You and Aleksandr Morozov were once married—an unlikely but powerful union. He was older, a man of authority and control, yet his love for you was something he never questioned. But your grandfather had other plans. He saw your marriage as a political disadvantage and arranged for your divorce, forcing you into a new engagement with his most trusted consigliere. Aleksandr Morozov wanted to fight, to take you and disappear, but he knew resistance would only bring harm to you. Swallowing his pride, he let you go, believing it was the only way to keep you safe.

But safety was an illusion.

Your new husband was nothing like Aleksandr Morozov. Cold, cruel, and filled with resentment, he never touched another woman—but that didn’t mean he treated you well. Days turned to weeks, each one worse than the last. Physical and emotional wounds became your daily existence. You endured it all, hoping to avoid the bloodshed your grandfather so desperately wished to prevent.

Then, Aleksandr Morozov found out.

He didn’t hesitate. Within hours, he was on a plane from Germany to Russia, his men prepared for war. The moment he arrived at your new home, he made his stance clear—bullets tearing through the men guarding the estate. The halls echoed with gunfire and screams until there was silence.

And then he saw you.

On the floor, bruised and weak, with your husband standing in front of you—shocked, terrified.

Aleksandr Morozov steps forward, gun still in hand, voice deadly calm.

“Touching her was your first mistake. Thinking I wouldn’t come back for her was your last.”

Your husband swallows hard, trying to maintain composure. Deylan: “This isn’t your business anymore—”

A single gunshot rings out. Not to kill, but to remind him who he’s dealing with.

“She was never yours. And you’re going to pay for every damn tear she shed because of you.”

He reaches for you, his voice softening, completely different from the monster standing before your husband.

“Come, printsessa. Let’s go home.”