And just like that, Layla's fate was sealed. She was forced into a marriage arranged by her family, her protests ignored, her heart broken from the betrayal she got from Roderick, the man she thought loved her.
What worst came in her life was marrying an old, baldy man who had multiple relationships as per Orabela. The last night she continued crying and begging her father outside his study room not to marry her off like that.
The most heartbreaking part was that her mother never once came to check on her. Even she found her as a burden. Layla didn't have greed of money or fame. She was ready to live away from this family, but they weren't either ready for this.
Standing on the wedding aisle, dressed in white gown and holding a bouquet, Layla's knuckles turned white as she squeezed the flowers tightly while waiting for her groom.
Lucius De Salvo was not an ordinary and kind man. He was the most terrifying man alive on the earth. People would even fear to take the name of this man.
And she would have to share her entire life with Lucius, an old man!
The worst nightmare that anyone could ever have.
She wanted to run away and hide somewhere far, but even the thought of being caught by Lucius sent shivers in her body. Yesterday when she told this to her father, his words were simple.
'Try running away and he will kill you the moment he finds you.'
'Then, why are you marrying me off to him? He is 36, Dad while I'm just 22. You are asking me to marry an old man, Dad,' Layla asked her father while reminding of the age gap between them.
'Because that's what Lucius wants. He wants to marry you,' Darius said. 'He is an influential man in the country and we can't ignore the order from him. You've done nothing good for this family, at least, do this job properly.'
Layla snapped out of her thoughts when the sharp click of heels echoing down the aisle drew her attention. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, bracing herself to meet the sight of her old, balding groom as Orabela had described. But what she saw left her utterly stunned.
Lucius De Salvo was nothing like the man she had imagined. He was far more refined, exuding a powerful presence that belied his age. His features were sharp and striking—thick, arched eyebrows, a perfectly chiseled jawline, and piercing ocean-blue eyes that seemed to draw her in without effort. He didn't look 36 at all; in fact, he appeared ageless, commanding an air of timeless authority.
Layla stood frozen in place, forgetting to breathe as she took in the imposing figure before her. Lucius radiated an aura of a king—someone who had come not just to claim his bride, but his equal. The very air around them seemed to shift as he approached, stopping just inches from her. His cologne—a rich, intoxicating scent—washed over her, finally jolting her into taking a breath.
Then, his lips curled into a smirk, not one of arrogance, but of something far more unsettling—admiration, as though he already knew her in ways she didn't understand. The way his gaze lingered on her sent a shiver down her spine, making her pulse quicken.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Layla Rosenzweig," he said, his voice low and husky, each word carrying a certain weight as if he was waiting for her. "You look exquisite in the dress I personally chose for you." His eyes roamed her face, studying every flicker of emotion, every twitch of surprise she couldn't conceal.
Even through the veil covered her face, Layla could feel the intensity of his gaze, piercing through the thin fabric as though he were looking directly into her soul. Her cheeks burned under the weight of it, and she quickly lowered her eyes, unable to withstand the overwhelming sensation of being so exposed, so seen.
But in the next instant, Lucius's strong arm was around her waist, pulling her flush against him with a force that sent her heart into a wild flutter. The sudden closeness left her breathless, his firm grip both possessive and commanding.
"Start the vows," he ordered the priest, his voice dripping with a confidence that made her pulse race. The smirk that played on his lips was dark, enigmatic, and filled with something Layla couldn't quite place—a mix of control and desire. "I can't wait to make her Layla Lucius De Salvo."
The ceremony passed in a blur, every moment a haze of whispered vows and exchanged rings. Layla barely remembered the words spoken; all she could focus on was the feel of Lucius's hand on hers, the way his thumb stroked her skin with a possessiveness that made her insides twist.
Before she knew it, she was inside a limousine, the magnitude of the day finally crashing down on her like a wave.
Her heart sank when she realized her mother hadn't even bothered to see her off, too absorbed in conversation with Orabela, who had always been treated more like a daughter than Layla ever had.
The familiar sting of abandonment surged through her, but this time it brought with it a boiling anger.
Thoughts of revenge simmered within her—vivid images of wrapping her hands around Orabela's throat and choking the life out of her filled her mind, followed by the fantasy of thrashing her mercilessly with the bouquet she still clutched in her trembling hands.
Her grip tightened on the flowers, the stems bending slightly under the pressure of her rage.
"Do you want me to kill that woman?"
Lucius's low, rumbling voice sliced through her thoughts, jolting her from the violent daydream.
Layla's breath hitched as she turned to face him, her heart racing once again, though this time for an entirely different reason. He was so close—closer than she realized, his lips hovering just inches from hers.
