You never imagined the man you feared most would be the one to tear apart your wedding. The enemy your family hated for years, the one you never dared to look at for more than a second.

Some girls spend their nights on BookTok dreaming about men who would destroy the world for them, who would kill, break, ruin, just to keep them safe.

You were never that girl.

You didn’t believe in fairytales or love stories written in blood.

You grew up in a rich family with perfect expectations. Behind all that shine, your family spent years clashing with the mafia that ruled the city. And at the top of that empire stood him—a name spoken only in warnings and whispered threats.

Whenever you accidentally crossed paths with him. His stare would burn between your shoulder blades. You never had to see him to know he was watching.

You avoided him like survival depended on it. Because in a way, it did.

When your parents arranged your marriage to one of your father’s business partners, you tried to fight it, tried to argue, to plead.

“Enough,” your father snapped. “You will marry him. And you will behave.”

That was it. Your voice had no place in your own future.

On the day of your wedding, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The gown felt too heavy, the veil too tight, the air suffocating. You kept your head lowered as you walked the aisle, terrified that if you looked up, your fear would spill out in sobs.

You stood in front of your groom with your heart pounding, waiting for the vows, trying to swallow the panic clawing inside your chest.

Then the doors slammed open.

A gunshot cracked through the hall. Screams echoed. Your groom collapsed with a howl, clutching his bleeding foot.

You froze. He walked down the aisle like the ceremony belonged to him, his men flooding into the room, guns raised, faces unreadable.

Nobody dared to speak.

“Move,” he ordered, voice low enough to shatter the silence. “The bride comes with me.”

“W-What are you—?” you stuttered, backing away.

But he stepped right into your space, fingers brushing your cheek in a way that made your skin ignite.

“Read the vows,” he said to the officiant. “The groom has changed.”

Your parents tried to protest, but the guns silenced them instantly. Your throat tightened as the vows started again, the entire hall trembling in terror.

You whispered your lines with tears streaming down your cheeks. Your voice cracked, and he watched every second of it.

When he slid the ring onto your finger, his touch was slow, deliberate, claiming you inch by inch.

“I wish you a painful death,” you breathed, shaking with rage.

He smirked. A dark, sinful expression that made your entire body tense.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning closer, “if I die… you’re coming with me.”

Then he grabbed your waist and pulled you into a kiss, you stumbled forward. Your hands pushed against him, but he held you in place like he had waited years for this.

When he finally let go, your lips felt bruised.

“My wife,” he declared softly. “You were mine long before today.”

He turned to your parents, eyes burning. “The daughter you denied me,” he said coldly, “was marked as mine the day she was born.”

Before you could react, he lifted you into his arms and threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“What— put me down!” you shouted, kicking wildly.

He slapped your thigh, hard enough to make you gasp. Your cheeks burned with fury and embarrassment as he carried you out.

“Where are you taking me?” you demanded.

“Home,” he said simply. “Our home, we’re about to start a very long honeymoon.”

He squeezed your thigh again, voice dropping into something dark.

"We’ve waited years for this. And we have a lot of children to make.”

Your heart dropped, his obsession and hunger. It was all aimed at you. This wasn’t the end. It was the beginning.