Chapter 1
Perched atop a mountain, an ancient castle stood aglow, its colorful neon lights piercing the enveloping night and lush forests. What was once a tranquil retreat among the trees transformed into a bustling hub as luxury cars rolled in, bringing a parade of influential political and business figures to the castle. The majestic hall, adorned with grand décor, buzzed with anticipation as guests gathered around the Fountain of Serenity, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the groom, Edmund Ashby, and his bride, Clara Harper. As the gentle welcome music came to a sudden halt, the lights dimmed, and a spotlight shone like moonlight on the center of the second floor. Guests directed their gaze up, where the striking couple waved cheerfully at everyone. Applause erupted, celebrating the newcomers. Isabella Langley, the groom’s stepmother, dressed like an elegant European aristocrat and holding a delicate fan, watched the couple with a sly smile. Edmund Ashby, clad in a tailored suit, had deep, piercing blue and black eyes fixed intently on his bride. His strikingly handsome face wore an expression of barely contained annoyance, showcasing the tensions brewing beneath the surface. Clara Harper, in an exquisite white gown with a plunging neckline and a sweeping train, had a sly smile that danced on her lips as she regarded her husband. Her meticulously crafted, coldly beautiful features radiated a sense of superiority. Their gazes met, and instead of warmth and joy, a palpable resentment crackled between them. With poise, Clara lifted her gown, taking a confident stride toward the right staircase, while Edmund snorted in disdain and gracefully moved to the left. Amidst the ceremony, they positioned themselves on the stairs, presenting radiant smiles to their guests below. As the lively band played, they took their first synchronized steps down—he, with intent; she, with defiance. Their eyes locked, the intensity was unmistakable; both radiated an unspoken desire to ruin the other. The groom descended with the strength of a lion, while the bride moved with the sleek elegance of a leopard. When they finally met in the spotlight, Edmund forced a smile and extended his hand. Clara placed hers in his, her expression betraying nothing but mockery. Together, they accepted the raucous cheers from the guests, basking in their applause. Suddenly, the lights flickered off, and a giant projection screen started to descend. In that moment, Edmund's icy-blue and black eyes snapped to Clara, teeth clenched as the tension in the air intensified. “What are you planning, Old Lady?” he spat, casting a glare laden with suspicion at her taunting smile. What did she have in store? Revenge, of course. Clara arches an eyebrow and shoots back playfully, “You’ll find out, Old Man.” The gleeful defiance in her tone further fueled his fury, her teasing igniting a spark of delight in her heart. As a video feed from a street corner flickered onto the screen, Edmund's body tensed. He focused intently on the footage, realization dawning. Clara intended to use their wedding day for a scandalous reveal, caught off-guard by the timing. He smirked disdainfully—this was Clara at her best, taking full advantage of the moment.
Chapter 2
Clara Harper could feel the rage emanating from the man beside her, even as she held onto his arm, a defiant smile plastered on her face. "Take a good look, Edmund," she taunted. "This is your wedding gift." She watched his stunningly handsome face twist into a grimace, anger melting into coldness as he replied, "Well, I certainly appreciate it, Old Woman." Hearing him call her that made her skin crawl, but she couldn’t let a moment like this go to waste. She needed him to feel her irritation too. "Think nothing of it, Old Man," she shot back, her tone laced with sarcasm. The tongue-in-cheek exchange made him want to throttle her, but he held it in, forcing himself to breathe deeply as he tightened his grip around her waist. His irritation flared momentarily, and a sly smirk crept onto his face. "You can play whatever video you want, but I’m just a devoted husband who loves his Old Woman. It’s just that…" Clara, confused, raised an eyebrow, curiosity piquing. "Just what?" "Today’s our big day, so do me a favor and smile a little more. Show some happiness," he said with a charming smile, his hand reaching up to gently caress her cheek. His words, combined with his touch, sparked a fire in her chest. The audacity of this man! He knew full well that the video would break her spirit. "You’re unbelievable!" She swatted his hand away, anger boiling up within her. Yet before she could fully shake off the frustration, his large hand suddenly yanked her hair, forcing her to confront the screen. "Come on, laugh, Old Woman. It’s a gift, isn’t it?" Clara glared at him, resentment bubbling over. This was his doing, and she promised herself that he would pay for it, Edmund Ashby. As the video played, her grandmother’s familiar face appeared on the screen, and all of Clara’s anger dissipated. Heartache welled within her as she blinked back tears. Grandma... The moment she saw her grandmother, all ire toward Edmund vanished, replaced by a wave of nostalgia—and then shock—as all her fears came crashing down when she witnessed the white SUV plow into her beloved relative. It felt as if the ground quaked beneath her; she was right back at the scene. Edmund stood beside her, eyes fixed on the screen as he watched Clara be wounded all over again. He felt both sympathy and a touch of hidden satisfaction—this was a consequence of her own choices. Gripping her waist tighter, he tried to offer her stability. Weak and shaky, she leaned against him, her eyes squeezed shut as she silently cried. Deep down, she knew what would come next, but the sight of him, calm as ever, made her blood boil with indignation. How could he be so shameless? Clenching her fists, she locked her gaze onto him, wondering whether he was avoiding her look or simply zoning out. "Clara!" Isabella Langley interjected, her voice cutting through the tension. She fanned herself while directing amused glances at the composed Edmund Ashby. Gasps erupted from the crowd as the video showcased the white SUV careening toward the grandmother and granddaughter standing on the crosswalk, an inevitability sealed as they stood there caught in the moment.
