All Chapters of I Married a Mafia King!: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Damon kicked the door of their suite open with his foot, his arms steady around Rhian’s body. She was light in his hold, but her words weighed heavily.“Why are you holding me?” Rhian mumbled, her breath carrying the sweet scent of wine. Her eyes were glassy, but pain shimmered behind them. She placed her palms against his broad chest, pushing lightly though she knew she could never make him let go. “Aren’t you happy being with that woman?”Damon’s jaw flexed, his dark eyes flashing with warning. He carried her straight to the bed and laid her down gently on the silk sheets. For a moment he only looked at her, his shadow towering above.“You think I wanted her near me?” His voice was low, dangerous, like a growl contained in his chest.Rhian turned her face away, staring at the ceiling. “You didn’t push her away… You let her touch you. You let her laugh and lean close. Like she belonged there.” Her voice cracked, betraying more vulnerability than she intended. “And I just stood there…

The first light of dawn filtered gently through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft golden glow. Birds outside sang faint melodies, but inside their bedroom, the world was still. Damon stirred awake first, his sharp instincts always alert, even in sleep. But this time, instead of rising immediately, his eyes softened when he found his wife still nestled against him.Rhian’s hair was a tousled mess across the pillow, strands falling across her face. Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing even and soft. She looked nothing like the confident businesswoman who held Glam Perfume in her hands or the strong woman who often stood her ground against him. No, here she was simply his Rhian—peaceful, unguarded, and heartbreakingly beautiful.Damon couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at his lips. He brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes with surprising gentleness, his fingertips lingering as though memorizing the curve of her cheek.“You drive me insane, woman,” he murmured under

The mansion was never quiet when Damon was around. His presence always filled it—whether through the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall, the rumble of his low voice on the phone, or even just the comfort of his shadow drifting near her.But lately, silence was all Rhian had.She sat curled on the sofa in the living room, her hands wrapped around a mug of untouched tea. The clock ticked, each second a cruel reminder of how late it had become, how much longer she had waited for him to come home.Once, she would have been comforted knowing that eventually, the door would open, and Damon would stride in, his piercing gaze softening only for her. He’d kiss her forehead, tuck her into his arms, and murmur something teasing or gentle—words that made her heart feel alive.Now, those moments felt like fragments of a dream.She had lost count of how many nights she waited, only to be met with nothing but silence. Her calls went unanswered. Her messages unread.The ache in her chest gr

“How can he love me if he is willing to let me go? What does it mean?”The question spun endlessly in Rhian’s head, looping over and over like a cruel melody. She pressed her palms against her chest, as if she could hold the breaking pieces of her heart together, but the ache only deepened.After Damon walked out, the mansion felt emptier than ever. Silence pressed against her ears, heavy and suffocating.That night, Rhian lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was too quiet. The sheets were too cold. The other side of the bed was untouched—no warmth, no heartbeat, no steady breathing to lull her into rest.Her eyes drifted toward the empty pillow beside her, her throat tightening. Once, it had smelled faintly of him—his cologne, the faint trace of smoke and leather that clung to his skin. Now, it was nothing but fabric.She reached for it anyway, hugging it to her chest as if it could replace him. But the emptiness only hollowed her further.Sleep refused to come. Every time sh

The night was heavy, the air thick with unease. Rhian’s steps faltered as she walked down the marble staircase of the mansion. She had heard a car pull up minutes ago—Damon’s car. For the first time in weeks, he was home early, and her heart lifted with a fragile hope.Maybe tonight they would talk. Maybe tonight he’d look at her the way he used to.She tightened her robe around her body, taking careful steps toward the ground floor. She followed the faint sound of voices drifting from the garden terrace. Damon wasn’t alone.Her heart skipped.She stopped, her hand hovering above the railing, straining her ears. One voice was unmistakable—low, commanding, and rough around the edges. Damon. The other was softer, lilting with sweetness, a voice she knew all too well.Cynthia.Rhian’s stomach dropped.She crept closer, careful not to make a sound. The French doors to the terrace were slightly open, the thin curtains swaying in the night breeze. From where she stood, shadows of two figure