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 them. All the men were dressed in black suits—except for the one who spoke. He wore a striking crimson red suit that hugged his well-built frame perfectly. His face was diamond-shaped, with rosy cheeks, tousled black hair, and lips that looked almost too perfect. He stood out effortlessly.

Rhian tried to stand but wobbled slightly, her vision blurry and her words slurred. "Ca-can’t you see I’m n-not done drinking? If y-you want... you can s-sit with me," she said with a hiccup.

One of the men in black moved forward, but the man in red stopped him with a firm arm. “I got this. Leave us,” he ordered. The rest of the group left without question.

“Why’d they leave?” Rhian asked, cupping her cheeks with both hands like a confused child. “Am I not... pretty enough?”

The man chuckled under his breath, his lips curling into a warm smile. He stepped closer, his deep voice softening. “If only you could see what I see,” he said gently. “You’re more than beautiful.”

Rhian blinked up at him with wide, teary eyes.

He sat beside her, and for a moment, the noise of the world faded away. It was just the two of them—her broken heart and his steady presence. “Are you really not satisfied with just me?” he teased playfully, but his tone held a tenderness that made her heart skip.

Rhian gave a small pout, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… kind of handsome.”

He leaned in, just enough that she could feel his warmth. “Kind of?” he murmured, smiling.

And just like that, for the first time that night, Rhian let out a quiet laugh—a soft, broken sound that somehow began to mend something inside her. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone as she thought.

Rhian leaned in closer, her perfume—a sweet mix of jasmine and vanilla—drifting up between them. Damon noticed. It was intoxicating, just like her.

She tilted her head, her rosy cheeks still cradled by her palms, and gazed up at him through fluttering lashes. “You know…” she began, her voice soft and slurred, “if you’re gonna sit here… you might as well marry me.”

Damon blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

Rhian giggled, adorably unaware of how serious her words sounded. “You heard me,” she said, poking his chest with a dainty finger. “You’re handsome, you smell good, you didn’t leave me like the others… That’s husband material.”

Damon’s brow lifted, amused but intrigued. “So that’s your standard? Smell good and stay seated?”

She stuck out her tongue playfully. “That… and maybe carry me to bed when I’m sleepy.” She yawned dramatically and leaned against his shoulder, sighing like she’d found her perfect spot. “I think I’m in love.”

He looked down at her, smiling despite himself. “You don’t even know my name.”

She glanced up, unfazed. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll learn it after the wedding.” She sat up a little and held out her pinky. “Pinky promise me you’ll marry me. Tonight.”

Damon stared at her for a moment. Was she serious? She looked at him with such innocent conviction, her eyes wide and hopeful, as if this was the most normal request in the world. Something about her drunken sincerity tugged at him—deeply.

He smirked and linked his pinky with hers. “Alright, miss. I’ll marry you—on one condition.”

She gasped. “What condition?”

He leaned in, his lips brushing near her ear. “When you wake up tomorrow, sober and in your right mind… you have to say it again.”

Her eyes widened, her heart skipping. “And if I do?”

“Then we’ll pick out the rings.”

Rhian beamed, her cheeks lighting up even more. “Deal,” she whispered, as her head fell back onto his shoulder. Within minutes, she had dozed off, her fingers still loosely curled around his.

Damon glanced down at her, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. A quiet chuckle escaped him. “What did I just get myself into?” he murmured. But he didn’t move. He stayed right there beside her.

The next morning, golden sunlight spilled through the curtains, gently stirring Rhian awake. She blinked slowly, her head pounding slightly from the night before. As her eyes adjusted, she realized she wasn’t on the bar couch anymore—but in a soft, luxurious bed wrapped in crisp white sheets.

Confused, she sat up groggily, the unfamiliar room surrounding her. Then, a wave of panic hit her.

She threw the covers back in a rush and gasped.

“Oh my God… where are my clothes?” she whispered, her heart pounding. She was wearing only a silky nightdress—one she definitely didn’t remember putting on.

Her mind raced, fragments of the night before flashing like a slideshow: the wine, the crimson-suited man, the pinky promise…

Her eyes widened even more as his face came rushing back. Him.

“Please tell me I didn’t actually marry that gorgeous stranger,” she muttered under her breath, clutching the sheets to her chest as her pulse quickened.