Seth Thorne

Since childhood, they had been doomed to each other. She was a shining porcelain doll, spoiled, with a perfect smile made for photographs. He was a storm in human form, far too old for his age, with shadows lurking in his cold eyes. Their families kept them close, binding them with marriages, contracts, and promises — yet they hated every meeting, every touch, every glance. Now they were about to play the most dangerous roles of their lives — husband and wife. A deal sealed not by hearts, but by blood and power. And only time would tell who would emerge the victor... and who would become a prisoner of their own feelings.

Seth Thorne

Since childhood, they had been doomed to each other. She was a shining porcelain doll, spoiled, with a perfect smile made for photographs. He was a storm in human form, far too old for his age, with shadows lurking in his cold eyes. Their families kept them close, binding them with marriages, contracts, and promises — yet they hated every meeting, every touch, every glance. Now they were about to play the most dangerous roles of their lives — husband and wife. A deal sealed not by hearts, but by blood and power. And only time would tell who would emerge the victor... and who would become a prisoner of their own feelings.

"You again," Seth muttered when he saw her in the hallway of the university. "Believe me, I'm not thrilled either," she snorted, adjusting the strap of her Dior handbag.

They hadn't gotten along since they were kids. He was always rude, too old for his age, with a shadow in his eyes. She is spoiled, moody, with a scream on her lips and a demanding "I need this right now" in her voice.

Their families were connected for a long time. Old money, big connections. One kindergarten, one school. He was constantly tugging at her braids. She threw tantrums and threw dolls.

She was perfect right now. 17 years old. Delicate as porcelain, with a slender figure and a face as if carved from marble. Ballet, filming, elite shows in Paris and Milan. She didn't let anyone get close to her. Angel. Unattainable. Cold.

And Seth... Well, Seth turned into a storm. Playboy, bad boy, mafia heir. He drank, smoked, fucked indiscriminately. He looked at life as if it had already been lost. No one dares to say no to him. Except for her.

The irony is that now she was supposed to be his wife.

"You're getting married," his father said, laying the contract in front of Seth. "Or forget about the throne."

"On her?" He grinned, clenching his teeth. "Really?"

"She's the perfect asset. An influential family, a clean reputation, contracts worth millions. Pearl."

"A pearl with sharp teeth," Seth breathed. "I know who she really is."

While others saw her as an angel, he saw behind the mask. A stubborn, sarcastic, calculating bitch who wouldn't let him rest. He knew her every weakness, every moment she cried in the school locker room, every fake laugh she made.

He knew her better than she knew herself.

"I'm not marrying him," she told her parents, but all she got in response was: "It's for business, honey. You're a smart girl. Understand."

She understood. She still wanted to scream. He was the worst of them all. Cold, rude, vulgar. But... damn, how he looked. It's like he's undressing her with one look. As if he knows her every secret.

And so they stood opposite each other.

He grinned, tilting his head. "Well, doll. Shall we have a wedding?"

She narrowed her eyes: "Just don't think that I will become your toy."

"Don't think I'm your knight."

They shook hands. It's like we made a deal.

A hate marriage. A marriage of convenience.

And yet, as the registry office doors slammed shut behind them, they both knew that one of them would definitely lose in this game.

But only time will tell who exactly.

The morning after the wedding started quietly. It's too quiet. Seth woke up on the couch with an unpleasant feeling — as if something had already gone wrong.

The bed was empty.

He found her downstairs, on the terrace, with a cup of coffee and... with a man. Young. Smiling. In a suit. From a modeling agency, Seth immediately recognized the type. Smooth, well-groomed, smug.

She was sitting cross-legged. She was wearing a white shirt and a short skirt, with her hair perfectly gathered. She was laughing. Not loudly, no. But — gently, warmly.

Seth stopped at the door. Measuring. Something in his chest snapped shut, as if a lock was slowly starting to lift... on a safe with fury.

"Good morning," he said, coming in. The voice was icy. She looked up. The smile faded. "This is Remy. A representative from Dior. We are discussing a contract for the fall."

The guy held out his hand. "Very pleased to meet you. Your wife is just an inspiration."

Seth did not shake. He just squinted. "Do you always admire someone else's property so easily?"

Remy froze, confused. She frowned slightly. "Seth, this is a business meeting. Calm down."

He approached her. He stood behind her. He put his hand on her shoulder. Gently, but clearly. Seth owned her. He's shown it now.

"I have a clear rule," he said, looking directly at Remy. "No one touches what's mine. Not in words. Not with my eyes."

Remy got up awkwardly. "I'll... call you back. Thanks for the coffee."

He left, almost tripping over the threshold.

She stood up abruptly. "Are you crazy? It was a two million dollar contract.""A contract is not a reason to flirt.""I wasn't flirting!""Then don't you dare smile at others like that."