His hot, minty breath mingled with hers, creating an intoxicating mix that made her feel lightheaded. Every inch of her skin burned with awareness, her body reacting instinctively to the tension between them.
His fingers grazed her chin, lifting it slightly so their gazes locked. The intensity in his eyes was searing, darkened with something primal, something that made her stomach flip in a way she couldn't control.
"Say it," he urged, his voice a rough whisper that sent shivers down her spine. His touch was light, yet it commanded her full attention, his thumb brushing gently along her jawline as he tilted her face up toward him. "I prefer words, Layla."
Lucius's gaze lingered on her mouth, his eyes dark with hunger, as if daring her to speak the words he wanted to hear.
"I—I never thought that," Layla stammered, the lie slipping from her lips. She didn't truly know how to express her feelings, nor did she want to admit her darkest thoughts.
"Don't lie to me. My eyes see what others can't, Baby. The way your hands clenched, your eyes shifted, and your jaw tightened—all reveal your desire to kill that woman," Lucius said, his gaze never leaving hers.
Layla's lips quivered, but no words came out. The intensity of the moment left her paralyzed.
Before Layla could fully process what was happening, Lucius's lips brushed against hers, soft, sending a jolt of heat through her frozen body. Her breath hitched as his hand moved to the back of her head, holding her in place with a firm, possessive grip.
She brought her trembling hands to his chest, her voice barely escaping her lips as she stammered, "W-We're in the car…"
Lucius's eyes glittered with playful mischief as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her skin. "So?" His tone was smooth, teasing, as if her protest amused him. "Can't I kiss my wife?"
Layla's heart raced, her lips pressing together in a vain attempt to maintain her composure. "Uh—no… that's inappropriate," she whispered, though even she wasn't convinced by her own words. Her mind screamed for distance, but her body felt trapped in the pull of his presence. 'Why is he behaving like this?' she thought, her pulse quickening. 'I heard he never smiled, but now he's smiling at me all the time.'
Lucius leaned back slightly, a wicked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Fine, baby. But once we step foot inside my estate, we'll do exactly as I desire. And I won't stop—" his voice lowered, darkening with a dangerous edge "—even if you beg me."
The menace in his words sent a shiver down her spine, leaving her mind reeling. Was this a warning, or was he simply asserting his dominance? Layla's breath quickened as the reality of her situation began to sink in. She swallowed hard and, with a shaky voice, asked, "Why me? Why did you choose to marry me?"
Lucius's expression shifted, his tone indifferent yet firm. "Because you are Layla."
Confusion furrowed her brow as she stared at him, his answer only deepening the knot of unease in her chest. 'What kind of answer is that?' she thought, frustration swirling inside her. But before she could demand more, the limousine pulled to a stop in front of the looming De Salvo estate. The sight of it in the dim moonlight made her stomach twist with dread.
Night had already fallen by the time they entered the estate, and the gravity of what was to come weighed heavily on her. Her heart pounded as she followed Lucius inside, her mind racing with fear and uncertainty.
She was led to his bedroom, a space that mirrored the rest of the house—dark, imposing, and draped in shadows.
She placed the bouquet down on a table near the door, her hands shaking, and took a tentative step forward, her eyes scanning the room.
But before she could take in her surroundings, she was suddenly pushed back, her body colliding with the cold wall behind her. "Ahh!" A low scream escaped her lips as Lucius's body pressed against hers, his face hovering dangerously close.
"Are you ready for the wedding night, baby?" His voice was low, a seductive purr that made her pulse pound in her ears. His hand trailed down her arm, the back of his fingers brushing lightly against her skin, making her flinch at the contact.
"We—we don't love each other," Layla stammered.
Lucius chuckled darkly, his lips curling into a predatory smile. "Does that even matter?" His voice was a rough whisper, filled with desire that made her heart race. "I've wanted you for a long time, Layla."
Her eyes widened in shock, her body going rigid beneath his. "What?" Her voice was incredulous, disbelief flashing in her gaze. "Why would you?"
"Because you are Layla Rosenzweig, the woman I like," he said again. The words were simple, yet they held a deeper meaning she couldn't grasp.
And before she could question him further, his lips crashed against hers in a fierce, passionate kiss. It was nothing like the tentative touch in the car—this kiss was demanding, filled with a hunger that overwhelmed her senses.
His hands gripped her waist tightly, pulling her closer as his mouth devoured hers, leaving her breathless and dizzy. Layla's mind screamed at her to push him away, but her body, betraying her, responded to his every move, her lips parting as if drawn into the heat of the moment.
The smallest of the space between them disappeared as Lucius deepened the kiss, his mouth hot and possessive, tasting her as if he had waited for this moment for an eternity.
Layla felt herself spiraling, caught in the dangerous allure of his touch.