The King's Forbidden Love

“Mom, why isn’t anyone listening? Why are you making me marry him?”

Tears streaked down her cheeks. Her body shook, a bitter taste rising in her mouth every time she thought of anyone tied to the criminal world.

She pressed her back against the wall. The cold surface bit into her spine, her breath uneven, breaking on every inhale.

Her knees bent, toes sinking into the carpet, searching for balance that wouldn’t come.

“One day, you’ll find my dead body if you hand me to him.” Her voice quivered as her mother’s eyes hardened.

“Do not be ridiculous, Jenna! How can you judge him without even meeting him?”

She flinched, nails digging into the wall as if anchoring herself when her mother’s voice cracked like a whip.

“What do you really know about the criminal world? And what reason could you possibly have to force this on me?”

Her father had told her Evan Grant was a king, and that alone filled her stomach with ice. She had never met him, never even seen him. Yet the thought of being a Mafia’s bride made her chest tighten.

“Mom… the criminal world doesn’t play fair.” Her fingers curled into fists until her palms ached, veins popping through her forearms from the tightness.

“What if he deals drugs, drags me into gambling clubs, loses me there, and no one cares if I come out alive? Or worse, traffics people like objects, and one day you wake up and I’m gone without a trace?”

She wiped her tears, sniffled, and locked her jaw. Her eyes doubled in size. Her heart thudded so hard she felt it in her throat.

“Do you want me sold, used, trapped like that? I can’t let anyone hold that kind of power over me.”

Her mom’s nostrils flared. She exhaled hard, irritation breaking through after fifteen minutes of Jenna’s pleading.

“Enough, Jenna! Stop imagining horrors that don’t exist. You have gone mad! You can’t let fear run your life. When you meet him, you’ll see how wrong you are.

I won’t listen to wild claims about clubs, drugs, or whatever else you’re dreaming up. This proposal is not up for debate.”

Jenna let out a shaky breath, hiccuping as she lifted her chin. Her temples throbbed as she fought to hold herself together.

The weight of their words pressed against her ribs, each second heavier than the last.

Evan had noticed her at the mall with her father. He held a lot of his meetings at the café, the kind where his business blended with small talk over steaming cups of coffee. One glance at her, that was enough. He decided she would be his. That was what she had been told.

Suddenly, the door creaked open as Jenna snapped her head toward it. Her father walked in, calm and collected.

He scanned the scene, eyes flicking between Jenna and her mother, reading the tension instantly.

“So, this is how you decided to answer me?” His voice stayed calm as he studied her face.

“Dad, please… you can’t do this to me…” She stepped forward, her face blotchy, eyes swollen. “You can’t do this, Dad…”

“It’s already done, Jenna. You can’t resist it anymore.” He slipped a hand into his pocket, steady as stone.

“K… kill me yourself, b‑but d… don’t send me to him. I w‑won’t complain. I b‑beg you, I… I c‑can’t, I c‑can’t marry him.”

She stuttered, her voice muffled under the sobs.

Mr. Blake gestured for her mother to leave, then motioned for Jenna to sit beside him on the bed, taking her hand gently.

“Can’t you hear me for once, my love? Don’t I have any right over you?” His tone was warm and calm as her honey-brown eyes searched for compassion and understanding.

Her voice wavered, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her plea. She sounded exhausted.

He rubbed her hand slowly, head lowered, before he met her gaze again.

“Jenna, no one can stand against Evan Grant. He is a king. He will never hurt you. He will treasure you. Don’t you want to be loved?”

“I wouldn’t love him, Dad. I never would. I hate him too much.”

She shook her head while speaking, her expression twisting into bitterness at his mention.

“You won’t need to force yourself. My doll, love will come naturally.”

She froze at his casual remark, lips parting in shock. She hadn’t expected that kind of forcefulness, hadn’t known obedience was demanded at any cost.

“He’s been forced upon me, hasn’t he?” The words scraped from her throat like ice. She finally stopped pleading after using all her energy.

For a moment, her father’s calm faltered, a rare flicker of hesitation crossing his features, before he answered.

“Do you remember, Jenna? You used to promise you’d always follow my guidance, that you’d never resist me.

I’ve let you live free for twenty-four years, never stopping you once. And now, when I ask this one thing, you hesitate?”

She bit her lip. Her muscles eased as if surrendering. She didn’t dare look away.

“I remember, Dad, and I still mean it, but why only him?”

The room sank into silence. Even asking felt forbidden. She searched his face and saw that flicker again, hesitation.

