หนุ่มหล่อคนไหนจะคว้าใจเธอ

PROLOGUE

In the lavish wedding venue adorned with flowers in every nook and an atmosphere buzzing with excitement, Feliza moved through the celebrations with a detachment that contradicted the occasion. It was supposed to mark her happiest day, a celebration of love and union, yet it brought her no joy. Her face, a stoic mask, revealed no hint of the expected happiness.

Guests, dressed in vibrant attire, cast curious glances her way, yet their looks held no surprise or confusion. This was an arranged marriage, a union bound by tradition and family expectations. The absence of emotion on Feliza's face seemed fitting, an unspoken acknowledgment of the scripted nature of the event.

“Smile, Feliza,” her mother said through gritted teeth as she smiled for the public. “Aren't you happy, or at least a bit grateful? Not only did we take you home 15 years ago and treat you as our own, but we also secured your future with a very promising man in this country.”

Does she really have to mention that? Feliza thought.

“Countless politicians and celebrities were here, darling,” her father warned right beside her. Feliza's adoptive parents were walking down her aisle. “Do not embarrass your family.”

She could only clench her fist and force a smile.

Feliza's gaze shifted to the man standing at the altar, her soon-to-be husband. His bride mirrored Feliza's own lack of reaction. He cut a striking figure in his lavish white suit, a stark contrast to the shadows that enveloped his world, a darkness she couldn't help but despise.

He possessed features that drew attention—a tan complexion, piercing blue eyes, dark hair, and thick brows. A scorpion tattoo adorned his neck, a symbol that hinted at a hidden edge beneath the polished exterior. Standing at an imposing 6'3", he boasted a toned physique, an outward display of strength that matched the coldness in his personality.

On paper, he was painted as a young CEO billionaire, the epitome of success and prosperity. However, Feliza knew better. Beneath his successful and wealthy exterior, he concealed a darker truth—he was part of the mafia, a world of hidden dealings and a lifestyle far from the polished image he showed to the world. Standing there, the contrast between his public image and the concealed reality highlighted the complex and mysterious nature of the man she was about to marry.

As she approached the altar, and Shan, the man she was about to marry, took her hand in his, a momentary flinch coursed through her, as if she was betraying the memory of her deceased biological parents by joining hands with a man involved in their demise.

She couldn’t forget that tragic night. The night where her biological parents begged to spare her life in exchange for theirs. It was an eventful night she would always carry with her for the rest of her life.

As they stood at the altar, his cold fingers enclosed around hers, sending a shiver down her spine.

Shan Moretti leaned closer to her ears. "If you're having second thoughts about this marriage, now's your chance. Run before we exchange rings. Once we're married, I won't let you go." His voice, a frosty whisper, cut through the tension in the air.

He then kissed her cheek tenderly.

The weight of his words hung in the air, and she felt a surge of fear. The thought of escaping this one hell of a wedding flashed through her mind, an impulse fueled by the chilling intensity of his warning.

Yet, her gaze met his, and a determined spark ignited in her eyes.

With a resolute glare, she whispered back, "I'm not stopping this wedding."

Her words, though quiet, carried a defiance that matched the tension in the room. Shan's expression remained cold, but a flicker of amusement crossed his features. “Very well, my Vixen.”

It happened so quickly before she could even grasp the whole situation.

The wedding was successfully accomplished, and the two tied bonds together sealed with rings on their fingers and a kiss so tenderly painful.

And just like that, Feliza married the man who killed her own parents.

But then again, it can’t be helped.

What a shame…

The night eventually came—the night she so much dreaded.

As time raced forward into their wedding night, the air crackled with anticipation in their private suite. It was as if there was a magnet pulling them to each other; their hands couldn’t stop themselves from touching, holding, and grasping each other's bodies—all the while their lips made their own way of syncing.

Shan Moretti kissed her lips. No, more like devouring her.

Her attempt to fight over dominance was futile as he ripped off her wedding dress and pushed her on the bed.

