The morning sun barely touched the Maron mansion when Devid stormed down the stairs, dressed in black slacks and a designer coat. His jaw was tight, irritation written across his face.
At the breakfast table, Mr. Maron casually sipped his tea.
"You're going out today?" he asked.
Devid didn't stop walking. "Business."
"Not before you take your fiancée shopping."
Devid froze mid-step. "What?"
Mr. Maron set the cup down.
"The wedding is in ten days. She needs a dress. You need a suit. It's your wedding, Devid not a damn board meeting."
"I don't need to hold her hand to make it happen."
His father's gaze turned sharp. "You're marrying her under my roof. You will treat her with respect in public, or I'll start doubting your ability to lead anything."
Devid clenched his jaw. "Fine."
"Good. She's waiting for you in the car."
The word obedient didn't even begin to describe Ava as she sat silently in the backseat of the luxury vehicle. Clutching the strap of her small purse, her fingers nervously fidgeted, but her face stayed calm.
Devid didn't say a word when he entered the car. Just leaned back and pulled out his phone, ignoring her presence like she was a shadow on the seat.
The drive to the boutique was silent oppressively so.
When they arrived, the staff greeted them with overly cheerful smiles.
"Mr. Maron! Miss Ava! We've been expecting you. This way, please."
The assistants brought out elegant gowns, delicate lace, rich silks. Ava stood still, not touching anything until Devid's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"Pick something fast. I don't have all day."
She flinched slightly but nodded.
Devid stood with his arms crossed as she walked into the fitting room. The boutique lady smiled at him. "You're a lucky man. She's very pretty."
He didn't respond.
Minutes later, Ava stepped out in a soft ivory dress off-shoulder, fitted, delicate pearl detailing across her back. Her shy eyes lifted to meet his for just a moment.
For one second, he didn't breathe.
Then he scoffed. "Too much skin. Change it."
She quietly returned to the fitting room. No questions. No complaint.
Two more dresses. Two more dismissive remarks.
And then, one final one long sleeves, high neck, simple but regal.
"She'll take this one,"
Devid said before she even turned to look at herself.
Ava didn't reply. She just nodded.
On their way out, the boutique clerk offered, "Shall we get your wedding rings sorted as well?"
"No," Devid said coldly. "The ring is for show. Like the bride."
Ava's hand gripped her purse tighter, but she didn't flinch this time.
She was already getting used to being nothing.
After 2 weeks.
On the wedding day .
The sky was painted in warm golds and soft pinks as the sun began its descent behind the ocean. The private beach was transformed into a dreamy setting white petals scattered along the aisle, chairs wrapped in satin, soft music floating through the air.
Guests were few, mostly business partners and close family friends. Cameras flashed, drinks flowed, and beneath it all an ugly truth no one could see.
Devid stood in front of the arch, dressed in a sharp black tuxedo, expression carved from ice. He looked powerful, God-like even, but utterly detached.
"Smile," his father whispered behind him. "Just for today."
Devid clenched his jaw.
Then… the music shifted.
Everyone turned.
There she was Ava.
Walking slowly toward him in a delicate white gown, simple yet beautiful. Her eyes were lowered, her steps careful, her face soft… and unreadable.
A perfect bride. A trained ghost.
His mother stood at the back, watching silently, her expression a mix of heartbreak and restrained anger.
As Ava reached him, she stood still, not daring to meet his eyes.
"Take her hand," the officiant urged gently.
Devid hesitated then grabbed her hand a little too tightly, enough to make her flinch. But she didn't react.
They faced each other.
"David Maron… do you take Ava Michel to be your lawfully wedded wife--"
"I do," he said flatly, cutting the sentence short.
The guests chuckled.
The officiant glanced awkwardly before turning to her.
"Ava Michel, do you take Devid Maron to be your lawfully wedded husband"
"…I do," she whispered.
"Then with the power vested in me..."
Before he could finish, Devid leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips.
Not gentle.Not loving.Just… performance.
His lips were warm, but his body was frozen. Ava didn't kiss back just stood there, lips barely moving, as if her silence was her only shield.
Applause roared around them.
"You may now call her your wife," the officiant smiled.
Devid let go and turned to the crowd with a fake smile.
Inside? He felt nothing. Except a dull burn in his chest.
After wedding.
In the Maron mansion,
In his room,
The door clicked shut behind them, and the newlyweds stood in heavy silence.
Devid loosened his tie, tossing it aside.
Ava stood near the vanity; hands folded nervously in front of her white dress. Her lips trembled just slightly, eyes still lowered too used to submission, too afraid to ask what came next.
"Take it off," Devid said, voice cold.
Her head lifted slightly. "W-What…?"
"The dress," he hissed, taking slow steps toward her.
"Don't make me repeat myself on our wedding night."
She fumbled with the zipper, fingers shaking.
He grabbed her wrist before she could finish. "Too slow."
With one harsh pull, he spun her around and dragged the zipper down himself, his fingers grazing her spine. Her breath hitched as the dress slipped off her shoulders, pooling silently at her feet.
No bra. Just lace panties. Pale skin glowing under the dim chandelier.
He walked around her slowly like a predator circling prey.
"You look so innocent," he muttered. "So pure. It makes me sick."
She shivered, arms instinctively crossing over her chest.
"No," he growled, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head against the wall. "No hiding. Not tonight."
Her lips parted to plead, but the sound died when his mouth crashed into hers rough, devouring, fueled by years of hatred for everything she reminded him of control, submission, weakness… beauty.
His hands roamed aggressively over her body claiming, gripping, bruising.
He didn't ask.He took.
She cried out when he shoved her onto the bed, crawling over her, eyes dark and feral.
"I'm going to ruin you," he muttered into her neck. "And you'll take it. All of it."
His fingers yanked her panties down, exposing her trembling legs. Her thighs instinctively closed, but he forced them open.
"You're wet already?" he scoffed. "Did you want this? Huh? My hatred? My body?"
"N-No, I..." she gasped, voice cracking.
But he didn't stop.
He tore open his shirt, breathing hard, muscles tense and gleaming under the moonlight pouring in through the window.
When he finally entered her, she screamed her first time, and his too, but the pain in her voice only seemed to push him further.
Devid didn't stop.
Not even when she sobbed quietly under him.
Not even when her body trembled from the shock.
He used her, again and again, until her voice was hoarse and her body limp marked and owned.
It wasn't making love. It was punishment.
But somewhere between the hours when the moon began to fade and the sun threatened the horizon something shifted.
His movements slowed.
His hands became less aggressive, less harsh.
Her sobs had long quieted, replaced by small whimpers. Her body had stopped resisting because deep down, she never really did.
By dawn, he was no longer fucking her out of anger.
He was holding her.
Buried deep inside, forehead pressed against hers, breathing ragged, eyes closed.
She was broken...not doing anything just laying under the man .who fucking her mercilessly..
Now it's good or bad.. he is her family..that's what she thought.. while her tears sliding on her cheeks.
But so was he.
"Don't leave," he whispered, surprising even himself.
She didn't answer.
But her arms are weak and shaking wrapped slowly around his back.
And neither of them spoke again..