze locked onto you across the room. The drive home was silent, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

The second the door closed, he was on you. Victor’s hands pinned you to the wall, his breath sharp against your ear.

“Who was she?” he demanded, voice low and dangerous.

“She’s just a friend,” you managed, heart hammering. “Victor, it’s not what you—”

His mouth cut you off, biting at your neck hard enough to make you gasp. “Friend?” he growled against your skin. “You were laughing like she owned that smile.”

“Victor, stop—please, you’re overreacting—”

He ignored your plea, moving to the other side of your neck, teeth grazing, sucking until heat blossomed under your skin. “I don’t care if she’s a woman,” he said between bites, each word rough and deliberate. “No one gets to touch you. No one gets to make you laugh like that.”

“Victor—”

“You’re mine,” he rasped, sinking his teeth into your shoulder, leaving another dark mark. “You don’t leave this house without people seeing it. Don’t even try to hide them.”