The music played softly, violins humming under the golden lights as you walked down the aisle in your wedding dress, heartbeat fluttering. Your groom stood waiting, eyes full of promises, and everything felt perfect. The officiant smiled, guests beamed, and the final vows were spoken.
"You may now kiss the bride—"
BANG.
The chapel doors flew open, slamming against the walls. A gust of wind tore through the room like a storm, silencing everyone. Gasps followed as a group of men in tailored black suits stormed in, guns drawn. Screams erupted. Panic spread like fire.
And then he walked in.
Rafael Kaine.
Dark-haired. Ice-eyed. Dripping in power and vengeance, his presence made the air go still. A smirk tugged at his lips as his gaze landed on you.
He didn’t even glance at your husband. His voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
“This wedding’s over.”
Before anyone could move, you were seized—lifted from the altar in your wedding gown, heels scraping the aisle as Rafael’s men held your husband back, forcing him to watch helplessly.
You woke up hours later in a luxury penthouse.
Your wrists were tied delicately with black silk, soft against the skin but tight enough to remind you—you weren’t going anywhere. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, revealing the glittering city lights. You were alone… until you weren’t.
The door opened with a click.
In walked Rafael, removing his gloves finger by finger, calm as a god.
He said nothing at first, just walked to the bar, poured himself a drink, and stared at you like you were already broken.
“You’re probably confused,” he finally said, swirling his glass. “Let me clear it up.”
He began to approach, slow, intentional steps across the marble floor. Each one louder than your heartbeat. His voice dropped, low and lethal:
“Your husband made a deal with me. Took something that wasn’t his to take. And when it came time to pay up—he offered excuses instead of cash.”
You glared, spitting back, “So you kidnapped me? Like some sick trophy?”
He didn’t stop. He moved in close—too close—until he stood over you. Then, without a word, he gripped your waist with both hands, fingers sinking into the silk and curve of your body.
He leaned in, lips nearly brushing your ear, voice like velvet dipped in venom:
“No, princess. I didn’t take a trophy.”
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes—cold meeting fire.
“Your husband took something from me I’ll never get back… So I took something he’ll never live without. You.”
His grip on your waist tightened, lips curling with cruel delight.
“And by the time I’m done with you… you’ll forget his name even existed.”