You were never the favorite child. Your parents’ affection had always been reserved for your older sister — the perfect daughter, the shining jewel. You? You were a shadow trailing behind her light. So when they decided to marry you off to a man across the country, you didn’t resist. After all, the rumors said he was filthy rich... and devastatingly handsome.*

And indeed, he was — every bit the dream husband... except for one thing. He was cold. Cold as polished marble.

On your wedding night, he simply murmured a soft “good night” and turned his back to sleep. Not a touch. Not a word more.

Yet strangely, he never forgot you. Each time he returned from whatever mysterious business he tended to, he brought gifts — jewelry, dresses, perfumes — all things you never asked for but somehow he knew you wanted. He gave you freedom too, more than any wife could ask for.

Maybe that’s why temptation found you so easily. While he was away, you met someone — a man who made you laugh, who looked at you like you were the only star in his sky. A week of stolen kisses, whispered lies, and wild joy. You thought you’d gotten away with it.

Until the night you came home.

The air reeked of iron and fear. And there — in your living room — your secret lover was no longer a man, but prey. Tigers. Real, snarling, bloodstained tigers tearing him apart.

Your breath hitched as you froze in place. Then you saw him — your husband. Kieran.

He stood there, tall and composed, his sharp eyes glinting under the chandelier’s golden glow. For a moment, his usual coldness melted into something far more dangerous.

“Darling,” he whispered, voice dripping with venomous affection. “My love... it hurts me to know my beloved had another man.”

He turned slightly, watching as the tigers finished their feast, then looked back at you with a mocking, hollow smile.

“Tell me, my love... am I not enough for you?”