The world knows no master like Lucian Daiuz. While they claim that no one is above the law, he stands far beyond it—beyond governments, kings, monarchs, or mafias. All bow to him. His face is a mystery, his voice unheard by any who live to tell the tale. To some, he is a devil, a monster. Whispers and rumours paint him in a thousand shades of darkness, even questioning his manhood for remaining without a wife at 33. Every woman he takes as a wife vanishes before a month passes, and his wealth, so immense, could feed the entire country and still leave a fortune untouched. Lucian Daiuz—he is the man who haunts every nightmare. And now, I have been chosen to be his wife... She is the embodiment of grace in a world marred by shadows, a damsel whose beauty radiates across the kingdom. Men fall to their knees for a chance at her favour, but none have succeeded in capturing her heart. She turns them all away, waiting for the one who can truly claim her. Her purity and light are enough to banish the darkness that surrounds me. She is Princess Aurora von Dysheria, and I have claimed her to be my bride.
Lihat lebih banyakThe soft glow of lanterns bathed the grand chamber in golden light, flickering against the darkened windows. A heavy silence loomed, broken only by the steady rhythm of breathing. Kiara sat by the bedside, her hands resting gently over the cold fingers of the man lying before her. Verion’s chest rose and fell with a fragile rhythm, as if his very existence was hanging by a thread. Then—his breath hitched. A sharp inhale. His fingers twitched under Kiara’s touch. She straightened instantly, her eyes wide. "Verion?" A deep groan escaped his lips as his eyelids fluttered open. His golden irises, once sharp and full of knowledge, now held nothing but confusion. He blinked slowly, adjusting to the dim light, before his gaze settled on her. His brows furrowed. "Who... are you?" The words hit Kiara like a punch to the chest. Her heart squeezed painfully as she searched his face, looking for any sign—any trace of recognition. "Verion, it's me," she whispered, tightening her grip on his
A suffocating silence settled between them, thick with unanswered questions. The night air was cold, but Isabelle felt nothing but the burning weight of Collins’ words pressing against her chest. Bound. Trapped. No escape. The words rang in her head like church bells tolling her doom. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she forced herself to stand tall. “I don’t believe you,” she said, her voice sharper than she felt. “I don’t believe in any of this binding nonsense.” Collins didn’t even look surprised. He simply tilted his head, watching her with something close to amusement. “That’s the thing, pookie. It doesn’t matter if you believe it or not.” The doors to the mansion creaked open. A tall man in a dark suit stepped forward, his face eerily blank. “Welcome home, sir. The preparations have been made.” Preparations. A chill ran down Isabelle’s spine. Collins turned back to her, his expression unreadable. “Shall we?” She took a step back, every ins
The soft glow of lanterns bathed the grand chamber in golden light, flickering against the darkened windows. A heavy silence loomed, broken only by the steady rhythm of breathing. Kiara sat by the bedside, her hands resting gently over the cold fingers of the man lying before her. Verion’s chest rose and fell with a fragile rhythm, as if his very existence was hanging by a thread.Then—his breath hitched. A sharp inhale. His fingers twitched under Kiara’s touch.She straightened instantly, her eyes wide. "Verion?"A deep groan escaped his lips as his eyelids fluttered open. His golden irises, once sharp and full of knowledge, now held nothing but confusion. He blinked slowly, adjusting to the dim light, before his gaze settled on her. His brows furrowed."Who... are you?"The words hit Kiara like a punch to the chest. Her heart squeezed painfully as she searched his face, looking for any sign—any trace of recognition."Verion, it's me," she whispered, tightening her grip on his hand.
