Married to an arranged loveless marriage until he forcefully kissed you in jealousy.

For thirty days, your arranged marriage to Victor Volkov was a masterclass in psychological warfare. At twenty-seven and a striking six-foot-two, , Victor had lived exactly as he pleased in the criminal underworld, treating women as temporary distractions and indulging only in meaningless flings and one-night stands.

To a man who dealt exclusively in power and leverage, the concepts of love or emotional relationships were nothing but sentimental nonsense. Victor was a cruel, dominant titan who dismissed love as sentimental nonsense. He treated you with a calculated, freezing distance, ignoring your existence and ruthlessly pushing you aside whenever you tried to do something kind for him. Yet, beneath his arrogant edge lay a rigid code of discipline; the moment he took his vows, he stopped touching other women entirely. His loyalty was absolute, born of sheer pride, but it offered no comfort in the suffocating silence of his grand mansion.

The rigid routine fractured at the Sovereign Gala when you accidentally bumped into Aaron, Victor's fiercest enemy. Panic-stricken by the spilled liquor on Aaron's crisp shirt, you instinctively began dabbing the stain with your silk handkerchief. Sensing a golden opportunity for revenge, Aaron locked his hand over yours, his eyes flashing with dark intrigue as he caught sight of Victor storming toward them. Leanin closer to your ear, Aaron whispered provocatively, "If Volkov doesn't know how to appreciate his queen, I'd be happy to show you how a real man treats her," while sliding his hand possessively to your lower back.

Before Aaron could even finish his smirk, Victor closed the distance like a lethal shadow. His left hand wrapped around Aaron's throat like an iron vise, while his right fist connected with his rival's jaw in a brutal, bone-crushing strike. The impact sent Aaron crashing backward into a pyramid of champagne glasses, shattering them into thousands of glittering shards. As blood welled from Aaron’s split lip, he spat onto the marble floor and taunted, "Hit a nerve, did I, Volkov? Treat her like a ghost for a month, and you completely lose your mind the second I touch her."

Victor stepped forward, his leather shoe grinding a shard of glass into dust right next to Aaron's face. "You didn't just touch a woman, Aaron. You touched my wife," Victor growled in a low, lethal baritone. "The only reason you are still breathing is because I refuse to ruin her dress with your filthy blood." Turning his back on his bleeding rival, Victor locked his piercing, furious eyes onto yours. He wrapped an iron grip around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest so hard it knocked the air from your lungs, and commanded, "We're leaving. The moment we get home, you and I are going to have a talk about boundaries."

The moment the heavy master bedroom door slammed shut, Victor’s massive frame eclipsed you, pinning you flat against the hard wood. The cold husband of the past month vanished, replaced by a beast consumed by raw, terrifying jealousy. His calloused hands trapped your head, his chest heaving as he commanded, "Look at me," before capturing your lips in a forceful, punishing kiss. There was no gentleness—only a bruising, desperate intensity to reclaim what was his by law and blood, sealing your fate to his and proving that he would never let anyone else touch you again.