"You don't know the weight of a vow… until it begins to curse your soul."
---
The hall was silent.
The guests were long gone. The cameras were turned off. The reporters outside Radisson Grand Hotel were still buzzing with whispers of the most scandalous wedding of the decade.
But inside the suite — where red velvet curtains drowned the moonlight — Evelyn Hart stood at the center, stripped of her last illusion.
The diamond ring on her finger weighed heavier than chains. And Damien Wolfe — the man who had just claimed her as his wife — watched her with eyes darker than the midnight sea.
"You don't love me," she whispered, her voice trembling, "So why marry me?"
Damien stepped forward, his tux jacket undone, revealing the power beneath. "Love was never part of the deal, Evelyn."
He circled her like a predator stalking its prey. "You needed money. I needed a bride. This is war. Not a fairy tale."
Her throat tightened. The silky wedding dress clung to her skin, like a costume she had no right to wear. "You said you'd save my sister. That's all I cared about."
"And I did." His voice was low, lethal. "But don't confuse mercy with affection."
Evelyn's fists clenched. "You're cruel."
A smirk curved on his lips. "And you're married to me now, sweetheart. That makes you mine."
His voice sent shivers across her skin. But it wasn't attraction. It was fear. Or maybe both.
She turned to the mirror, unable to look at him. Behind her reflection stood a stranger — a billionaire she was forced to call husband… and the same man her father once swore was their family's enemy.
"Wolfe blood must never mix with ours."
Her father's voice echoed in her memory like a warning from the grave.
But now, here she was. Evelyn Wolfe.
Marked.
---
🔥 Romantic Tension Builds
"You think I'm just going to sleep beside you, act like a wife?" she spat, spinning around. "This isn't a marriage. It's a trap."
Damien's face darkened. "You think I don't know that?"
He stepped closer. "This marriage is a coffin for us both. But one of us must walk out alive."
Her lips parted in shock.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he touched her cheek. Not gently — not cruelly either. His thumb brushed her skin like he was confirming something.
"You look like her," he murmured.
"Who?"
"My mother."
Evelyn froze.
"You're lying."
Damien's jaw tensed. "She died… the same night your family cursed mine."
---
🩸 The Curse Emerges
There it was.
The secret that no one dared speak aloud.
The real reason he married her.
"Your family believes in all that… folklore," Evelyn said slowly. "The curse, the bloodlines…"
Damien's voice turned cold. "You really think your sister's illness was just… random?"
Her heart dropped. "You said she was safe."
"She is. For now. But you — you're the one fate came for."
He handed her an old, faded envelope. Inside was a photograph — grainy, black and white — showing two families standing at a gravesite.
One side was marked with her grandfather's name.
The other… Wolfe.
"There was a pact," he said. "Broken by betrayal. And now, the price must be paid."
Evelyn stared at him, her chest tightening. "You think I'm cursed?"
"I know it," Damien said. "And now, so are we."
---
🔥 Romantic Spark in the Shadows
Silence fell between them. Tense. Dangerous.
But then… he did something unexpected.
He loosened his tie. Tossed it on the floor. And sat down beside her on the velvet couch — not as a billionaire, not as an enemy — but as a man bearing the same scars she did.
"I didn't want this either," he whispered. "But the curse… it took everything from me. My mother. My soul."
Evelyn's voice cracked. "And you think taking me will fix it?"
Damien turned his face to hers.
"I think marrying you will bind the curse… or kill us both."
Her breath caught. His face was so close now. The tension between them wasn't hatred anymore. It was fire. Pain. A desire forged in tragedy.
Their lips brushed — not a kiss, just a tremble — like a warning before a storm.
---
🌕 Midnight Revelation
The room darkened.
Suddenly, the wind slammed against the windows.
Evelyn jumped. The candles flickered.
And then — a mark began to glow faintly on her collarbone.
A crescent.
Shimmering.
Pulsing.
Damien's eyes widened.
"It's begun."
Evelyn clutched her chest. "What… what is this?"
Damien stood. "The curse is waking. The moon has marked you."
She backed away, trembling. "No. No, this isn't real—"
But then… her phone rang.
She picked it up.
"Miss Hart," the doctor's voice came through, trembling. "Your sister… she just fell into a coma."
His Touch, Her Undoing
The Wolfe estate had always been cold, but tonight it felt haunted.
As Evelyn lay in the king-sized bed in the master suite, her skin buzzed from Damien's earlier touch — like a spark left behind on her soul. She stared at the canopy ceiling, heart pounding as shadows danced from the flickering fireplace.
It wasn't fear she felt.
It was something much worse.
Hope.
Hope that maybe, just maybe, Damien Wolfe wasn't the monster the world painted him to be.
