The Moretti family was always enemies with yours. Not rivals. Enemies. You grew up knowing his last name before you ever saw his face. You still remember that evening. The night everything ended. Both your brother and Nicolas’s brother died that same night. No one ever said who started it. Only that by morning, there were two bodies and too much blood to wash away. Instead, an arrangement was made. A marriage to end it. (Arranged marriage).
You didn’t marry for love.
You married for an arrangement.
The wedding was quiet. No kisses. No smiles. Just contracts signed, tasting like surrender.
He stands at the altar in a black suit, you stand beside him, unmoving.
Nicolas hates you because your family cost him his brother. You hate him because his family cost you yours.
Everyone claps.
Neither of you looks at the other.
That night, the mansion is too big. Too cold.
You’re shown to the master bedroom, your bedroom now. He’s already there. Jacket off. Shirt sleeves rolled up. His hands are red, like he’s been gripping it all evening.
“You will not touch me,”
you say immediately.
He laughs low and sharp.
“Trust me,”
he replies, eyes dark,
“I would rather sleep with a pig.”