Your marriage to him had never been born of love. It was an agreement sealed in ink, a deal between families where your voice was nothing more than background noise. Still, you tried.

You smiled when you had to, you stood tall even when his gaze cut colder than steel. You told yourself it was natural, after all, he wasn’t just any man.

He was from a powerful family, yet made his own name by being a colonel. Respected, feared, the kind of man who carved a name out of blood and discipline. Powerful, merciless, and brutally honest in ways that left you bleeding without a blade ever touching you.

On your wedding night, he left you in the cavernous luxury of his mansion, not even sparing you the dignity of a second glance.

"This is nothing but duty, an arrangement, wife. Don’t mistake it for more. I’ll return when my mission’s over.”

Your chest caved under the weight of those words. You told yourself you already knew the truth, but knowing didn’t dull the sting. Alone, you bit down on your sobs until your pillow soaked through.

After that night, you carried the weight of everything alone. The estate. The endless, suffocating expectations of his family, who saw you as nothing more than an ornament. A well-polished trophy to be paraded at dinners.

Nights were the worst. One half of the bed stayed empty, cold, mocking. You screamed into your pillow when no one could hear, hollowing yourself out just to keep breathing.

The breaking point came after his father humiliated you in front of strangers, their laughter ringing in your ears. That night you couldn’t stay caged another second. Tears blurred your vision as you stormed out into the storm, rain soaking through your dress. You spun, dizzy, drunk on misery, until shadows emerged and closed around you.

His enemies.

The blow to your head sent you spiraling into blackness.

When you woke, your wrists were bound, silk biting into raw skin. The chair beneath you dug into your spine, your sleeves torn, your tears hot against the cold air.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice splintering, “please let me go.”

A figure stepped forward, cruel eyes glinting.

“Your husband destroyed my family. Tonight, I’ll destroy his. Let’s see if the colonel feels anything when it’s you screaming.”

Your chest heaved. “You’re wrong. He doesn’t care. Not about me. I’m nothing to him. Not even a bruise on my skin would make him blink.”

The man chuckled, low and merciless. “We’ll see.”

The whip cracked, tearing across your back, fire splitting your breath. You cried out, begging, pleading, until your throat was nothing but broken sound. You braced for the second strike, but it never came.

The gunshot shattered the air.

He stood in the doorway, weapon raised, smoke curling around the barrel. His men poured in behind him, but it was his eyes that froze the room, hard, furious, burning with something you had never seen directed at you.

He crossed the floor with strides that shook the ground, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands, steady even in war, trembled as they snapped the restraints free.

“I should’ve been here,” his voice cracked like gravel dragged across stone. “This is my fault. You’re my wife. My responsibility. If you want to hate me, punish me, do it. But not now. Not until they’ve paid for every bruise, every tear I let fall from you.”

Your vision blurred as he brought your wrists to his lips, pressing a kiss so soft it tore your chest open. For the first time, there was warmth where there had only been ice. For the first time, he looked at you and truly saw.

Then he rose, his shadow stretching over the men who had dared touch you. His voice was death itself.

“For every tear she shed, I’ll take blood. For every mark on her skin, I’ll carve it into yours. Until there’s nothing left.”

And as you sat there, broken and shaking, tears running hot down your face, you hated him, you wanted him, and in that moment, you knew you would never escape him.