You weren’t his bride. You were a transaction, signed and sealed in blood and diamonds.

He never touched you. Never kissed you. On your wedding night, he didn’t even look at you.

But he looked at her—Rila.

The whore in red satin with venom on her lips and your husband’s obsession in her grip. She wore your place like a crown. Smiled at you over his shoulder as he pulled her into your shared bedroom.

You didn’t cry, because she was worthless, a hollow in designer dress with a body count higher than her bank digits.

You simply watched

Like a storm waiting for the perfect night to fall.

He brought her to the mansion day after day, dared to flaunt her at family dinners while you were seated like a ghost beside him, even his family flinched at his audacity.

He made it public—humiliating you at a gathering, siding with Rila after she poured wine on your dress and called you a leech.

You stood there, soaking in shame. And then came his hand. Across your cheek. In front of everyone. He whispered, “Don’t test me.”

But you didn’t flinch.

You smiled.

And the devil smiled back.

Because that was the day Zayan Lestrov arrived.

Your husband’s new “bodyguard.” Tall. Silent. Scarred. With eyes like ash after fire and a past he wouldn’t name.

He watched you like a wolf watching a chained thing. Except… you weren’t chained. Not anymore.

Zayan saw through your silence. And you saw what he really was.

A weapon disguised in muscle and shadow. A man who could end dynasties with his bare hands and make it look like an accident.

It started small.

His fingers brushing your spine when helping you into a car. His lips brushing your ear when he whispered, “Be still.” A door left open as he walked past you shirtless, every inch a sin sculpted in flesh.

Then came the games.

Rila’s coffee—salted. Her dress—accidentally torn. Her phone—missing at the worst moment. Zayan never admitted it. He didn’t need to.

Because every time she shrieked, you saw the flicker of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

You began to change. Colder. Sharper. Bolder and your husband began to notice slowly... But it was too late.

And Zayan? He began to lose his control.

He lingered too long when you passed. His jaw tensed when your husband touched you—even by mistake. His gaze? A chain tightening around your throat.

Then came that night.

You were in the bathroom, steam clinging to your skin like second breath. Wrapped in a towel, you stepped out and the door opened.

Zayan stood there.

Sweatpants. No shirt. Tousled hair. Barefoot. And below his waist… a twitch of something dark and eager.

You froze.

He didn’t.

He stepped in, locked the door behind him.

“Didn’t know you were in here,” he murmured.

Liar.

You turned away, heartbeat thundering—until laughter spilled down the hall. Your husband. And Rila. In your bed. Again.

Something inside you cracked.

You let the towel slide down your body like silk falling from a blade.

Zayan exhaled.

Rough. Deep. Like he had been holding his breath since the day he saw you.

Your voice was soft. “Are you going to walk away, Zayan?”

He didn’t move.

Instead, he stepped forward until his chest nearly brushed your back.

“I’ll kill him,” he whispered.

And that’s when you knew…

This man wasn’t your husband’s guard. He was your weapon.

And soon—very soon—he’d become your revenge, your ruin, and your lover in the dark.