KAI’S POV

“You… you can’t get married without your bride. You both have to recite the vows and exchange rings,” the lawyer stammers, and I can almost see his knees buckling under my stare.

I simply ignore the tremor in his voice, mine lace with impatient “Where are the documents?”

His throat bobs nervously. With a cautious hand, he pulls the papers from his briefcase and sets them in front of me.

“You sign here… and she’ll sign here,” he says, his finger trembling over the dotted lines.

Without bothering reading the fine print, I  just pick up the pen and scrawl my name with clean precision. I’ve signed deadlier contracts in my life. My eyes meet his when I’m done—cold, empty, unblinking. He nods quickly. That’s all.

Shouldn’t have agreed to Mr Rodriguez’s wish. That man’s unpredictability is a storm I’ve lived under all my life; I should be immune to it by now. It’s in my blood. One of the wonderful genetic gifts he passed down to me.

Mr Rodriguez should have thought about punctuality when he picked my wife.

To think I've only seen my fiance once, and that was during the engagement party. No doubt I wouldn't recognize her if I see her now.

Rising from the seat, slip my hand into my pocket and retrieve two black velvet boxes. I place one on the table, open the other. A golden ring catches the sterile light, gleaming like it’s mocking me. Without hesitation, I slide it onto my finger. It feels alien. Wrong.

Then stand on my feet, walking out.

Behind me, my ear hear the lawyer mutter under his breath, “Who doesn’t show up to their own wedding?”

A dark smirk curls at my lips. Apparently… my wife. Maybe I should send her a Guinness World Record certificate.

Stepping out into the daylight, unlock my car, and sink into the leather seat. The engine hums to life under my touch. As I pull away, my phone dings.

•Elizabeth: Want to come over for lunch? Made your favorite. Private penthouse•

I Scoff under my breath, change my route, and press harder on the accelerator.

*****

The penthouse screams opulence—marble floors, gold accents, designer furniture. Elizabeth doesn’t just live luxury—she breathes it. Unlike most billionaire wives, she built her empire from the ground up. Her own money. Her own power.

I head straight upstairs. My heartbeat echoes louder with every step. I reach a familiar door, twist the knob, and step inside.

Elizabeth sits on the bed, a lady resting her head on her lap like a broken doll. She's sleeping.

My gaze stays locked on the woman lying there.

“How is she?” My voice is low, deliberate.

Elizabeth sighs. “No change. But it's a good thing you are here now. ” Her hand moves gently through the girl’s hair, like she’s afraid she’ll break her.

I nod, but I don’t step closer. I want to. God, I want to. To take her into my arms, tell her it’s over, that no one will ever hurt her again. To feel the silk of her hair against my fingers. But until I find the bastard who did this to her, I can’t get close.

I turn, leaving without another word. A few seconds later, Elizabeth follows.

Without looking at her, I ask, “The last one still alive?”

“Yes. He’s yours to finish,” she says, her voice steady.

We head down another hallway. The door we stop at is locked with an electronic panel. I punch in the code, and it clicks open.

The smell hits first—blood, sweat, and something rotting.

In the center of the dark room sits a naked man, unconscious and tied to a chair. His skin is torn and bleeding from dozens of lash marks. His eye sockets are just hollow, gaping wounds. Blood streaks down his face in uneven rivers. His forearms end abruptly at jagged stumps, wrapped sloppily to keep him from bleeding out.

I don’t need to ask who did that. Elizabeth’s work is always… thorough.

And then I notice the needles. Jammed into the most sensitive flesh he has left—His cock.

“Wake him,” I order.

Elizabeth doesn’t hesitate. She grabs two exposed wires from a nearby table and presses them against his groin. The electrical current snaps through him instantly—his body jerks violently, head thrashing. His screams are muffled by the soundproofed walls.

I raise my hand, and she stops.

Now he’s awake—barely. Blood spills from his mouth as he groans.

I step closer. Not too close. The stench is unbearable.

“Any last words before I grant you your biggest wish?”

He coughs, spattering blood dangerously close to my shoes. I step back.

“I… remember something,” he rasps. “The one who sent us… smells rich.”

My brow furrows. “That’s it? He smells rich?”

“Not just any rich…” He wheezes. “Feminine rich.”

I scoff. Worthless. Half the men in this city drown themselves in floral colognes.

I walk to the metal table, pick up a gun, and without hesitation—three bullets to the head. Clean. Efficient.

I leave the mess for Elizabeth to deal with.

Back in my car, Rafael’s name flashes on the screen. I answer as I slide into the driver’s seat.

“Hey Iceman! Pre-wedding party tonight, yeah? I heard it brings good luck!” he yells over the club’s noise.

“Where?”

“Our usual,” he replies.