A suffocating silence settled between them, thick with unanswered questions. The night air was cold, but Isabelle felt nothing but the burning weight of Collins’ words pressing against her chest.Bound.Trapped.No escape.The words rang in her head like church bells tolling her doom.She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she forced herself to stand tall. “I don’t believe you,” she said, her voice sharper than she felt. “I don’t believe in any of this binding nonsense.”Collins didn’t even look surprised. He simply tilted his head, watching her with something close to amusement. “That’s the thing, pookie. It doesn’t matter if you believe it or not.”The doors to the mansion creaked open.A tall man in a dark suit stepped forward, his face eerily blank. “Welcome home, sir. The preparations have been made.”Preparations.A chill ran down Isabelle’s spine.Collins turned back to her, his expression unreadable. “Shall we?”She took a step back, every instinct screami
The Wedding TrapThe car moved steadily through the darkened streets, leaving behind the glittering lights of the wedding hall. Isabelle sat rigid, her breath shallow, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might crack her ribs. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to run—but there was nowhere to go. Not yet. Not until she understood what Collins had done.The weight of his words lingered in the air like a storm cloud. The rules have activated, cookie.She clenched her fists. “Collins, if you don’t explain what’s going on, I swear I will make your life a living hell.”Collins let out a low laugh, rubbing his temple as if her voice was the real source of his headache. “You’re cute when you’re mad,” he mused.“Try furious.”“Try trapped.” His voice turned flat, void of the drunken playfulness from earlier. His dark eyes flicked toward her, and for the first time that night, she saw something cold lurking beneath them.Isabelle swallowed, but she refused to let him see her fear. “
Collins attempted to focus on her, his expression a mix of regret and defiance. "None of your business, pookie," he slurred. Isabelle's jaw dropped in disbelief, but before she could respond, Collins staggered up to the altar. The officiant, looking uncomfortable but dutiful, stepped forward to proceed with the ceremony. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." the officiant began, but his voice was drowned out by the shocked murmurs of the crowd. Isabelle felt a wave of nausea and dread wash over her as Collins took her hand, his grip unsteady. She could barely focus on the words being spoken, her mind racing with confusion and fear. "Do you, Isabelle, take Collins to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as you both shall live?" the officiant asked. Isabelle hesitated, glancing at the crowd. Her mother, Stacy, and Kelvin all looked at her with worry etched on their faces. She took a deep breath and n
The officiant nodded respectfully and stepped aside. Isabelle took a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure. The guests began to move toward the reception area, their whispers a constant reminder of the humiliation she was enduring. She felt a mixture of relief and frustration, knowing that she had no choice but to wait for Collins' explanation. Vivian and the other family members stayed close, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity. Isabelle's mother and Stacy flanked her, offering silent support as she tried to navigate the emotional storm brewing inside her. "I can't believe this is happening," Isabelle muttered to Stacy, who gave her a sympathetic smile. "I know it's hard, but we have to trust that Collins has a good reason," Stacy replied. "And remember, we're here for you no matter what." Isabelle nodded, though the knot of anxiety in her stomach refused to loosen. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. The day had been a whirlwind of emotio
Minutes turned into hours, and yet Collins never appeared. The murmurs from the crowd began as quiet whispers, but soon they grew louder, filling the grand wedding hall with a low hum of gossip and speculation. Isabelle stood at the altar, her heart pounding and her mind racing with confusion and dread. She could feel the stares of the guests, their eyes boring into her with judgment and pity. "What is this man doing?" Isabelle muttered under her breath, her voice trembling. She tightened her hands around the small bouquet she held, the knuckles turning white from the pressure. She felt like she was standing on the edge of a precipice, the ground beneath her feet threatening to give way at any moment. The grand doors of the hall opened, drawing everyone's attention. Isabelle turned to see a group of rich-looking people entering. They carried an air of authority and wealth, their presence commanding immediate respect from those around them. Two older couples and a middle-aged couple wa
As Isabelle stepped into the grand wedding hall, her eyes fell upon the variety of people who had gathered to witness her union with Collins. The hall was a sea of elegant dresses and sharp suits, with the scent of fresh flowers mingling with the faint hum of conversation. The decorations were breathtaking, a testament to the care and attention that had gone into planning this day. Her gaze drifted over the crowd, and suddenly, she spotted two familiar faces that made her heart skip a beat. Her mother, dressed in a beautiful deep blue gown, stood next to her best friend, Stacy, who was wearing a stunning bridesmaid dress that complemented Isabelle's own bridal gown. The sight of them filled her with a rush of emotions—joy, confusion, and relief all mingling together. Isabelle's eyes widened in surprise. She hadn't seen her mother or Stacy since she had been taken by Collins, and their sudden appearance here at her wedding was both bewildering and comforting. She had worried about them
The night was eerily quiet, the kind of stillness that seemed to hum with hidden anticipation. A lone figure lay in a bed draped in silken sheets, her breath soft and even as she drifted into the sanctuary of sleep. The only light came from the faint glow of the moon filtering through the grand windows, casting delicate patterns across the room. The air was heavy with the scent of lavender, a scent meant to lull even the most troubled mind into slumber. But that peace was shattered by the blaring sound of a phone. The princess stirred, her delicate fingers reaching out lazily for the device. The screen was a harsh contrast against the dark, and she squinted as the brightness flooded her sleepy vision. A series of messages awaited her, their notifications relentless. She sighed, a sense of dread settling in the pit of her stomach as she read the texts. Of course, it was them. Who else could it be at this ungodly hour? Her so-called best friends since high school—Ashley and Abigael. T...
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