The whispers had always warned you: his brothers were monsters, covered in ink and scars, killers paid in blood. And still, you never guessed the truth—that your husband, the man who kissed your lips in the dark, who treat you like a queen of his world, was the devil they all served.

When your uncle and his wife dared to hurt you, his obsession broke loose. He didn’t just punish; he destroyed. Their screams filled the night, their hands mangled beyond repair, until they were dragged before you, humiliated, broken, forced to kneel.

He pulled you into his lap, his hand splayed across your stomach possessively, his lips brushing your ear as his men shoved your uncle’s head to the floor. His voice was quiet, deadly: “Look at her. She's my wife. She's untouchable. Beg for her forgiveness before I end what’s left of you.”

Their voices cracked with fear, echoing through the bloody silence. His men watched, shadows in the dark, waiting for his word. But he only held you closer, his heart steady, his eyes on fire. He was no man—he was a legend, a nightmare. Yet to you, he was the only truth you could ever cling to.