“He loves you, Jenna. He won’t treat you the way he treats others. You hate him because he belongs to the criminal world.” He exhaled slowly, steadying himself.

“That world is only called cruel because its crimes are out in the open. But the people outside? They’re no gentler. They just hide it better.”

Her throat burned with unshed words. Two days of crying, of begging, and he remained unmoved, as if nothing had happened.

She wiped her cheeks and gave a trembling nod, agreeing with a truth she didn’t want to face.

“I wish you had asked for my life to sacrifice, not like this.”

Her gentle tone cracked. He said nothing. Slowly, he rose from the bed and walked away, leaving her frozen.

She watched him, longing still in her eyes, a fragile smile tugging at her lips.

“I trust you won’t turn this into a scene,” he added, glancing over his shoulder, voice calm but edged in steel. “Consider my calmness a warning.”

One Week Later – Wardrobe

The week since her father’s decision had passed in restless nights and silent mornings.

Jenna moved through her home like a shadow, speaking only when necessary, her thoughts spinning with fear and defiance.

Her parents noticed and encouraged her, but she responded only with a broken smile.

Alexa tried to lighten the mood, yet Jenna no longer laughed. She joined them at the dining table, speaking very little, her presence quiet and withdrawn.

Nightmares haunted her, vivid and terrifying, always featuring an imaginary figure—his face unreal, conjured by her mind, and she saw him violating her. But she shared it with no one.

Nothing had changed. The struggles only grew heavier, every word demanding more strength.

She forced herself to obey, just as she always had. Now, once more, she pushed herself forward.

Standing in front of the mirror, she fastened her earrings and adjusted the silver choker that caught the light.

Her reflection looked serene, collected, but her stomach twisted, chest tightening as if the air itself pressed against her ribs.

Her father had told her to get ready to meet Evan Grant. He’d seen her from afar and wanted to observe her closely, making sure she understood him and his world, so there would be no surprises for her once she faced him.

That was what she was told. No matter how much she resisted, no matter how little interest she showed in knowing him, her dad never wavered.

The decision was final, and she knew it was really more about Evan observing her than about her getting to know him, since everything was happening on his terms.

Horrible thoughts tumbled through her mind as she scanned the clothes rack. He could snap, lose control. What if he lost his temper at me?

She slammed the jewelry box shut, fumbling. The lipstick slipped from her grasp.

What if he’s hiding a weapon? What if I can’t get away? Her throat closed as she stared at her reflection.

Her hand shook as she pressed the lipstick to her lips. No words came. She couldn’t tell her father any of it.

Every time she tried, he’d call her disrespectful. The last time, he’d warned her. Now she stayed silent, lips pressed together, while her mind spun with a thousand what-ifs.

Her father was a big name in the city and beyond as a businessman. Evan already knew him. The day at the mall, he’d seen her and gone straight to ask for her hand.

That was what her father said. But why hadn’t he refused? Why hadn’t he pushed Evan back? Didn’t he care that Evan must have scandals, like everyone in the criminal world?

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was imagining too much. But her father never explained, and she had no one else to ask. Her choice didn’t matter anymore.

Everything had shifted too suddenly. He’d always listened before, even when he disagreed. But now, nothing. Overnight, everything had changed.

She let out a shaky breath, running her hand through her hair, sweat dampening her skin.

At that moment, the door opened, and her mother stood there with a soft smile, which Jenna forced herself to return.

“Jenna, the car’s here. Come on, dear, your dad sent me to take you.”

She nodded, lips pressed tight over her soft lipstick. Her fingers clutched her pink shirt hem as if it were the only thing left to hold.

One last glance in the mirror, then she braced herself as her mother walked her downstairs.

Evan’s car waited outside, as her dad had told her. Her hands went numb as she climbed in.

The ride was heavy, silent. She said nothing. Fingers twisted her purse strap, eyes flicking between the buildings outside and her own reflection in the glass.

Her heart hammered. She pictured him, angry, controlling, and her fingers dug into the edge of the seat.

Panic flashed, imagining throwing a chair, fighting back, as if he had tried to drag her into the club where his friends waited.

Her grip tightened. Another thought stabbed through her mind. What if he had a girlfriend and left me there, just to be with her?

She flinched, lifting her gaze to the window. A shiver ran down her spine.

The guard in the front seat shifted, his gun catching the light, massive even while seated. Her eyes darted to him again, scanning the car with restless fear.

At last, the car pulled up at the luxury hotel. The guard stepped out first and opened the door for her.

She inhaled sharply, clutching her purse, and walked onto the marble floor. Every click of her heels echoed louder than her own thoughts.