I Married the Devil Who Ruined My Father’s Life

Nina’s POV

“Fabian, you really are ruthless!”

All my emotions twisted into a single knot of bitter disappointment, choking me.

The heaviness felt like a stone sinking deeper with each second, pulling all my hope down with it. I kept my head low, shoulders sagging, and dragged my feet as if I were sleepwalking through a nightmare I couldn’t wake from.

And then, right there at the end of the alley, stood Sadie Jennings.

She had Fabian’s coat draped around her shoulders. Her posture exuded triumph, and when our eyes met, hers were sharp and piercing, filled with venom she didn’t bother to hide.

“So that’s it?” Sadie said, her voice sharp enough to slice glass. “You’re just walking away? The daughter of a murderer? Shouldn’t you be down on your knees in front of my brother, begging for forgiveness?”

I let out a dry, hollow laugh and pulled my lips into a cold smile that didn’t even try to reach my eyes.

“A murderer?” I shot back. “If my dad hadn’t shown up when he did, your brother would’ve been a rapist.”

My eyes locked onto hers.

“And you knew. You knew exactly what kind of monster he was, and you still stood by him—”

Before I could finish, Fabian’s hand came out of nowhere, clamping over my mouth.

“Nina,” he said in that maddeningly calm tone, “Sadie’s right. Someone in your family needs to atone. If it’s not going to be you, then it’s going to be your mother.”

I froze, stunned.

My gaze snapped up to his face, hoping to find even a flicker of the man I used to know. But there was nothing there, only a stranger with my husband’s face.

How had we gotten here?

This was the same man who once told me he’d burn the world to protect me. Now he was threatening to drag my mom into this hell just to please another woman.

It hadn’t always been like this.

When I was in college and earning a living by teaching dance classes part-time, I met him for the first time.

He was ambushed alone in an alley by a group of enemies. Anyone else would have been killed.

But not Fabian Wolfe. He earned his title that night, Bayport’s ‘God of Slaughter.’

He fought them off barehanded, blood soaking through his shirt, skin split open in a dozen places.

But when Fabian finally staggered out of that alley, battered but still standing, he didn’t look for help. He leaned against a lamppost, lit a cigarette, and looked up.

Right across the street, light poured from the second-floor window of the studio. I was there, dancing, caught in the music, completely unaware I had an audience.

Fabian told me later that it was when I stepped into his world. He said I looked like something out of a dream. That’s when I became his only love, the kind that never really fades.

When he started pursuing me, I did everything I could to keep my distance. I wasn’t stupid. I knew who he was.

“I only go for well-mannered guys,” I told him. “You’re too… rough.”

So Fabian hired a top-tier etiquette coach—like a luxury flight attendant—to teach him proper speech and manners.

“I don’t want a life full of violence,” I said next. “I want peace.”

And just like that, Fabian shut down every illegal operation he managed. He closed everything and dedicated himself to philanthropy. He stepped away from the empire he had built to be the man I said I needed.

People in Bayport thought he was obsessed with me. They said anytime someone even mentioned my name, it triggered him like a landmine. That the old Fabian—the dangerous one—was always just beneath the surface, waiting to explode.

And now, here we were, with the same man calling my dad a murderer. That same man who forced me to my knees for a woman’s brother, who once tried to destroy me.

Before I could even gather my thoughts, the car rolled straight into the funeral home as if it belonged there. The second it stopped, his bodyguards yanked the door open and dragged me out.

Inside the hall, the Prescotts were already waiting. As soon as they saw me, they swarmed like vultures.

Fabian didn’t move. The only thing he did was furrow his brow, as if he was mildly annoyed by the scene unfolding before him.

In the meantime, Sadie arched an eyebrow and looked at him.

“Nina’s father killed my brother. Isn’t it fair that my family gets to vent? You’re okay with that, aren’t you, Fabian?”

He said nothing. He didn’t move either.

That was all the permission they needed.

They hit me, slapped my face, punched my stomach, yanked at my clothes, and ripped at my hair.

And then, God help me, one of them touched me in a way that made me want to claw my skin off.

I screamed, hoarse and desperate.

“Fabian! I’m still your wife! You hear me? No matter how much you want to forget it, I’m still your wife!”

Fabian finally flinched, his brows furrowing slightly. Before he could speak, Sadie stepped in with a theatrical sigh and clapped her hands as if she were a hostess ending a party.

“That’s enough. Everyone, stop. Fabian brought her here today to apologize to my brother. If not for her sake, then at least for his.”

At her command, they backed off. The chaos of violence receded, leaving me standing there, battered and broken, trembling from head to toe.

Sadie took her time walking up to me, her eyes carefully inspecting every bruise and torn piece of fabric, as if she were admiring her handiwork.

Then she turned, pointed at her brother’s coffin, and said in a cold voice, “Nina, I want you to admit that you’re the daughter of a murderer and apologize to my brother.”