All Chapters of Máfia's Hated Bride: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

NIKOLAI VOLKOV On the way to the mansion, my mind was already racing, calculating every move I would make to expose that fraud. Every step, every word had to be measured with surgical precision. They wanted to play, so I would show them what it meant to face a Volkov on his own board. Then, glancing sideways, a cruel and involuntary smile curved the corner of my mouth. There she was. My deformed bride. Huddled in the opposite corner of the limousine, trying to take up as little space as possible. The veil still covered her face, a last pathetic refuge. Her shoulders were tense, as if she expected a blow at any moment, and her fingers intertwined nervously in her lap. The scene was almost comical—the creature who was supposed to be my wife trembling like a rabbit before the wolf who had supposedly chosen her. The irony was so biting that I needed to voice it. "Why the fear, Mrs. Volkov?" my voice sounded low and harsh inside the car. "Didn't you yourself try to enter the wolf's cave

NIKOLAI VOLKOV AT DAWN… Consciousness returned like a blow—brutal and sudden. My head pounded while the world spun around me. My eyes opened to an unfamiliar room. And then I felt it—the warmth of a soft body against mine. The weight of someone else's arm over the sheet. What I saw made my blood run cold instantly. A woman. She had her back to me and was completely naked, her shoulders thin, her skin delicate and pale. Dark hair spread across the pillow. My instinct, still dulled by the drug, was one of alarm. "Who the hell is that?" As if she felt the weight of my gaze, she moved. A sigh, a shiver. And then she turned. In that moment I felt my world stop—on her face, an enormous scar. A violent line that snaked from her temple to her mouth, a mark of brutality immortalized on delicate features. She was a young woman. And I didn't know her. Had no idea who she was. Our eyes met. Hers, green, widened in horror. She opened her mouth to scream. "Shut up, you damn woman!" I growle

ANGELINE HARRINGTON And now I, marked by the scar they hated so much, had understood with full awareness that I had been thrown into the wolf's den by my own family. The despair was a mute scream inside me. In the few chaotic hours, between being discovered and being dragged to the church, I barely had time to process the tragedy itself, let alone speak to him. But in a rare moment, while my father was saying that he would have to take responsibility for the consequences, I managed to whisper to Nikolai, my voice a thread of desperate hope: "Please… don't accept this. Say that's not what happened. They're lying." He didn't even look at me. His profile was a granite sculpture, his eyes fixed on a point ahead, burning with a hatred I couldn't understand. And then, in front of my parents and my sister, he accepted. He agreed to marry me. The perplexity that took hold of Victoria and my parents was a mirror of my own perplexity. For an instant, even her mask of triumph cracked, replac

NIKOLAI VOLKOV While I held Angeline's arm with a firmness that admitted no resistance and led her upstairs, I felt the eyes of that swarm of mafiosos burning our backs, eager for the spectacle. Upstairs, I turned and said: "Just wait here," I ordered, my voice a clean cut through the air, before closing the bedroom door in everyone's face. I closed the bedroom door with a dry thud, isolating us. She stood still in the center, motionless, the veil still covering her face, but her entire body trembling like a leaf in winter. Inside, she was motionless. The veil still covered her, a trembling and pathetic ghost. Her heart beat so hard that I could almost hear the accelerated rhythm of her confessed terror—that gave me a perverse pleasure. I turned to her. My gaze was pure steel, and every word that left my mouth was loaded with ice: "You're a virgin, aren't you, you idiot?" The question was not a whisper; it was a demand. A requirement for the spectacle that was about to begin. S

ANGELINE HARRINGTON I thought Nikolai Volkov would never hear me, would never look at me again, but different from what I thought, he stopped at the door, still holding that rusty doorknob of that room that looked more like a cell. He turned to me slowly. Each movement seemed calculated to increase the weight of his presence, to crush me even more against the invisible walls of that room. His face was not just cold; it was a landscape of such complete contempt that it made me want to disappear. "Ah, so you don't know, Mrs. Volkov?" The question came out loaded with a sweet venom, an irony that only increased my fear. I tried to deny it, shaking my head with a desperate force I didn't even know I still had. The tears were an uncontrollable river now, streaming down my face, as if trying to wash away the mark that bothered me so much. "You accepted," he continued, and the words were like low, precise blows. "You were part of this with your parents. It's the only thing that makes sen