Chapter 3
In less than thirty seconds, the white SUV sped in reverse, nearly running over the elderly lady standing next to Clara Harper. The moment the vehicle surged forward again, the elder woman instinctively pushed Clara aside, only to be crushed under the wheels of the car. As the blood-stained white SUV sped away, the shock of the incident washed over the venue, leaving the audience buzzing with disbelief. Edmund Ashby shot a glance at Clara Harper, whose face was a mixture of horror and outrage, acknowledging her distress. At the same time, Seraphim Gold took the cue and stepped up to the microphone, his voice smooth as he attempted to defuse the tension. “I apologize for the unexpected interruption, it seems we’ve accidentally broadcast a rather disturbing news clip.” Isabella Langley, seated nearby, chuckled lightly and stood up, assisted by her friend Wren, both making their way out of the venue in the aftermath of the chaotic scene. Clara, still reeling from the shocking video, found herself sinking to her knees on the cold floor, her fists clenched tightly as tears streamed down her face. A tumult of emotions twisted in her gut as waves of anger and despair washed over her, and her gaze fell on Edmund, now her husband. The resentment bubbling within her demanded an outlet, and she shot him an accusing glare. This was all his fault. If it hadn’t been for him tampering with the surveillance footage and bribing local shopkeepers to give false statements, the police wouldn’t have been forced to dismiss her report due to a lack of evidence. All they’d left her with was a useless incident report marking the case closed. If Edmund hadn’t protected his hit-and-run brother, Alexis Lyndon, she wouldn’t have been trapped in this grotesque marriage of convenience. His shamelessness was unbearable, and she vowed to make him pay, no matter the cost. She could already envision it: him and his brother, their lives dangling in the balance as they faced the consequences of their actions. Knowing Edmund Ashby, the president of Eastwind Guild, she wondered how long he could maintain that icy composure when the truth finally surfaced. Edmund Ashby, you should have never forced my hand. I assure you, you have awakened a nightmare that will haunt both you and your brother.
Chapter 4
Clara Harper was roughly dragged into the hotel’s VIP lounge by two towering bodyguards. As she struggled, her hair fell messily around her face, and one of her high heels flew off. When she was brought face-to-face with the furious Edmund Ashby, she broke free from the guards’ grip and shouted at Elyas Garethold Wren, “I’ll show you what dying looks like!” Edmund, undeterred by Clara’s rage, leisurely sipped his tequila. He waved his hand, signaling everyone to leave, then fixed his mismatched blue and black eyes on Clara, whose fury burned like an inferno. “Living is easy; dying is hard, babe.” “I don’t have time for your nonsense. Get me to the funeral home, now!” Just as she finished yelling, Edmund, consumed by anger, hurled his drink at her. He swiftly moved in, gripping her by the neck and pushing her coldly onto the bed. “This is our wedding night. Who cares about a funeral? Who are you cursing?” “What do you want?” She scrambled onto the bed, horrified, as she watched him begin to undress. What could this man possibly have in mind? Her grandmother had just passed away, and here he was planning something entirely twisted. “Fulfill our marital obligations, babe. Come here.” He grabbed his tie and yanked it around her neck, tightening it mercilessly until she winced, struggling to breathe. In an aggressive move, he seized her chin and kissed her brutally, using the moment to force her hands behind her back with one swift motion, tying them with a belt. He began to tear away her dress. “What are you doing? Let me go! Let me go—” Panic surged through her as she thrashed, but her efforts were no match for his strength. With her hands bound, all she could do was scream. “We're husband and wife, Clara. If I let you go, who will let me go? You’re the only healthy woman here; who else would I use?” Ignoring her struggles and cries, he transformed into a madman bent on taking what he wanted, tearing at her clothes, her skirt, and her underwear. “No, please don’t do this! Edmund Ashby, are you crazy?” Clara shouted, her voice raw as she fought against her restraints, terrified as her garments were torn apart. She had done nothing to deserve this. Why was she being treated like this? It was his half-brother who had caused the trouble; why was she being forced into this contract marriage as a result of someone else’s mistakes? What had she ever done to deserve this suffering? The real culprit was Alexis Lyndon, that vile hit-and-run fiend. Why was she always the one to suffer? “Old girl, come here.” Edmund, fed up with Clara’s noise, dragged her in front of a mirror. Gripping her neck to make her look at her reflection, he said, “I lost family on the same day you did. I got through it; you can too. It’s okay to be a little shameless; let yourself heal. Just don't defy me.” “Your father passed peacefully. My grandmother was killed by your brother’s car! How can that be compared?!” The pain of losing her only family member overwhelmed her, and she collapsed, screaming in despair. “Doesn’t matter.” He slammed her against the mirror and threw her onto the bed, viciously tearing at her wedding gown. Without mercy, he shoved his fingers into her mouth, deliberately making her taste them as she sobbed, then lifted one of her legs, dipping down to lick between them. There was no woman he couldn't conquer.
