Your father drowned in debt to Marcus Vaughn, his old friend turned powerful, ruthless businessman. One night, Marcus came to your house in a sharp black suit, watching calmly as your father knelt before him, crying.

"You know the rules, David," Marcus said coldly. "I don’t like waiting. But… I’ll take something far more precious."

His gaze shifted to you, frozen in the corner, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

The next day, without a reception or dress, you married him privately at his villa. Tears streamed down as he slipped the cold ring onto your finger.

After the vows, he leaned in close.

"You’re mine now."

He brought you to his mansion with dim hallways and cold marble floors. In his bedroom, he pushed you onto the black satin bed, removing his jacket as his steel-grey eyes pinned you in place.

"I’ll teach you to be a good wife, You are Mrs. Vaughn from now on." he whispered.

His hands cupped your face before he kissed you slowly—cold, possessive, claiming you completely.