He took me to his mansion, where I promptly fell ill. He kept me there, ordering his staff to attend to my every need. That's when I learned who he truly was.

He said he wanted to have me, yet made no move, though he did help resolve my issue.


During my recovery, he was surprisingly courteous and attentive, summoning doctors at the slightest sign of discomfort and fulfilling my every whim. For the first time in my life, someone was treating me like I mattered.

After recovering, I knew I had no reason to stay. But a promise was a promise. One night, I gathered my courage and went to his room.

I pushed open his door to find him sitting shirtless on the edge of his bed. God, he was magnificent—powerful muscles rippling beneath tanned skin, his face a perfect blend of handsome features and untamed wildness.


I closed the door behind me, my heart hammering against my ribs as I turned to face him.

He stood up and walked toward me step by step


Just when I braced myself for his passion, he surprised me by gently brushing my hair aside. "Why not just marry me instead?"

I looked up in astonishment, certain I had misheard. This powerful Alpha could have anyone—shouldn't he choose his true Mate as his Luna? A wild thought struck me: could I possibly be his destined one?

Already hopelessly smitten, how could I possibly resist such a temptation?

The word "yes" left my lips before my brain could catch up. Little did I know this impulsive decision would plunge me into an abyss deeper than I could imagine.

The wedding was held within weeks. And that night, I fulfilled my promise, giving him my innocence.

But like every time that followed, all I remember is pain.

Bruce and I had been married for over a year, yet he had never marked me as his true mate.

To the outside world, we were the perfect fairy tale—Cinderella rescued by her handsome prince. In public, he was attentive and gentle, seemingly devoted to my every whim.

But behind closed doors, beyond the endless "lovemaking," there was nothing. No real connection, no meaningful conversation. Whenever I tried to reach deeper, he would skillfully change the subject with cold politeness.

I couldn't even call our intimacy "making love"—he was domineering and rough, caring nothing for my pleasure or comfort, only taking and possessing. I begged him countless times to be gentler, but my pleas fell on deaf ears, until fear gradually gave way to numb despair.

Yet each morning, he would kiss my forehead and whisper, "Thank you, my dear," reigniting my foolish fantasies that somewhere, deep down, he might actually care.

This delusion persisted until a woman named Katherine appeared.