Spoiled by the Scarred Don

The wedding was held in a hidden, cold church on the outskirts of Chicago.

There were no flowers, no guests, not even a hymn. The air was thick with the smell of old mildew and a chilling silence.

I was wearing a cheap, second-hand dress Genevieve had picked out.

The hem was yellowed and the waist was loose and ill-fitting—just another one of her ways to humiliate me. I was used to it.

Standing in the middle of the church, I felt less like a bride and more like a prisoner on her way to the gallows.

Click.

The heavy wooden doors of the church creaked open.

A cold draft blew in, along with the sound of heavy, rhythmic footsteps.

I held my breath and turned my head.

In that instant, my eyes widened.

The man who strode in was even taller than I'd imagined.

He wore a perfectly tailored black suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Every step he took radiated a suffocating pressure.

But what shocked me most was his face.

The rumors said he was a disfigured, ugly monster.

But the man before me had a face so handsome it was almost unnatural.

His features were as sharp as a marble sculpture, his skin a sickly pale, and his deep green eyes were bottomless pits.

There were no scars on his face, no sign of disfigurement at all.

This was Caspian Valerius, the most feared king of Chicago's underworld.

He didn't even glance at me.

From the moment he walked in, he was speaking in a low voice to the lawyer beside him, his expression so cold it was as if he were here to sign a simple business contract.

"Let's begin," Caspian said, walking to the priest.

The priest began reading the vows, saying something about "for better or for worse," but it was obvious that neither of us took it seriously.

"The bride and groom may now exchange rings."

One of Caspian's men presented a black velvet box.

He reached out with his long, well-defined fingers and picked up the cold platinum diamond ring.

He grabbed my hand, with no gentleness whatsoever, and slid the ring onto my finger with a cold, hard motion.

His fingertips were so cold they sent a shiver through me.

Next, the lawyer placed the marriage agreement in front of us.

I picked up the pen with a trembling hand, but just as I was about to sign, I heard a soft, cold laugh.

"You're not Bianca Rossi."

Caspian turned his head slightly, and those green eyes finally landed on my face.

His gaze was as sharp as a blade, as if it could cut me open and see through all my pretenses.

My heart skipped a beat, and my hand froze. "I…"

"The Rossi family has some nerve, pulling a switch like this."

I didn't know what to say. All I could think was, It's over. He's going to kill me.

But Caspian just snorted and casually signed his name on the agreement.

"But it doesn't matter," he said, straightening up and looking down at me. "I don't care who's sitting in this spot. To me, you and Bianca are no different. You're just a placeholder."

The ceremony was over.

No hug, no kiss.

I was shoved into his black Rolls-Royce.

The car sped off, finally stopping in front of a heavily guarded private estate on the edge of the city.

Caspian got out first and strode into the mansion. I followed behind him like a frightened puppet, holding up my ill-fitting dress.

"Mr. Valerius." An elderly butler greeted him respectfully.

"This is my wife. Get her a room. The rest is up to you," Caspian announced my identity casually.

The butler only flinched for a second before nodding respectfully. "Yes, sir."

After giving his orders, Caspian turned to leave.

He looked busy.

Just before he walked out the door, he paused, turned his head slightly, and said to me in a meaningful tone:

"Remember, be good. Don't do anything you're not supposed to. It'll make your life a lot easier."