The northern sky hung heavy with the promise of snow on the day Lady Tania Ravencourt became a possession.
They called it a wedding, a solemn union under the watchful eyes of the High Priest, of the families, of the vassals. Yet, Tania knew the truth that festered beneath the surface of the ceremony that it was nothing more than a… transaction.
Yes.
A cold transfer of ownership from one monstrous hand to another.
Her father, the Marquess, a man whose cruelty was as ingrained as the lines on his aged face, had passed her to the infamous Duke of the North, Trevor Helion.
Trevor, whose hatred was a palpable presence… toward none other than Tania, herself.
Trevor, the very man whose lover she had meticulously, deliberately ruined.
Trevor, who now stood as her future husband, bound to her by vows steeped in malice and a shared history of destruction.
**
The heavy oak doors of the chapel groaned shut behind her, their hollow boom echoing like a pronouncement of doom. Each step she took down the long aisle reverberated through the silent hall, a drumbeat marking her inevitable approach to the altar. Tania's gaze remained unwavering, her eyes fixed forward, betraying no hint of the storm raging within. Her gown, a scandalous wedding dress, clung to her form like a second skin, cut daringly low, revealing the curve of her collarbones. Because she thought… If I were to be paraded like chattel, I would at least wear my humiliation like a defiant crown.
Trevor Helion waited at the end of the aisle, a formidable figure carved from the very essence of winter. His black cloak, lined with the thick, silver fur of a northern wolf, seemed to absorb the dim light of the chapel, making him appear even more imposing. As Tania drew closer, his gloved hands flexed almost imperceptibly, a predatory gesture that spoke of imagined bruises and unspoken threats. He offered no hand to guide her, no gesture of welcome.
As expected, Tania thought.
Their vows were not pledges of love or fidelity, but sharp, cutting weapons exchanged under the guise of sacred ritual. Tania's voice—when she spoke, was a low, silken whisper, like a velvet-tipped blade. Trevor's responses were spat through gritted teeth, laced with an audible contempt that rippled through the hushed congregation. When the priest asked the Duke to seal their union with a kiss, Trevor did not merely kiss her.
He devoured her.
He seized her waist with a brutal grip, yanking her against his unyielding form, and his mouth crashed down upon hers with a violent force that stole her breath. Teeth met teeth in a punishing collision. When Tania gasped, a sharp intake of air born of shock, his tongue plunged inside, a furious invasion, as if he despised the taste of her, but yet… craved it all the same.
A collective shiver seemed to pass through the assembled nobles. Eyes darted away, unwilling to witness the raw, visceral display of animosity. None dared speak.
When he finally pulled back, Tania's knees trembled beneath her. Her lips, swollen and wet, bore the scarlet imprint of his brutal kiss.
"I will make you live in regret," he hissed with a chilling rasp against her mouth.
Tania's tongue traced the tender curve of her bruised lips at that. "I did not have a choice in marrying you, either," she whispered, her voice laced with a defiant challenge.
A humorless smirk then twisted his lips, a fleeting shadow of triumph.
**
By nightfall, she was unceremoniously deposited in the ducal bedchamber, like a sacrificial lamb brought to the altar.
The suite was immense, a lavish expanse of gilded mirrors, heavy velvet curtains, and a bed so vast it seemed designed for a multitude of sins to unfold within its luxurious confines. A roaring fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering gold across the wolf pelts strewn over the polished stone floors.
Trevor slammed the door behind him, the resounding thud echoing the finality of her imprisonment. He uttered no words, his silence more unnerving than any threat. His gaze, dark and unblinking, remained fixed on her as he unbuckled his sword belt with precise, jerking movements, like a predator preparing for the hunt.
Tania met his gaze, her chin held high. Slowly, she began to shed her wedding gown. The silk puddled at her feet, revealing the soft, pale expanse of her skin. She wore nothing beneath. His eyes darkened further, his jaw clenched, but he remained still… a statue of barely contained fury.
"Nothing to say, Your Grace?" she voiced out a seductive rasp as she advanced towards him, her bare feet gliding over the cold stone. "Not even a warning?"
"You want warnings?" he growled, his voice thick with a primal heat that resonated through the opulent chamber. "You will be screaming them… Tania."
He closed the distance between them in a single, swift motion. One hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back with a sharp tug, while the other gripped her bare hip, pressing hard enough to bruise. He dragged her against his body and slammed her against the cold stone wall. A sharp gasp escaped her lips.
"You ruined Miriam's life," he snarled, burying his face in the sensitive curve of her neck, his teeth biting down hard enough to draw a gasp. "You tore her apart!"
"I did," she moaned, arching into his touch, a strange, dark pleasure blooming within her. "And now… you are going to fuck me for it."
Without preamble, Trevor shoved two fingers inside her, a brutal, sudden invasion. Tania cried out, her body arching into him, an involuntary response. He curled his fingers, cruel and purposeful, watching her writhe against the wall like a harlot in the throes of unholy ecstasy. His mouth followed, biting at her collarbone, her breasts, tasting the salt of her sweat on her skin.
"Already dripping," he sneered, his voice laced with contempt. "You get off on being hated, do you not?"
Her hands, trembling, reached for his belt, her voice breathless with arousal. "More action, less talking."
He lifted her effortlessly then, as if her words had triggered him, pinning her to the wall with his body. There was no slow build-up, no tender caress, no whisper of desire. Only raw, punishing thrusts that left her gasping, her nails digging into the hard planes of his shoulders as her head thudded rhythmically against the stone. Her moans, uninhibited and raw, echoed in the chamber. He filled her deep and rough, his pace relentless, grinding harder with every desperate cry of his name.