Chapter 5
If it weren't for this woman's constant nagging and defiance, Edmund Ashby really wouldn't have thought twice about treating her this way. His father had left him the Eastwind Guild, and there was no way he'd let that wicked stepmother, Isabella Langley, get her hands on it. The old man had only given him half of his inheritance when he married her, and to claim the other half, he had to produce an heir. He couldn't comprehend what had possessed his father. How could a man with so many mistresses—thirteen mistresses with children, no less—decide to marry a thirty-year-old Isabella Langley at seventy-five? And now he was caught in a brutal battle for inheritance against a stepmother who had not even given birth to a single child. This was not what he had envisioned for his life. The audacity of his father was beyond him. Clara Harper felt humiliated and resentful. The way this man was treating her—his hands roving over her—was both degrading and infuriating. Bound and unable to struggle, she could only cry in her forced helplessness. Why did the universe have to deal her such a harsh hand? Her parents had died when she was young, leaving her to live with her grandparents. They had just lost her grandfather, and now, tragically, her grandmother was gone too. Now she was all alone. Her stepbrother had run down her grandmother and fled, not allowing her to call the police and even erasing all records of the incident. He was holding her grandmother’s body hostage, forcing her to marry him to help him gain control of Eastwind Guild… Money, money, money. He was despicable. She would make him pay. She would ensure both he and his brother met their end at her hands. “Old woman, you’re soaked and still have the energy to cry,” Edmund Ashby chuckled, flipping her over and revealing her vulnerability. His gaze fixated on the moisture between her legs—an involuntary reaction—and he climbed on top of her, kissing her hungrily. “Ugh.” With her hands bound behind her, resistance was futile, and she bit his tongue in defiance. “Damn it.” He winced, pulling away from her lips. In a fit of anger, he thrust into her, eager and aggressive, dismissing any lingering concern for her soul. “...Ah.” The pain shot through her, making her every muscle tense, as humiliation and anguish flowed from her. Edmund Ashby stared in shock at Clara Harper, whose tears were cascading down her face. He reached out to touch her cheek, holding her close, suppressing any thoughts of right and wrong as he surrendered to his desires. With every rapid thrust, her hatred for him intensified. Especially when the discomfort was gradually replaced by something else, an unwanted awareness of his pleasure as she gazed into his eyes, a chilling mix of ecstasy and fury welling within her. She silently plotted how best to kill him. “What are you thinking? You want to kill me? Go ahead, try,” Edmund taunted, his eyes flashing with an unsettling mixture of excitement and madness as he gripped her neck and waist, invading her body fiercely. The rhythm of his movements incited a wild elation in him, the primal satisfaction gained from their entwined bodies—feeling her respond to each aggressive push and pull, a gruesome dance of desire. “Ugh…” Tears streamed down Clara Harper’s face. This man would not get away with this. He should not think this was over; there was no way she would let him off the hook. But the more furious she felt, the harder he penetrated her, and gradually, she found herself unable to focus on the murderous thoughts as she began to adapt to his fiery thrusts, instinctively clenching herself to capture and prolong that feeling. Every moment swirled in madness, and as he finally reached his climax, everything came to a standstill. Amidst her chaotic thoughts and racing breaths, she found herself staring at the beautiful yet ominous man looming over her, his weight pressing down. Even in her disgust and her thoughts of murder, exhaustion took hold, and she fell into a fitful sleep…
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