I Married a Mafia King!

Rhian Monteclara, a lively and charming 25-year-old entrepreneur, is the face behind the popular fragrance brand Glam Perfume—known for its tagline: "One scent, one story." Her magnetic presence easily captures attention wherever she goes. People are often drawn to her confidence, but some become unexpectedly put off once they see her bubbly and playful personality.One night, Rhian found herself at a bar, sitting quietly in a corner. She had been there for hours, lost in her thoughts and nursing a bottle of wine. The music pounded and people danced wildly around her, but it all faded into the background—she barely noticed any of it. The only thing that filled her mind was the pain she felt after discovering that the man she had admired for years had only used her.As she sat drowning her heartbreak in alcohol, a group of men arrived and stopped in front of her table. One of them, with a deep and commanding voice, asked, "Hey, mind if we take this seat?"Rhian slowly turned to look at

There are men born to lead, and then there was Damon Damien Alejandro—a man carved from control itself.He represented perfection in motion.Six-foot-two, with broad shoulders built like armor and a jawline that could cut glass. Every feature on his face seemed to have been chiseled with obsessive precision—high cheekbones, sharp nose, a slight cleft in his chin that softened just enough of the severity in his expression. His skin was smooth and pale under the golden lights, as if sunlight barely touched him. Eyes like polished obsidian—dark, unreadable, and always watching. And when he looked at you, truly looked at you—it felt like he saw everything.His hair, raven black, was always immaculately styled—never a strand out of place. His voice, deep and deliberate, held the kind of weight that made people stop mid-sentence. He didn’t need to raise it. He was the type of man people listened to simply because silence was worse than whatever he might say.Women stared. Men stepped aside.

As the door clicked shut, silence fell like a weighted curtain.Rhian stared at the card on the table, her logo seeming to blur and swim before her eyes. Her chest tightened, breath shallow and uneven. It was just a bluff—a stupid, reckless joke she barely remembered. How had that one drunken line spiraled into this?“What just happened?”She staggered toward the armchair and dropped into it, hands shaking. Her mind raced, but everything felt unreal, like she’d stepped into someone else’s life—a stranger’s nightmare. The memory of Damon’s voice still echoed in her ears, smooth and unwavering. “You are mine.”Her stomach turned. No. No. No.She wasn’t someone who got swept up in power plays or mafia fairytales. She built her own life from scratch, earned every bit of success. She had control. She didn’t fall into other people’s plans—she made her own.But then… why couldn’t she stop replaying his words?“I won’t rush you. But don’t mistake patience for weakness.”She wrapped her arms a

“I…” The word trembled on her lips, fragile and incomplete. Rhian’s voice cracked, her throat suddenly dry as if Damon’s gaze alone had drained every ounce of confidence she had left. Her mind scrambled for something—anything—to say, but every excuse felt thin and useless under the weight of his stare.Damon’s head tilted slightly, his dark eyes narrowing with quiet amusement. “Go on,” he murmured, his tone low and deceptively soft. “What were you about to tell me? That you’re just taking a walk? That you weren’t trying to run?”Rhian swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the suitcase handle until her knuckles turned white. “I… I just needed some air,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, and even she could hear how weak it sounded.A faint smirk curved Damon’s lips—slow, deliberate, and dangerous. “Air?” He stepped closer, his shoes clicking against the pavement, every movement unhurried and calculated. “Funny… I didn’t know air required two suitcases and a one-way ticket

The jolt of the landing gear against the tarmac stirred Rhian from sleep. Her eyes fluttered open to the faint hum of passengers rustling to collect their belongings. Disoriented at first, she blinked, adjusting to the morning light that poured in through the cabin windows.She instinctively turned her head—toward that seat.Empty.No Damon.Instead, a middle-aged woman in a powder-blue coat was already rising from it, reaching up to grab her carry-on bag with a soft grunt.Rhian stared for a moment, stunned.Her heart thudded once—twice—then began racing for a very different reason.Joy.Relief.He’s not here.He was never here.A quiet laugh escaped her lips, half-breath, half-disbelief. “Luckily,” she whispered to herself, barely able to contain the smile tugging at her mouth. “It was just a nightmare.”The weight on her chest, the cold presence in her gut—it all began to melt.Maybe it had been stress. Paranoia. She hadn’t slept in days, after all. Her mind had conjured him, twist