The Cursed Bride and the Dark Knight

London.

Newgate Prison.

The iron door slowly closed behind him, and Rector Thorne finally stepped across that line dividing freedom from captivity.

Inside the prison’s wire fence, a group of once extremely vicious felons now stood in neat rows like the most loyal soldiers, their eyes fanatically fixed on his departing figure.

“Rector!”

“Rector!”

The shouts rose wave after wave, as if crowning their one and only king.

Three years. Rector had used his fists, his will, and his unmatched strength to crush this most terrifying prison beneath his feet.

Here, he was god.

The moment he walked out of the prison gates, memories of that stormy night three years ago flooded back into Rector’s mind.

Back then, Rector was the Assad Organization’s sharpest blade—a super special forces soldier king codenamed “Ghost.”

During one mission, he discovered that his rescue target was actually his own brother, Kieran Thorne.

To save Kieran, he single-handedly wiped out an entire criminal organization, but in the process, he became infected with a vampire’s curse.

Kieran’s way of repaying him was to personally frame him before a judge, claiming that Rector had planned it all.

The verdict came down quickly: three years in Newgate Prison.

No one came to visit him. Parents, friends, comrades he’d fought alongside—everyone treated him like the family’s disgrace, as if he had truly become a murderous maniac.

Damn it.

He was the one who saved Kieran. Why did they do this to him?

The iron door closed completely, its dull sound echoing across the empty grounds.

Rector took a deep breath. The air carried the taste of freedom, but it couldn’t suppress the rage churning in his chest.

He pulled out a phone that had never once been called from his inside pocket and dialed a number.

A familiar, respectful voice came through.

“Lord Ghost, I am your loyal servant, William Hunter...”

“I’m going home first,” Rector said, his voice cold and steady, “don’t disturb me today.”

Without waiting for a response, he hung up.

Right now, he only wanted one thing—return to the Thorne Manor, stand before Kieran, and ask him face to face why he had done all this.

And then, revenge.

London.

The Thorne Manor, living room.

Flames danced in the fireplace, casting three faces in shifting light and shadow.

“Mother, Isabella is cursed,” Kieran said, his voice carrying barely concealed fear. “If I marry her, I’ll die.”

“Kieran,” his mother Valerie Sharp sighed, her eyes full of bitterness, “if you don’t marry her, we can’t partner with the Cohen family. And the Cohen family will turn against us. You can’t bear those losses, child. You have to accept reality.”

Isabella, the only daughter of the wealthy Evan Cohen, had fallen into a coma three years ago after an accident. Rumors said she was under an ancient curse—any man who married her would be infected and die soon after.

“Once I take over the Cohen family’s business,” his father Bruce Thorne said calmly, “you can divorce Isabella. By then, no one will be able to threaten us.”

Kieran fell silent for a moment, struggle flashing in his eyes before greed quickly took over. He needed a scapegoat—someone who could satisfy the Cohen family without putting his own life at risk.

The room fell into brief silence.

Until Bruce answered a phone call.

His expression changed dramatically, then wild joy flooded his face.

“It’s Mr. William Hunter!” he said, putting down the phone, his voice trembling. “Mr. Hunter is personally visiting the Thorne Manor tomorrow. He says he wants to marry his daughter into our family—to our son!”

Kieran froze for a second, then burst out laughing.

William Hunter was the most powerful person in all of London. If they could attach themselves to him, what did the Cohen family matter? What did Isabella’s curse matter?

Before the laughter had faded, the butler Wade hurried in and bowed.

“Mr. Bruce Thorne, Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Rector Thorne has returned.”

Kieran’s laughter stopped abruptly. His eyes flicked, and a cold smile slowly formed on his lips.

“Rector?” he said casually, as if discussing trash. “He’s useless anyway. Why not have him marry Isabella? Mr. Cohen only wants someone to marry his daughter. He doesn’t care who it is.”

Bruce nodded, approval flashing in his eyes. “That’s best. It won’t offend anyone. I’ll confirm with Mr. Cohen first.”

Kieran turned away, satisfied, then said to the butler, “Make him wait outside.”

He struggled to hide the smile at the corner of his mouth, but the smugness in his eyes nearly overflowed. Rector—that self-righteous brother, that pitiful man who had saved him only to be framed—was perfect as a scapegoat.

Outside the Thorne Manor.

Twilight slanted down, stretching Rector’s shadow long across the ground.

He wore a faded brown jacket, carrying a worn tool bag, standing quietly before the closed gates. Two servants blocked his way like shooing away a stray dog, their eyes full of disgust.

Rector clenched his fists.

He said nothing, just stood there like a lion returned to its territory, silently surveying the estate that had once belonged to him.

Soon, Kieran came out.

He wore a custom-tailored suit, his shoes gleaming, chin slightly raised, looking down at Rector like he was a stray crawling out of the mud.

“Rector,” Kieran smiled, his tone almost charitable, “the family has found you a bride—Isabella, Mr. Cohen’s only daughter. You should be grateful.”

Rector’s lips twisted into a cold smile. “A marriage? I don’t think you’re that kind. Three years ago, I risked my life to save you, and you turned around and framed me.”

“Framed?” Kieran sneered, his expression darkening instantly. “Who framed you? I didn’t need you to save me back then. You murderer!”

At that moment, Bruce and Valerie walked out from the living room. Seeing Rector’s shabby appearance, Valerie frowned as if looking at something filthy.

Bruce’s voice was even more undisguised in its disgust. “Kieran’s right. You murderer! You nearly got him killed, you damned thing!”

“Rector,” Valerie shrieked, “in three days, Mr. William Hunter will visit our manor. Your current state looks like a homeless man—it’s disgusting! Leave immediately. Don’t let your presence make Mr. Hunter think the Thorne family has no class!”

Rector raised his head, his gaze slowly sweeping over the three familiar yet unfamiliar faces.

Father. Mother. Brother.

They stood together, their expressions uniformly cold, disgusted, superior.

Rector’s clenched fists slowly relaxed.

Not because he backed down—but because he suddenly felt it wasn’t worth anger anymore.

A faint, meaningful smile curved his lips.

“William is coming?”

What he didn’t say out loud was—

That man his family worshipped had knelt before him three years ago, respectfully calling him… Master.