"Trevor, fuck!"
He shoved deeper still, a primal grunt tearing from his throat. Her legs began to tremble violently, threatening to give way. She felt herself teetering on the precipice of release, on the verge of shattering into a million pieces. Still, he did not stop.
He took her on the bed next, a tempest of tangled limbs and desperate cries.
On her knees, on her back, bent over the carved bedpost while he watched her reflection in the gilded mirror, her face a mask of exquisite torment and burgeoning ecstasy. When her climax finally broke over her, it was with a scream that tore through the silent night. When he followed, a guttural roar erupting from his chest, before he bit her shoulder hard enough...
**
Much later, as Tania lay on the vast bed with bruised and slick with his essence, Trevor sat at the edge, shirtless and breathing heavily, his back to her. The only sound in the room was the crackle of the dying fire.
"You think you have won, now that you married me?" his voice hoarse, devoid of inflection.
"Despise me all you want," she whispered. "As I've said, I had no say in this arrangement either."
"…But?"
A secret smile playing on her lips. "But I'll play house with you, Your Grace."
With that, something cracked inside him.
SEVERAL DAYS LATER
Trevor Helion did not sleep. He could not. It was not the stacked reports awaiting his attention on his desk, nor the relentless snowstorm howling against the northern towers of his keep that kept him awake. It was the woman still in his bed.
Duchess Tania. His wife.
The woman who had systematically dismantled everything he once held dear… Miriam's reputation, her peace, her dreams.
The woman who wore villainy like the most exquisite perfume, and whose lips curved into a cruel, knowing smile whenever he spat his hatred. And now, her breath, soft and rhythmic, caressed his shoulder. Her bare thigh was draped across his hip, as if they had shared something tender, something intimate.
They had not.
He had taken her.
Brutally.
Repeatedly.
And she had begged for more. He had given it to her, like a curse, delivered with the full weight of his contempt.
Trevor exhaled slowly through gritted teeth and looked down at her. Her skin was bruised in places where his mouth had marked her. Her lips, swollen from his punishing kisses. Her thighs still slick, sticky with the undeniable evidence of his raw, unbridled scorn.
But it was no longer contempt, was it?
It was something else entirely. It was a gnawing, insatiable need.
**
The very next night, he did not wait. He had not spoken to her during the day, barely even glancing in her direction across the frigid dinner table. But once darkness descended upon the keep, he hunted her, like a beast drawn by an irresistible scent.
Tania was in the drawing room, sprawled languidly on a velvet chaise, engrossed in a book. She wore nothing but a sheer lace dressing robe, a gossamer veil that left nothing to the imagination. It was as if she deliberately sought to push him past the breaking point.
"I was wondering," her voice a venomous silk, without even glancing up from her pages, "how long it would take before you stopped pretending you did not want me again."
He offered no reply. He simply strode across the room, seized her by the throat with one hand, and crushed his mouth to hers, a kiss so violent it promised to leave a bruise. The book slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud. A slow, knowing smirk spread across her lips beneath his.
They did not make it to the bed this time. He bent her over the chaise, hiking up the sheer lace of her robe, spreading her legs wide. There were no words, only a low growl tearing from his throat as he slid into her again, hot and unrelenting.
Tania moaned shamelessly, a guttural sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
"You hate me, Trevor." She gasped, her voice ragged, her fingers digging into the velvet armrest of the chaise.
"Yes," he snarled against the back of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. "And I am going to make you feel every damn reason why."
His hips snapped forward, faster, rougher, a relentless rhythm that rocked her world. Her body arched, begging without shame, her cries echoing across the high ceilings of the salon. He pulled out, flipped her over, spread her thighs wide, and entered her again with a harsh grunt, watching her shudder as he slammed into her deeper than before. But her eyes, those dangerous, glinting orbs, never left his. It was as if she held a secret, a profound knowledge he lacked. As if he, not she, was the one losing control.
**
Afterward, he did not leave. He should have… but he didn't.
What he did instead was to lay beside her, shirtless and breathless, watching the firelight dance across her flushed skin. The air was thick with the scent of their shared transgression.
"It's rather funny you keep saying how much you hated me yet you fucked me like that," she fixed herself and dressed up.
"I want to break you."
"Hah!" She caress her long hair, slow and taunting. "You can't break something that's already broken, Your Grace."
He seized her wrist, his grip hard, almost painful. "Do not flatter yourself. You think I'd pity you because of how your father had raised you?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, I rather am. So you did pry on my perfect life after all, huh?"
He rolled over her again, a fresh wave of fury surging through him, only to freeze as her nails dug into his back. It was then, in that precise moment, that the realization struck him with the force of a physical blow.
She was not the one being ruined.
He was.
**
Later that week, he almost killed a stableboy.
The boy had brought Lady Tania's horse around late, an innocent act that ignited a firestorm within Trevor. She stood in the falling snow, flushed and laughing, wrapped in a thick fur cloak, her beauty stark against the white landscape. The boy, in a gesture of courtesy, dared to touch her hand to help her mount.
Trevor saw red.
By the time the stableboy's body slammed against the rough stone wall of the stables, Tania was already at Trevor's side, her hand pressing against his chest, a delicate barrier against his rage.
"You will crush his spine, husband," she murmured sweetly, her voice a low warning.
"Do not let other men touch you," he snarled, his voice a guttural growl.
Her smile was wicked, "Why? Do you care?"
He kissed her then, in front of everyone, hard and possessive, a brutal claiming witnessed by the gaping stable hands. It was as if he needed to remind the world, and more importantly, himself, that she was his.
His villainess. His poison. His obsession.
He was slowly losing himself, piece by agonizing piece.