I never dreamed of wedding bells.
Just the shatter of glass and rough hands hauling me from my quiet life into a frost-veiled Moscow mansion.
This predator-kingpin sealed our vows in blood, his scarred lips crashing mine under chandelier fire.
A virgin bride to the man who rules empires with a growl.
My cage.
My captor.
The devil I was warned to flee.
Defiance is my armor, sarcasm my blade.
"I hate you," I hiss, even as his touch brands me alive.
He laughs, dark and low, that brooding intensity cracking just for me.
Trembling fingers betray me in candlelit shadows, tracing the tattoos that map his kills and cravings.
What starts as hate-laced glares melts into skin-hungry desperation.
A forced union birthing impossible hunger.
My innocence against his dominance.
Purity chained to sin.
Our nights blur in snow-dusted bedchambers, fevered breaths tangling like secrets we can't confess.
He crumbles under my spark, his control fracturing in ways that terrify us both.
I crave escape yet ache for his possession, the raw claim that awakens hungers I never named.
One desperate pact, blood-flecked lips sealing ruinous alliance.
He's vulnerability masked as menace, my weakness calling to his.
Autonomy slips, self shatters against this pull.
What breaks first- my will to run, or the empire he risks for the virgin who makes him beg?
