PROLOGUE

SELINE

I fixed my gaze on Satan, standing tall at the far end of the aisle, his figure framed by the hushed anticipation of the crowd. Through the soft haze of my pale pink veil, I caught the fire in his honey-colored eyes. They didn’t drop below my neck, sharp, unyielding, locked on me as if I were both a curse and a challenge. Even across the twenty feet separating us, I saw the twitch of his jaw, the way his fists curled tight at his sides.

I smirked.

I couldn’t wait to marry him, just so I could ruin him.

Before my uncle Cillian could lead me forward, I deliberately took a step on my own. The crowd erupted in cheers, mistaking my defiance for eagerness to be Satan’s bride. Oh, yes. I was eager. Because how else could I make his life a living hell, if not as his wife?

No one in the room questioned the oddity of a bride cloaked in pale pink instead of white. No one cared.

Except him.

And that was enough.

My soon-to-be husband, Kade Marcellous, the enforcer of the Marcellous clan and the soon-to-be don, despised pink. He loathed it as though the colour itself had wronged him. Which is exactly why, when I bind his life to mine, I’ll do it wrapped in pink.

The priest’s words washed over me, meaningless, like the hum of a song I never intended to learn. My eyes stayed locked on Satan’s, my smirk never faltering.

When the moment came, he answered first.

“I do,” he said, his voice smooth as silk but laced with venom, as if the two words were a death sentence.

The crowd sighed, charmed. Fools.

Then my turn.

I nodded, a little eagerly for someone who hates the groom and this wedding.

Applause thundered through the chapel, roses and ribbons trembling with it.

And then came the kiss.

He leaned closer, his breath brushing my lips, his gaze molten with hate dressed as passion. The guests leaned in, hungry for the fairy tale. Instead, his whisper slipped between us, sharp as a blade.

“I vow to make your life a living hell. To hate you until my very last breath.”

I let my lips curve slowly, savouring the bitterness. Instead of answering aloud, I raised my hands between us, delicate and precise. My fingers moved in the flowing language of silence, one only I intended him to understand:

I vow to return the favour. To hate you just as much. To never let you breathe without me haunting it.

The audience gasped, delighted. They thought it was a tender, secret declaration of love. A private poem of devotion shared only between the bride and groom.

And when our lips finally touched, they roared with joy, blind to the war that had just been declared in pink.

Content Warning

This story contains mentions of:

Child abuse

Human experimentation

Physical abuse of the heroine

These elements are present but not graphically detailed. This is not a story centred on an abusive relationship or endless suffering. While dark themes appear, the narrative explores resilience, twisted bonds, and power struggles rather than gratuitous torment.

Reader discretion is advised.