Married to the mafia heir

AMERICA, WASHINGTON DC ~ THE VALE’S RESIDENCE

Writer's POV

Onora sat down on her bed. Probably, this might be the last time she would get to sit and feel it. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying.

Earlier that day, she got married—to the last man she had ever expected or wanted to get married to.

Funniest part? She didn’t see him. She only received the ring, like a present, on her bed, in her room. In one word, she had no idea who she had just married or how he looked.

Of course, she’d heard a lot about him—how his face could kill at one sight because of his handsomeness, height, and everything—but Onora was never interested.

She was just twenty. How could her parents give her up so easily to a man in his thirties or forties? She could tell he was old enough to be her father.

According to the news, their family was one of the richest in the country, yet no one knew their job. What if they were criminals? But no one dared to ask. And now, she was married to a man whose name she only knew.

That man was now her husband. Yes, allegedly—because she was not and would never accept him as her husband. Never.

Ever since she was a child, she had imagined her own special wedding—with her pretty long gown flowing as she walked down the aisle with her husband, a gentleman and a prince charming. But she was given the total opposite.

She was still thinking about all that when her younger sister, Maliah, entered her room with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Still crying?” she asked, with a blunt expression on her face.

Onora immediately wiped her tears and cleared her throat.

“Imagine crying because you’re getting married to the richest man in the city. Are you pretending?” Maliah chuckled dryly.

“But anyways, I’m not surprised. You’ve always done that. That’s just who you are—pretending to be the innocent one, acting weak to get our father’s attention, like the most precious stone. Well, your parents are dead, so quit it,” she continued.

Onora shook her head slowly, and more tears rolled down her eyes. It hurt even more when your own sibling hated you. That was her story—aside from Onora, there was Maliah.

Maliah was her younger sister.

They had been close once, even if their mothers were different, and the only thing that held them together was their father. But he died the same day her mother died.

Nobody told her things would change, because her stepmother had been nice, generous, and caring. But she turned opposite when Onora’s parents died—becoming cruel, wicked, and nonchalant about her emotions. Nobody told Onora she’d become a slave after her parents’ deaths. And Maliah hated her for no reason.

Sometimes she’d cry when she was punished for Maliah’s wounds and made to work just to eat in her father’s house.

The beautiful daughter of Vale—everyone in the city knew who she was, but nobody knew Onora was the daughter of Vale.

Onora had overheard Maliah yelling and disagreeing with her mother. Maliah wanted it to be her, but her mother didn’t agree.

“Calm down, sweetie. It’s part of the plan,” Damel said.

“What plan?” Maliah asked, probably as curious as Onora was, but Damel’s reply didn’t give her any insight.

“You’ll find out. Be patient.”

Onora cried that day. Silent tears soaked her pillow. So she was the sacrificial lamb—sent on a mission she knew nothing about.

“You’re just a born actress, born to steal attention. But anyway, you won’t last till then. You can at least be real and show your excitement, slut.”

“I... I just...” Onora stuttered. She couldn’t speak.

“I see you’ve arranged and packed your clothes,” Maliah said, looking around the room and the boxes of clothes on the floor.

Onora nodded, sniffing her tears.

Suddenly, they heard some noises downstairs, and her sister ran to the window.

“Oh wow, they are here. Can’t believe they came with a limo,” Maliah muttered, staring jealously.

Onora didn’t move from the bed until the door opened and some men in suits entered with her stepmother.

“Mother, I don’t want to go.” Onora shook her head and ran to Damel. She fell on her knees. “Please, Mother.” She pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears. Instead, Damel stared at her with disgust.

“Lady Onora, please come with us,” the men said.

“Take her.”

Onora cried as the men dragged her out of the room. She turned back to see her stepmom and sister staring, just standing there—no one ready to save her. Maliah stared with jealousy, and then an evil smirk formed on Damel’s lips.

She was going, and she knew she would never see them again. She might be like the dead—no one would hear about her, not again.

Onora stopped crying as she sat inside the black limousine. She began to think about what to expect when she got there. Would they lock her in a room and starve her till she died? Or would she become a sex slave rather than a wife, and then they would dispose of her body when she died?

Different thoughts were running through her mind, but after some minutes, her eyes began to close.

It seemed like a long journey to the Hart’s house. She had once heard they stayed in a big estate alone, with a castle even bigger than the king’s palace.

And yes, the rumors were true—the Harts weren’t just the richest in Washington; they were the richest in the whole of America. Another reason why nobody could handle them. They were like devils who couldn’t be touched or harmed. Never.