The moment the red nightgown touched her skin, the marriage crossed a line it could never return from. The private villa was silent except for the soft hum of hidden cameras, their lenses locked on the bed where she lay with one hand over her pregnant belly. Upstairs, beyond a concealed bookshelf, the feed streamed into a surveillance room where he watched without blinking. At 3:17 a.m., ash fell from his cigarette as he ordered the recording to continue—every breath, every movement archived like evidence awaiting trial. At dawn, the house transformed into a different stage. Sunlight flooded the bedroom as he returned in a tailored suit, immaculate and unreadable. She approached with warm milk and a careful smile, playing the role she had survived in for three years. He didn’t touch the cup. He pulled the curtains wide and asked a single question that split the room in two: she had never been blind, had she? Glass shattered, blood traced her ankle, and the first mask cracked—but he didn’t accuse. He placed a photograph on the table instead, time-stamped proof of her seeing eyes, her reflection sharp and conscious. The room tightened. She pleaded survival. He answered with proximity. A gun rose, slow and steady, as contracts and recordings surfaced on the screens—prenatal records altered, medical signatures forged, a lineage he believed betrayed. The risk escalated again: not a lie exposed, but a future contested. He pressed closer. She shielded her belly and swore the child was his. He didn’t believe words; he believed systems. Then the systems betrayed him. From the corner, the fetal monitor cut through the silence—beep… beep…—a heartbeat impossible to fake. The weapon hovered, half-pressed. Outside, wind lifted the curtains like witnesses leaning in. Love collapsed into ash; hatred found no landing. He stood frozen between proof and pulse, between a kill shot and a living record that would outlast any confession. He lowered nothing. Said nothing. Somewhere beneath the floorboards, another file began uploading—unplayed, unfinished. And as the heartbeat continued, so did the countdown, toward a decision no contract could contain and a reckoning that hadn’t even started yet.

After her mother's sudden death, a rebellious girl falls dangerously in love with her new guardian—the ruthless mafia boss who once "loved" her mom.

Cate believes her love story with mafia heir Nick is finally turning into the future she always dreamed of—until the very night she decides to give him everything. She opens her bedroom door expecting passion… and instead finds James, the cold, ruthless man who controls the entire underworld, waiting in her bed like a silent verdict. One night. One mistake. And her entire life detonates. The next day, under glittering lights at an exclusive mafia party, the truth hits her harder than any gunshot: she didn’t just sleep with a stranger—she slept with Nick’s father, the most feared man in the city. Overnight, Cate is dragged into a world of dangerous desire, mafia power games, and forbidden obsession, with James refusing to let her walk away. Nick’s heartbreak turns to rage, alliances crack, and the entire underworld begins whispering about the girl caught between a father and a son. But just when Cate thinks she’s reached the bottom, a darker secret about that night threatens to twist everything she thought she knew—because in the mafia world, the biggest betrayal is never the first one… but the one waiting in the shadows.

Morning light pierces through the stained glass of the church, spilling across Tina's wedding gown like blood. She kneels before the altar, golden hair disheveled, blood trickling from the corner of her lips. William—the mob boss who calls himself her "father"—gently lifts her chin with his fingers, burning hot against her skin. His voice is sickeningly tender: "You can't escape, Tina. You're my salvation. My only light." The pews are empty. Only wind sweeps through the towering vaulted ceiling, rustling the marriage contract that should have been filled with blessings. Then, in the suffocating silence, the church doors crash open. Sunlight floods in, silhouetting a tall, slender figure. Impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, he holds a gold-embossed invitation in one hand, a smile on his lips unchanged after seven years. "Sorry I'm late," says William Manchini, her fiancé, stepping forward, each step echoing like a funeral knell on the marble floor. "After all, I've waited for this day… seven long years." Silence grips the hall. Tina’s pupils shrink. A sob catches in her throat. And then the real William—her "father"—smiles. He releases her, slowly removes his ring, and lets it drop. It hits the ground with a sharp, ringing sound. "Put it on," he says, his gaze icy. "Did you really think he came to save you?" Tina trembles as she picks up the ring, her fingers numb with cold. Just as she’s about to slide it onto her finger, Manchini speaks again, his voice soft as a first love: "You know… the night I killed your real parents, you cried in my arms the whole night long." Her hand freezes. A message suddenly flashes across her vision: 【Holy shit! The groom’s the real killer?!】 【This isn’t a wedding—it’s a sacrificial ritual!】 【She was never the daughter—the father wasn’t the monster. He was the only one trying to protect her!!】 The church bell tolls, twelve times. At the first chime, Tina finally sees the madness in Manchini’s eyes. At the sixth, she suddenly clenches the ring in her mouth. At the eleventh, William draws his gun, aiming straight at Manchini. At the final chime— The gun doesn’t fire. But Tina collapses. From her mouth falls not the ring, but a tiny, blood-stained USB drive. She looks at her "father," blood trailing from her lips, smiling with peace: "Dad… mission complete. The police… already have the evidence." For the first time, Manchini’s smile shatters. Moments later, sirens wail in the distance, tearing through the dawn. This wedding was never about who marries whom. It was about this— the prey delivering the predator into hell, with her own hands.

The night was ink-black, heavy with the threat of storm. She sat on the edge of the bed in the sheer lace nightgown he’d given her, fingertips trembling as they traced the hollow of her collarbone—still marked by his kiss from the night before. “You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, voice rough, yet his hand already settling on her shoulder. “But I came anyway,” she smiled, fire in her eyes. “You said only I could.” The air stilled. Desire and hatred twisted between them, a string pulled taut to its breaking point. “I hate you,” she bit out. “Then why do you melt?” He leaned down, lips nearly brushing her earlobe. “Always like this… saying no while your body remembers me.” She shoved him hard—but he reversed her, pinning her to the bed. He didn’t go further. Just stared, eyes dark as abyss. “Run. You can still run now.” She didn’t move. Her heart pounded like war drums. That night, neither of them won. But when dawn finally pierced the clouds, and he buttoned his shirt walking out of the bedroom, she suddenly wrapped her arms around him from behind. “Don’t go.” He froze. “We have things to do.” He stepped away, voice cold as steel. In the car, she was silent, frozen. Then the rain fell—hard, relentless, drumming against the windows. “You’re like a prisoner,” he suddenly laughed, laced with mockery. She said nothing, nails digging into her palms. Until warmth brushed the backseat—him, slipping in behind her. His fingers trailed slowly down her neck, coming to rest over the crimson mole on her chest. “Remember where I’ve touched,” he whispered, breath scorching. She shuddered, barely holding on. Wanting to scream, to cry, to push him away—and never let go. But in the end, she only looked down at her ring finger— the wedding band he had removed himself, just yesterday. Now it lay quietly in her purse, pressed beneath a faded photograph. In it, he stood before a church, cradling another woman, smiling gently. The car stopped. He opened the door. “We’re here.” She didn’t move. “Do you want me to walk in,” she finally spoke, soft as a sigh, “or wait to see me send you to prison myself?” He turned, expression flickering. Wind lifted her hair, revealing a single unshed tear at the corner of her eye. Then, she smiled. “The game’s only just begun, darling husband.”