Semua Bab Married to My Father's Killer: Bab 1 - Bab 10

“Your father is dead, Miss Cruz. The only thing keeping you alive… is my signature.” --- The ink was still wet on the contract when Ariella Cruz realized she had just signed her life away. The leather folder felt heavier than it should. Her hand trembled as she closed it, but she masked it with a calmness she’d spent years perfecting. Across from her sat Lucien Draven, the man whose name echoed through the darkest corridors of power. Billionaire. Arms dealer. Suspected murderer. And now… husband. Ariella lifted her eyes to meet his. Cold. Calculating. No warmth, no flicker of doubt — only a deadly kind of stillness. Like a man who’d slit a throat and still make it to dinner in a clean suit. "You look like you want to kill me," Lucien said, voice smooth as silk, yet edged with ice. “You’ll need to do better at hiding it, wife.” Wife. The word slithered down her spine like a curse. “I didn’t come here for love,” Ariella replied, her voice steady. “And you didn’t offer it.” He

The note burned in Ariella’s pocket like a ticking bomb. Every step she took echoed in the long, silent corridors of the mansion, amplifying the paranoia clawing at her chest. Who left that note? Who knew about the ring on Lucien’s hand? And what guilt could possibly be heavier than murder?Dinner was served in awkward silence. Lucien sat at the far end of the impossibly long mahogany table, a glass of red wine in hand, eyes trained on her like a hawk.“You look pale,” he said, swirling his wine. “Did you sleep well?”She smiled tightly. “Just adjusting.”He nodded once, like a king granting mercy. The servants moved like shadows around them, all dressed in black and white, emotionless, efficient. But one of them—a young man with an angular jaw and piercing eyes—caught her attention.He was new. She was sure of it.He didn’t meet her gaze. But the way he moved, the way his hand trembled slightly as he poured her water, it screamed nerves. Or warning.She risked a glance under the tabl

The night crept in like a shadow with a knife. Ariella sat by the frosted window of her room, her fingers still curled around the coin Lucien had given her. The symbol etched into its face seemed to pulse with a life of its own, as if it knew more than either of them dared to say.She hadn’t spoken to Lucien since he dropped that final, devastating line. "You already are."What was she in the middle of?Some elite war? A secret society? Was this some kind of mad revenge mission cloaked as a marriage?Her chest tightened with confusion and frustration.The sound came just after midnight—a soft scrape, like someone brushing against the wall outside her bedroom.She stilled.Another scrape. Then the creak of a floorboard.Ariella moved without thinking. She slipped from her bed, grabbed the ornamental dagger her father once gifted her, and crept toward the door.The hallway was pitch black.She waited, breath held. Then, a whisper. Faint. Male."Don’t trust the Blackthorns."Her spine st

The storm broke just after midnight.Thunder rolled over the mansion like an omen, followed by sharp flashes of lightning that lit up Ariella’s room in bursts of pale white. She sat on the edge of the bed, wide awake, clutching the anonymous message she'd scribbled onto a notepad.Don’t trust the woman in red.Elise.There was no doubt. She always wore crimson, like blood was part of her wardrobe. Always elegant, always watching.Ariella paced.Lucien hadn’t returned home since morning. No calls. No explanation. Not that she expected one. He vanished and reappeared like a ghost in this house. And every time he did, she couldn’t tell whether to feel relief or dread.A sudden bang echoed from downstairs.Ariella jumped.Her heart pounded as she tiptoed toward the bedroom door. She eased it open and peeked into the hallway. Darkness greeted her. No guards. No Elise.Just shadows.Her bare feet barely made a sound against the cold marble floor as she moved toward the east wing—where Lucie

Ariella sat on the cold marble floor long after the chaos had quieted. Elise’s arms were still around her, but they felt distant—like a barrier, not comfort. Lucien paced the room, his jaw clenched, his white shirt streaked with blood from Mateo’s busted lip. The silence between them was thick, suffocating, like the walls were closing in.Mateo had been dragged away by Lucien’s private security. No police were called.And that told her everything.“This isn’t protection,” Ariella whispered. “It’s a prison.”Lucien stopped pacing. “I was trying to keep you safe.”“By lying to me?” Her voice cracked. “You let me believe you were the monster. That you killed my father.”“I had to,” he said. “It was easier to let you hate me than risk you digging deeper.”She stood slowly, swaying on unsteady legs. Her cheek still throbbed from Mateo’s slap, but it was nothing compared to the ache inside her chest.“Elise,” she said, turning to the woman who’d raised her, who held every memory of her chil