Surprised and utterly turned on, Feliza's eyes widened as she gasped, trying to sit up. But before she could even attempt to, Shan went on top of her with a face painted with raw desire. Desire to claim her.

“Trying to run away, huh?” he rasped, his blue eyes looking down at her as if she was prey.

She gulped. “N-No…”

A smirk made its way to his lips. “Liar.”

Just like that, Shan claimed her lips one more time, taking her breath away and making her surrender under his dominating kiss. Feliza eventually found herself giving him the precious thing her mother always told her to keep until marriage—her purity.

She didn’t break the promise, though. Although it was a conventional marriage, he was still her husband.

A husband whose life will be taken through her very own hands…

As Feliza woke up at dawn, hugging her naked body filled with hickeys and some evident of what happened last night, she stared blankly at her newlywed husband. It was all vivid in her mind how Shan Moretti relentlessly claimed her damn innocence until he was able to send them both to their zenith for the hundredth time.

He was like a monster who cannot be satiated. No matter how much he came, his enormous manhood could not get softened. It was as if he was a restrained man—the more he was being restrained, the more he desired to lash out. Feliza was almost destroyed… no, more like ruined.

After all, she betrayed her deceased parents by marrying and sleeping with the person who killed them.

It was as if he was mocking their death by having possession of the person who was important to them.

Feliza felt… disgusted.

Not only with Shan but also with herself.

Holding the dagger that she hid in the room before their wedding, Feliza's hand tightened around it as her eyes narrowed into slits. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stared down at her own husband. She was shaking from anger and utmost disgust coursing through her veins.

She couldn’t help but remember that tragic night that scarred her for life. She could still hear it in her own ears how her parents begged the men in black to spare her life. She could still hear the gunshots ringing through her ears, followed by the blood splashing through her innocent face.

And then she saw it. The emblem of the Mafia that was behind their demise. The same tattoo emblem that was inked on his wrist.

She may not be able to catch and kill the people who killed her parents, but the least she could do was to get even with them. After all, they're all the same. Mafias are the cruelest in this world.

And he is not an exception.

“I hate you…” she whispered into the thin air as she held the dagger, her mind already conditioned to pierce right through his chest. Shan's face was peacefully sleeping, as if he never made countless families restless. He didn't deserve to be living this peacefully, knowing how many lives he may have already ruined, and it was just right for her to take his life. After all, he's a sinful man.

However, the longer she stared at him, the more she realized how weak and pathetic she was. Seeking justice through violence is not justice at all. It's something only weak people do. She isn't like that. She cannot take matters into her own hands. No matter how badly people have wronged her, she cannot bring herself to stoop that low.

If she does, then she is no different from those people she despises.

Right.

She's no different from them if she does so.

And there is no doubt her parents will be disappointed with her.

Lowering the dagger down through her shaking hand, her tears streamed down her face like rainfall. Feliza covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the sob that threatened to escape from her lips.

She stumbled back, realizing that she almost became the person she despises the most. No. She will never become one of them. She will never stoop that low to seek justice through violence.

Mustering her courage and the dignity left in her being, she put on some clothes to cover her nakedness and rushed to find the key to his car from his trousers that were thrown on the floor. When she was able to get it, she rushed to the door, ready to leave.

But it seems as if her body has its own mind; her feet halted right before she could leave. Feliza turned her head and glanced at the man who took everything away from her. He was indeed a selfish man. He wants everything for himself, and he will do anything to have it.

She clenched her hands as a lone tear escaped her eye.

“I will not allow myself to be a puppet of your game, Shan Moretti,” she uttered, her voice filled with utter hate and pain while her eyes were fixated on the man sleeping comfortably on the bed. Her very own husband. “May you suffer the same way the lives you've ruined.”

Just like that, Feliza left, leaving behind her renowned cruel of a husband—oblivious of the danger she created herself.

After all, Shan is a possessive man...

And Feliza Gray-Moretti just happened to be his`.