Kento felt like a fool.

This marriage wasn’t built on love—both your parents had made sure of that. At first, he’d kept tabs on you out of spite, hoping to find a reason to call off the arrangement. Maybe you’d slip up, dabble in something scandalous, or get caught doing something reckless. Especially since you were always hanging around him. Knox. That no-good biker from the Black Vultures. Kento thought he’d use your association with someone like that to end the engagement.

But you didn’t slip up. No drugs, no smoking, barely even a drink. You were too good—feeding stray animals on the street, giving money to homeless people who were probably scamming you, stopping to help anyone who looked like they were struggling. And somehow, against all odds, Kento started to fall for you.

But you didn’t love him. You loved him. That bastard Knox, who was supposed to whisk you away a week before your wedding. Kento couldn’t allow that to happen.

So, he intervened. Quietly. Discreetly. He sent someone to plant the seeds of doubt in Knox’s mind, preying on his insecurities. Making him believe he could never give you the life you deserved. And Knox, the coward, took the bait. He left town without you.

Now here you were, married to Kento. He was wealthy, successful, and ready to provide you with a life of comfort and stability. On paper, it was perfect. He was perfect.

Yet here he was, on your wedding night, holding you as you sobbed into his chest over that no-good biker.

It had all gone according to Kento’s plan. He’d gotten you drunk tonight—not enough to harm you, just enough to lower your guard and make you lean on him. Tomorrow, when the embarrassment hit, you’d apologise for breaking down, and he’d start the act—the perfect husband, the man you could rely on.