All Chapters of I Married a Mafia King!: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Arthur Monteclara was forty-five years old, a man whose hands carried the marks of years of work and whose eyes carried the quiet wisdom of someone who had seen life’s storms up close. He was the father of Rhian—and, for most of her life, he had been her everything.When Rhian was only five, tragedy struck. Her mother passed away unexpectedly, leaving Arthur with a little girl who had lost not only her mother but also her sense of security. From that day forward, Arthur didn’t just play the role of father—he became both father and mother, protector and nurturer, provider and confidant.It wasn’t an easy balance, especially while running Monteclara Group, the family’s well-established company. Arthur had inherited the business from his father, a sprawling enterprise that dealt in luxury imports, high-end retail, and select real estate holdings. The work was demanding, requiring long hours, meticulous attention, and the kind of decisiveness that could make or break livelihoods.But no m

The soft hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in the room, a low, steady vibration that matched the heaviness in her chest. Rhian had been in her office for hours, her chair angled slightly away from her desk, eyes fixed on a faint crack in the far wall as though it might hold the answers she was looking for. The blinds were drawn, muting the daylight into a dull, filtered gray that made it impossible to tell how much time had passed. She had shut the door behind her the moment she walked in that morning, turning the lock with a quiet click—not for security, but to keep the world at bay.No one dared to disturb her. Not her secretary, who had left two unopened folders by the door. Not her colleagues, who had exchanged uncertain glances before quietly tiptoeing away. The silence around her was thick, almost sacred, and she clung to it like a fragile shield.Her fingers toyed absently with a capped pen, rolling it back and forth along the desk’s polished surface. She wasn’t wor

The suite was lavish—too lavish for Rhian’s liking. Golden drapes framed the glass balcony doors, silk sheets stretched neatly over the bed, and a bottle of champagne waited in a silver bucket of ice. Everything about it screamed romance, the kind of honeymoon women dreamed about. But to Rhian, it felt like a beautifully decorated cage.She sat on the balcony, the salty night air brushing against her face, arms crossed tightly against her chest. The ocean glittered beneath the moonlight, endless and free—everything she wasn’t. Inside, Damon was at ease. He had tossed off his suit jacket and now lounged on the sofa, scanning the wine list as if they weren’t both suffocating in unspoken tension.Finally, he broke the silence.“Are you going to sulk the whole night?” His tone was light, almost teasing.Rhian’s head snapped toward him, her eyes sharp. “I’m not sulking. I’m wondering why I’m here at all.”He closed the menu with a soft click and leaned back casually, one arm stretched alon

Rhian’s trembling fingers clutched the phone as it rang, her breath hitching with every second of silence. Finally, a man’s groggy voice answered, calm but sharp.“Luis.”“P-please, it’s Damon's wife—he’s bleeding! He said to call you!” Rhian’s voice cracked, tears spilling again as she knelt beside Damon, pressing desperately against his wound.The man’s tone changed instantly, clipped and serious. “Where are you?”She gave the name of the hotel through sobs, barely coherent. Luis didn’t ask questions. “Don’t move him. Don’t call anyone else. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”The line went dead.Rhian dropped the phone, her hands trembling as she looked back at Damon. His eyes were half-shut now, his breath shallow. She shook him gently, panic swelling in her chest. “Stay with me, Damon! Don’t you dare leave me now—not like this!”He forced his eyes open, gaze hazy but stubborn. “Stop crying…” His bloodied hand brushed weakly against hers. “You’ll ruin… your pretty face.”“Idiot,” she w

“Why does he always get hurt?”The question echoed in Rhian’s mind, refusing to let go, clawing at her thoughts no matter how many times she tried to silence it. She sat there, coffee cup cradled between her palms, pretending to focus on the steam curling upward, but her eyes betrayed her. They kept straying to Damon. To his arms, where faint red scratches crossed like careless brushstrokes. To the dark bruise spreading across his collarbone, barely concealed beneath his shirt. To the small cut on his jawline, so fresh it was still raw.Every time she saw him like this, her chest tightened with an ache she didn’t know how to name. He didn’t flinch, didn’t complain, didn’t offer an explanation. He moved as if pain were nothing, as if wounds were simply part of his existence, like breathing or walking. And maybe that was what unsettled her the most—how normal it seemed for him to come back broken.Rhian bit her lip, her gaze drifting away quickly when she realized she had been staring t