But the moment she closed her eyes, the curse returned.
---
🔥 The Vision
The room melted away.
Fire. Screams. A shadowed man standing in the flames, his eyes bleeding silver.
"You should never have touched him."
Evelyn jolted upright, soaked in sweat. Her heartbeat was thunder in her chest.
"Not again..." she whispered.
She had been having the same nightmare since the day she signed that contract.
But this time, the man in the vision looked like Damien.
No — it was Damien.
---
👣 A Midnight Encounter
Unable to sleep, Evelyn rose from bed and pulled on a robe. Her bare feet padded silently through the velvet-carpeted hallway. The estate was silent — the kind of silence that screamed.
She turned a corner and froze.
Damien was at the far end of the corridor, his shirt half-unbuttoned, the moonlight gilding his sculpted chest and angular face. He hadn't seen her yet. He was looking out the tall glass window, cigarette in hand, expression unreadable.
A scar ran along his side, faint but jagged.
A battle wound?
Before she could retreat, Damien spoke without turning.
"Can't sleep, Mrs. Wolfe?"
His voice was low, sensual. Dangerous.
Evelyn stepped closer. "Neither can you."
He turned to face her, eyes shadowed. "Nightmares?"
Evelyn hesitated, then nodded. "They feel real. Like... memories."
He exhaled slowly. "You're not the only one haunted in this house."
His honesty stunned her.
---
🖤 A Conversation in the Dark
They sat in the library, surrounded by walls of forgotten knowledge. Damien poured whiskey for himself and tea for her. Classical music drifted in from an old gramophone.
"Why did you agree to this marriage?" Evelyn asked quietly.
Damien's jaw flexed. "To protect my legacy. And to find out the truth."
"What truth?"
He looked at her, eyes narrowing. "About your family. And mine. You're not just some girl from nowhere, Evelyn. You're the daughter of the man who destroyed my father."
Evelyn's blood ran cold.
"My father died when I was a baby."
"Convenient." Damien sipped his drink. "Your birth certificate was forged. Your real surname is Ashthorne."
Evelyn dropped her cup. It shattered on the floor.
Ashthorne. The name from the curse. The name from her dreams.
"No. That can't be—"
"It is." Damien leaned forward. "You and I were fated to meet long before this marriage. Our families are bound by blood… and betrayal."
---
❤️ The Kiss That Shouldn't Happen
Evelyn backed away. "You used me."
"I saved you," Damien growled. "From a life in hiding. From the enemies you didn't even know you had."
Her eyes glistened. "Why do I feel like I'm in danger every second I'm with you?"
"Because you are." He moved toward her. "But not from me."
Their breath mingled. Heat radiated between them like wildfire.
"I should hate you," she whispered.
"Then hate me," he said. "But don't lie about what you feel."
She didn't have time to answer — his mouth was on hers.
The kiss was bruising, desperate. Like two storms colliding.
For one terrifying second, Evelyn let herself fall.
And for one blissful heartbeat, Damien caught her.
Then he pulled away.
"Go back to your room," he said, voice rough. "Before I forget what I promised myself."
"What did you promise?"
"That I wouldn't fall for you."
---
⚠️ The Hidden Room
The next morning, Evelyn wandered the west wing — forbidden territory, according to the staff.
But something pulled her there.
The corridor narrowed and darkened. At the end, a locked iron door stood half open.
Inside was a hidden chamber. Books in dead languages, walls covered in strange symbols. And at the center — an altar carved in stone.
A large painting hung above it. She stepped closer.
It was a woman who looked exactly like her — chained, bleeding, with fire in her eyes.
The plaque read:
"The First Bride. Ashthorne's Curse."
Footsteps echoed behind her.
Damien.
"You weren't supposed to see this."
She turned slowly. "What is this place?"
He hesitated. "The truth."
---
🩸 Revelation
Damien walked to the altar, touching the edge like it burned him.
"This curse began centuries ago. A Wolfe betrayed an Ashthorne. She cursed our bloodline — and every generation since has suffered."
He looked at her. "You're the last Ashthorne. And I'm the last Wolfe."
Her breath caught. "Then why did we marry?"
"Because only love between a Wolfe and an Ashthorne can end it."
"And if we don't fall in love?"
"Then you die on the 90th night."
Evelyn staggered back.
"No…"
Damien stepped forward. "I didn't plan to love you, Evelyn. But every second I spend with you... I feel it pulling me in."
"I don't believe in curses."
"Then you better start."
---
🔥 Cliffhanger
Suddenly, the painting above the altar burst into flames.
Evelyn screamed.
Damien grabbed her hand and ran — just as the chamber door slammed shut behind them.
A low whisper echoed from inside:
"The blood has been awakened. The curse is watching."