Her Neglected Scars

I’m getting married to Konstantin Morozov, the merciless billionaire crowned as the bloodthirsty King in all of Russia, or in other words, my life is going to end today.

A stark difference to the dark cell I thought it would be ending, but instead it’s here—in this beautiful church adorned with flowers and friends who will not hesitate to stab you in the back the second you away.

I watch the stranger’s eyes look at me with judgment written all over their faces, each of them a witness to my impending doom.

“These rings will symbolize the love that will forever be cherished in this marriage.” The priest declares, and a small boy, who looks a lot like the groom I will be married to, walks up the aisle with the rings gently laid on the pillow he’s holding.

Konstantin Morozov takes one and right when I was about to wait for the traditional vows, he pulls my hand to his and roughly pushes the ring in my finger.

I jolt in surprise but feeling the eyes of my family, I instantly recover with a smile. 

Okay, that wasn’t a good start.

I was about to take his ring when he yanks it from the pillow and puts it on his finger himself. His eyes were cold as they glared down at me, a brief reminder of the notorious, cruel billionaire I was married off to.

“Alright, I’m not touching you.” I reassured.

A smile breaks off my lips, a facade I have mastered throughout the years. They’re not getting the worst out of me today.

I pat the ring bearer kid in the head, “good job, kiddo.” he ignores my compliment and walks off.

“Whatever.” 

I guess he really is my now-husband’s kin. Giving cold shoulders might be a family tradition passed down to generations.

The priest clears his throat and flashes an awkward smile to the crowd, “I-I now pronounce you, husband and wife!” 

I smiled and turned to Konstantin, my husband, red eyes glared back at me in disgust as if saying, “you really waited for the opportunity, huh?” 

Maybe, maybe not. He’s far too hot to resist, but he’s also as dangerous as he is tempting.

Besides, I’m not here to fall in love. I’m here to save the only person that matters to me more than my own life, and that’s my mother. The only way to save her is to gather intel from the Morozov, Bennington family’s only rival to the top—the very company my father falls second to.

I was hauled out of my thoughts when Konstantin Morozov grabs the back of my head and roughly brings his lips on top of mine. It only took a second for his tongue to follow behind, ransacking the entirety of my mouth until I was clenching the fabric of his suit, breathless.

He released me and I staggered back, trying to catch my breath. I was still hazy from that kiss and took all in me to look at how he instantly wiped his lips with the handkerchief tucked in the pocket of his jacket before throwing it down my feet. 

“That’s the first and the fucking last, princess.” He glared at me, his red eyes getting bloodier by the minute before he stormed out of the wedding halls, leaving trails of whispers and fear on the red carpet.

The bride was then left to fend for herself on her goddamn wedding day.

My breath was running dry, my throat breathless. My feet were the only limb properly working as it moved on its own to run for its life—my life.

“Fuck, get her! The boss isn’t letting our ass off the hook if that bitch gets out!” I heard them yell from behind me, sweat was pooling down my hairline and I could feel the muscles on my legs growing numb by the minute.

“Jesus Christ, they’re fast!” I huff.

I have ran through tons of hallways already and the last plausible escape was upstairs, where the VIPs are nestled down quiet and serene as they look down the railing where ants like us are dancing and wiggling our ass off—as for me, I was busy seducing the new mayor in town for valuable information.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Get off my heels already!” I mumbled. God? Why did you have to make me so stupid as to throw a jab at a freaking politician?

But he’s touching my inner thighs, the thought in the back of my head reminds me and the regret from that punch instantly melted away.

As if a beacon of hope from all the running, a red door from the end of the hallway lights up, all the private rooms here do that when it’s unlocked.

I instantly rushed to it and had enough time to lock the door. Panic surged in me when the door began to rattle. 

“Open this, you whore!” Yup. It wouldn’t hold long. I scour the entire place only to find a window with no less than five floors to jump onto—definitely not, and a stupid closet on the wall—most definitely not.

Just when I contemplate just dying, the door behind me breaks.

“There you are. You had us on a trail, you little bitch.” The ugly guards began to pile up. They’re old men with disgusting faces and filled with a definite need to get their soft, withering cocks sucked. 

I’d rather die. 

I turn to the window and was about to jump, when all of a sudden, voices and footsteps were heard from the end of the hallway and the guardsmen stopped in their tracks to take a look.

Without another thought, I rush to the closet to hide, although I wouldn’t really be safe in here. I’m not sure why I’m even hiding.

Dumb, Eva.

From the small slats designed on the closet, I could make out the shadows of the guards outside. 

“Who the fuck—” he was cut off when his head was brutally banged on the drawer just beside the door and the wood material instantly turned to splinters as it shattered into pieces from the impact. 

A gasp slipped out of my mouth and I instantly covered it with both hands.

I could see the back of the man. A six-foot-countless-inches tall guy with broad shoulders and arms that could crush anything in its wake, if anything would be dumb enough to be in his wake that is. 

He makes his way in the room as the other guardsmen backed away when their little leader was now unconscious and bleeding furiously on the floor.

“Shit.” was the last thing one of them said before they followed suit when the man broke his neck and the other had a bullet between his brows, shot by another man who looks like the tall, scary guy’s assistant.

Oh God, who are they?

I was shuddering behind the closet doors and I’m afraid the wood around me was mimicking the movements outside. The last thing I want is to die, although I was ready to earlier—I’m actually not.

Tears began to collect on the edge of my eyes but I didn’t acknowledge them. There’s a ruthless man behind these closet doors that could probably hear my breathing from a mile away and my loud sobs aren’t a good match.

“I really wanted to enjoy tonight, you know. Disposing of bodies was far from any of my plans.” The assistant, I’ll call him that, sighed in annoyance rather than shock or fear or any humane reaction.

In actuality, he just looks sick of it.

“Fuck your plans, dispose of them now. The air is starting to rot.” The man growled before taking a seat on the office table. He doesn’t look like he’s situated here, maybe just temporarily. 

The assistant leaves, carrying the bodies like garbage. He takes papers and reads them in front of his face and the moment he finally lowers them, the moon took its great timing to penetrate the window and hover a small glint of light on his face.

He’s ethereal.

The moonlight casts a shadow on sharp jawlines. Fascinating blood red eyes glowers dangerously at the papers in his veiny hands that were definitely the size of my entire face. His brows are frowned tight on his forehead and slicks of messy hair falls perfectly on his forehead.

He’s a one in a thousand, and if that doesn’t justify his beauty, then he’s most likely a god. Or maybe he really is.

Oh my gosh, am I seeing a god? An angel? No, definitely not an angel.

The organ in my chest bangs vigorously in its walls just from the sight of him. The tight closet was starting to do its job and hot air was flooding my body.

I had to lean over to the small slats of the wooden closet just to look closer when all of a sudden; like the fates really, really hate my existence, my ankle slips and I fall back down on my behind, spawning a thud on the wooden material.

Holy mother of chocolate chip cookies.

I whip my head back to the handsome god and his eyes were already on me. Like already on dumb, loud, little me. Red eyes met my sage green ones—the pair I’ve inherited from my mother, who I’m pretty sure I will never be able to see after tonight.

His gaze was merciless and that’s how I knew I’m fucked up, much much more fucked up than when I was surrounded by those guards.

He’s seen me.