Xiny Mie
I died with my husband's betrayal on my lips and my unborn child in my womb.
One moment I was Mia Weston — billionaire, wife, mother-to-be. The next, I was gone. Erased. Traded like a chess piece by the man who swore to love me forever.
Then I woke up.
Silk sheets. Marble walls. A maid calling me "My Lady."
And a father I had never met looking me dead in the eyes saying —
"You have been promised to King Zyren of the Draconis Throne. You leave at sunrise."
I thought I was dreaming.
I was wrong.
King Zyren is not a man. He is ancient, ruthless, and devastatingly beautiful in the way that only dangerous things are. He doesn't smile. He doesn't explain. He simply looks at me like I am something he has been waiting for — and that look alone makes my whole body tremble.
He calls me his traded bride.
I call him my nightmare.
But nightmares don't look at you like you are the only breathable air in a burning room.
Nightmares don't press you against cold stone walls and whisper "You will learn your place, little human" with a voice so deep it rewrites your bones.
And nightmares definitely don't make you forget — even for one dangerous, breathless second — the man who killed you.
I was sold to settle a debt.
He had waited centuries for exactly me.
Neither of us was prepared for what came next.
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