All Chapters of Married To A Monster: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

LUCIEN POVI grabbed the bottle of whiskey again and sank into my office chair.I had enemies.Plenty.But no one had ever made me feel this powerless.No one but her.I had men searching, drones flying, cameras hacked, phones tapped.Yet she was nowhere.How the fuck did she outplay me?My phone buzzed again.Same Unknown Number.I snatched it off the desk, thumb trembling with rage as I opened the new message.“You have the sweetest wife, Lucien.How the fuck did you let her go?Tsk, tsk.You don’t deserve her.But don’t worry…I’m enjoying what you threw away.— X”My vision went red.My grip crushed the phone until the screen cracked beneath my thumb. My blood roared in my ears, drowning out every rational thought.I was going to find this motherfucker.And when I did, he wouldn’t die quickly.I punched the wall, skin splitting, knuckles blooming red, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing would be enough until I had her back.I grabbed the bottle, but even whiskey couldn’t drown this madn

ZARA’S POV🔥(Let the war of lovers begin)My finger didn’t move.Not yet.But the weight of the gun against his head didn’t waver either.Lucien Black stood still, like the cocky, cold bastard he’s always been. Shirt undone, bruised knuckles, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. And for a second, I hated how much I still noticed him.Hated how he looked at me like I was the one trespassing.“I asked you a question,” I said.His jaw flexed. “You did.”“So answer it.”He didn’t blink. “I came for you.”Wrong answer.I pressed the barrel harder. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow your brains out right now.”Lucien tilted his head—slow, deliberate.“Same reason there’s a sniper stationed outside, isn’t there?”My blood turned to ice.What?He leaned in slightly, voice barely above a whisper. “The same reason I haven’t moved since you pointed that gun at me. Because if I make one wrong move… your little boyfriend gets a bullet to the chest.”Aaron.My breath caught.

Zara’s POV Vanessa was waiting in the hallway again. Same painted smile, same venom dripping from her eyes. Always in our faces, hovering like a desperate moth burning itself against a flame it could never have. I’d ignored her long enough. This time, I stopped. “What is it, Vanessa? You want to watch us breathe too? Or maybe sit between us at dinner, hold his hand while I feed him?” Her lips parted, trembling. “You think you’re better than me? You think he loves you?” I stepped closer, my heels clicking against the marble, my voice a blade wrapped in silk. “I don’t think, sweetheart. I know. And that’s why you’ll always lose. Because men don’t stay with shadows—they crave fire. And you? You’re nothing but smoke choking yourself.” Her face broke. Red eyes. Swollen lips. A pitiful whimper before she spun on her heel and bolted down the hall, tears streaking mascara across her cheeks. I didn’t move. Didn’t chase. I wanted her to run straight to her father. Let her cry about

Zara’s POVI didn’t run straight to him. For hours, I sat on the edge of our bed, the flash drive burning in my palm. The evidence was heavy, not because of what it showed—I’d already watched it a dozen times—but because of what it meant.My father. My mother. The shadows in my family tree that had always felt too twisted to name.When the door finally creaked open, Lucien leaned against the frame, glass of scotch in his hand. His eyes scanned me, then the small drive clutched too tightly in my fist.“What is it, Zara?” His voice was low, careful, the way he spoke when he already knew something was wrong.I wanted to lie. God, I wanted to keep it inside, to let this be my cross and mine alone. But the weight broke me.“It’s not just the blackmail,” I whispered. My throat tightened as the words clawed their way out. “It’s… them. My family. My mother. My father.”Lucien froze, the scotch halfway to his lips. He set it down, his body tightening like a predator hearing prey rustle in the

ZARA’S POVThe room smelled of antiseptic and fading cigars. My father had always hated hospitals, so of course he turned one into his own personal fortress — private doctors, private equipment, guards posted at the doors as if death itself needed permission to enter.But I didn’t care about the walls or the guards. I cared about the man in the bed.Don Enzo.The lion.The monster who raised me.My father.His chest rose and fell in shallow waves, every breath a war waged against something I couldn’t see. His skin looked gray, his lips pale. The tubes, the wires, the steady beeping of the monitor — I hated all of it. Hated that this was what he had been reduced to. Hated that I couldn’t do a damn thing but sit here and watch.So I didn’t move. Not for hours.The staff whispered about me. That I hadn’t left his side. That I hadn’t eaten. That I looked like a ghost with mascara bleeding down her cheeks and hair tangled from my fingers pulling it too often. Let them whisper.I would not