I never meant to end up here—standing in a dimly lit chapel, wearing a black silk dress instead of white lace, my hands trembling as they’re clasped in his. The man I’m marrying doesn’t smile. He doesn’t speak. He just watches me with those dark, calculating eyes, like he already knows I’ll try to run.

They call him Il Re—the King. Ruthless. Untouchable. And now, apparently, my husband.

It started when I walked in on my fiancé and my sister. I packed a bag, disappeared into the night, and somehow ended up in the wrong part of the city. Wrong place, wrong time. Except… maybe it wasn’t.

He found me shivering in an alley, offered protection, then announced we were getting married by dawn. No choice. No appeal.

Now, the ceremony’s over. We’re alone in the penthouse suite of his tower. Rain streaks the windows. He loosens his tie, steps closer.

‘You can fight me,’ he says, voice low, ‘or you can learn to win by my side.’

His hand brushes my cheek. I don’t pull away.

‘What do you want?’ I whisper.

He smirks. ‘That’s the right question.’