5: Wedding Night

ANGELO

“An heir,” they said. “The continuation of the family line is paramount.”

I didn’t care about heirs, about continuing some legacy that felt more like a curse. Marriage wasn’t something I wanted—not now, not ever.

But the noise wouldn’t stop. Their insistence had grown louder lately, and I’d run out of excuses to push them away. Then Victor, my most trusted advisor, had reminded me of a long-forgotten contract.

“The girl your father betrothed you to when you were about eleven—have you considered calling in that agreement?” Victor had asked, his voice calm but purposeful.

I’d frowned, trying to erase any memory of the arrangement. “You’re joking,” I muttered. “That was years ago. That contract is as good as dead.”

Victor shook his head. “Her family never annulled it. They owed your father a considerable debt, and as far as we know, they haven’t paid it off. Legally, the arrangement still stands.”

I leaned back in my chair, my fingers drumming against the edge of my desk. “And you think this girl—whoever she is—would agree to marry me now? After all these years?”

Victor’s expression didn’t waver. “If her family hasn’t paid the debt, they likely don’t have a choice. And besides,” he added with a shrug, “she hasn’t married anyone else. That says something.”

I let out a humourless laugh. “It says she’s either desperate or ambitious. Women like that only see me as a title, a walking pile of wealth. She’ll be no different.”

Victor didn’t argue. He simply laid the papers on my desk and left me to brood.

In truth, I hated the idea. I hated the thought of being tied to someone who didn’t care about me, someone who would only see the crown and the luxury. But time was running out, and there weren’t any other options.

So I agreed.

The wedding was a quiet affair, held in a small church with only a handful of witnesses. I hadn’t even met her before today. My men had made the entire arrangements, and I’d let them handle it. I didn’t care about the details—just that it would be over quickly.

When I finally saw her, though, I was... surprised.

She was younger than I’d expected—too young, really. Her eyes had constantly darted nervously around the room, and she had been clutching the fabric of her dress a tad too tightly.

She looked frightened.

I didn’t kiss her at the ceremony. I told myself it was out of respect, but in truth, I didn’t know what to make of her. She wasn’t what I’d expected—not that I’d expected anything in particular but she looked too young.

When the ceremony ended, I caught her glancing at me from the corner of her eye, she was almost at the brink of tears.

“How old are you?” I asked right now, finally taking in her full state after we unexpectedly ran into each other back at the side of a whorehouse. I glanced down at the small, sheer dress over her body. It was torn and looked really very dishevelled.

She flinched, her gaze snapping to mine like a startled deer. “I-I’m almost twenty,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Almost twenty?” I repeated, arching a brow. She nodded quickly.

I let out a slow breath, studying her face. She was too young for this. Too young for me, seeing as I was almost thirty-three.

The television flickered in the background, muted but showing the chaos unfolding outside—people searching for Mya. My new wife. A wife I hadn’t even wanted.

The idea of marriage had always made me uneasy, but tonight, that feeling turned into something else. After all, it wasn’t hard to see what had happened. Her brothers had forced her into this arrangement. She was a child, practically. What kind of monster would push their sister into the arms of a man like me?

Hell, I was the monster.

I had let her run this afternoon. I hadn’t even looked for her. After seeing the fear in her eyes at the altar and the way her tears had glistened, I told myself it was better this way. Let her go. I could find another bride—one who wanted this, or at least pretended to. I was going to find one this week.

I scoffed as I turned away from her and went over to the bar to pour myself a drink, one which I downed in a go.

I hadn’t expected to see her again.

But then she’d run right into me.

It was sheer luck—or fate, if you believed in that nonsense. I was on my way to the whorehouse, ready to forget the mess of today with the help of someone who didn’t look at me like I was the devil himself. Then she appeared out of nowhere, her face pale and streaked with panic, her eyes wide with terror.

I couldn’t walk away even if I wanted to.

Now, she sat on the couch here in my sitting room, her small frame trembling as she wrapped her arms around herself. I felt that strange, unfamiliar pull again—the urge to protect her, to keep her safe. It was unexpected, and made me uncomfortable.

I’ve never gotten that emotion for a stranger before. But it suddenly materialized within me the moment she pleaded for me to not give her up to the people searching for her.

“Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?” I asked, my voice calm.

She flinched at the sound of my voice, her gaze darting toward the television. I grabbed the remote and unmuted it, letting the news anchor’s voice fill the room.

I muted it again and turned to face her. “They’ll kill you on sight, Mya. You understand that, don’t you?

Her eyes slowly filled with tears, and she buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry! Please, don’t let them kill me. I don’t want to die!”

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to push down the strange pang of guilt that rose in my chest. Guilt. That was new. I didn’t feel guilt—not for anyone. But her tears were doing something to me, something I didn’t like.

“Stop crying,” I muttered, the sharpness in my tone softening despite myself. “Crying won’t fix this.”

She sniffled, looking up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I didn’t mean to run from you. I was just scared—so scared. I thought you’d—” She broke off, her lips trembling.

“Thought I’d what?” I demanded, though I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Hurt me. Turn me into a punching back. Like the rumours say...”

Ah, the rumours. Once, I’d worn them like a badge of honour. Ruthless. Deranged. A monster in human skin. Those stories kept people in line, kept them afraid. But hearing her say it now? It left a bitter taste in my mouth.

“Do you believe everything you hear?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.

She shook her head quickly, her lips bitten raw. “No, I— I don’t know what to believe.”

I sighed and stood, pacing the room. Her sniffles filled the silence, each one scraping against something inside me I didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Dry your eyes,” I said finally, my voice quiet but firm. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

She sniffled one last time, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, and nodded. I gestured for her to follow me as I headed toward the master bedroom.

When we entered, she hesitated by the door, her eyes darting around nervously. I ignored her and moved to the wardrobe, grabbing a change of clothes and a few other things I’d need.

As I turned back toward her, she flinched, her hands clenching the fabric of her dress. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, her voice shaking. “I’m so sorry for running. Please don’t—don’t go too hard on me tonight when you take m—.”

I froze, her words shocking me. “Excuse me?” I asked, my voice low.

She shrank back, her eyes wide with panic. “I— I just mean… since you’d want to consummate this marriage, so- so if you’re angry and want to—”

I cut her off with a sharp laugh, though there was no humour in it. “You think I want to have sex with you right now?”

Her silence was answer enough.

I shook my head, letting out a bitter scoff. “Jesus Christ, Mya. Apart from the fact that you’re clearly terrified of me—and I don’t touch women who aren’t willing—you’re practically a child.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she opened her mouth to speak, but I held up a hand to stop her. “I don’t care what the law says. You’re too young for me, and you have no idea what kind of world you’ve been dragged into.”

She stared at me, her expression a mixture of shock and confusion. I could tell she didn’t know whether to feel relieved or insulted.

I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck, feeling more frustrated by the second. “Take a shower. Go to bed. I’m not going to touch you.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes still wide as she processed my words. I turned to leave, but her voice stopped me.

“Angelo?”

I paused, glancing over my shoulder. The sound of my name on her tongue was almost soothing.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice hesitant.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to. So I left, closing the door behind me and wondering, for the first time in my life, what kind of monster I really was.