I hang up, driving off.

*****

"Getting married immediately you got back from your a year break, what exactly has been going on in that genius head of yours?"Rafael says immediately I step into the VVIP section of the club.

I collapse onto the couch opposite him bringing out my cigarette box.

Rafael swiftly snatch it from me with a glare," No smoking, Dude."

I scoff and grab a bottle of whiskey, and start chugging. So much for having a doctor as a Bestfriend.

Aside my family and my bride's, no one else knows about the alliance, not even Raf.

“Damn, chill! You’re barely a day into being a husband and already drinking like a divorcee,” Rafael teases.

“Who’s getting married?” another voice chimes in.

I don’t need to look. Tracy. She's the only one bold enough.

She slides beside me, plastering on a childish pout. “Seriously, Iceman? You didn’t tell me you were back. I found out from the news.”

I ignore her, emptying half the bottle.

She presses on, like the desperate bitch that she is. “I missed you… especially him.” She trails her hand near my thigh. “That’s why I’m coming with you to the hotel tonight. To celebrate your return.”

Before I can shut her down, Rafael jumps in.

“Delicious offer, Iceman. I’m sure your wife won’t mind.” He winks.

Tracy freezes. “Wife?!”

He grins. “Yup. Iceman here tied the knot today.” He points at my ring." Typical adult move. I want to be like him when I grow up." He laughs.

She turns to me, betrayal dripping off her face. “Kai… is this true? You married someone else? How could you do this to me?” Her voice cracks.

My glare slices her words in half, cutting her off. I pick a stick of cigarette from the table, lighting it up before Rafael could stop me.

She quickly wipes her tears, regaining composure.

“Fine. Whatever. You’re married....so what? We can still have our fun. My offer stands.”

I smirk. “You’re right. But not tonight.”

She frowns, but didn't speak further.

Soon, someone else walks into the VVIP's section, I glance up to see Dennis, my step-brother with his one of his bitches clinging unto him like a tight swimsuit.

Such a cheating man-whore.

Dennis grin widely, when his eyes meets mine. I didn't grin or smirks back, just maintain my blank expression.

"Look who we have here, it's the step-brother who promised to fulfill his father's wish as a Birthday gift."He taunts, but it's going to take more than the words of my step brother to get to me.

I stand up step close, lean down to his ear. “Watch your mouth. You might run the Rodriguez empire, but my fifty percent still makes me your boss. Don’t make me remind you.”

I set the bottle down and rise.

I step away and walk out, stopping by the restroom to wash my hands. Immediately I step out, I got a message from my butler. I type and sent back

*****

Hours later, I step into my manor. At least here, the air here belongs to me. There's an unfamiliar scent lingering, smells like rose and snow.

Dan, my butler, meets me at the door. “She’s upstairs,” he says. His tone carries a weight he doesn’t dare explain, and then he vanishes.

My jaw ticks. So the runaway bride decided to show herself after all.

I head upstairs, intending to ignore her existence, but music pulls me off course. It’s spilling from the last room in the hall. The door is open.

I approach slowly and steady. Hands in my pocket

And when I reach the threshold… I freeze at the scene before me.

Standing before me is my wife—the one Mr Rodriguez had picked for me, I assume.

Her body is different than I remember from that engagement party a year ago. More curves. Fuller hips. Breasts that strain against the thin fabric of her shirt. Her face got rounder. She’s thicker now—not fragile, not delicate. She carries herself like she knows the power in her body, and she’s not afraid to wield it.

She’s in a pair of tiny bum shorts that barely cover her ass. Her round ass—fleshy, bouncing, shameless as she moves. The shirt is cropped above her stomach, exposing smooth skin. She bends low, ass high, hands on her knees, twerking in rhythm with the beat.

Controlled. Precise. Unbothered.

A dermal piercing glints at her lower back, catching my attention.

I lean against the doorframe, arms folded, expression carved from stone. I don’t say a word.

I just watch. Cold. Detached. Silent.

Because this? This isn’t seduction. It isn’t intimacy. It’s noise. A distraction. And I hate distractions.

But I notice everything—the confidence in her movements, the fire in her posture, the way her body has changed since the last time I saw her. She’s grown bolder, thicker, louder. Not the girl I was engaged to. Not someone soft enough to break.

The song ends.

She straightens, chest rising and falling. When she turns and spots me, her lips part slightly, surprise flashing across her face. But she doesn’t scramble to cover herself. She just looks at me, chin high, eyes defiant.

I hold her gaze.

Cold. Empty. Unyielding.

Then I smirk—dark, humorless.

And walk away.

Not a word. Not a glance back.

But my body betrays me with a hard-on I refuse to acknowledge.

This marriage is already hell.