Part 1: The Prince His Monster Could Not Protect

The Prince Forced Her Into a Marriage of Revenge—But When Her Wedding Dress Exposed the Scars on His Bride’s Back, He Remembered His Own Unleashed Beast...

The bride apologized before the groom even touched her.

“Please,” she whispered, standing in the center of the master suite, her back pressed toward the carved wooden bedpost. “I can do it. Just give me one minute.”

Prince Enzo had spent his life surrounded by people who feared him, but this was different. This was a fragile, suffocating terror.

Outside the arched bay window, the winter storm raged, frost thick against the glass panes like ice trying to claw its way inside. The grand estate stood silent, an elegant but cold fortress built of stone and dark secrets. On the wall downstairs hung the heavy, gilded crest of his family—a lineage marked by a dark, ancient curse.

Tonight was supposed to be a marriage of cold calculation and political revenge.

Instead, his new wife was shaking so violently that the delicate lace of her wedding dress seemed to suffocate her.

Harper looked like the picture-perfect noblewoman Enzo had been forced to take as his prize. Perfect pale skin, long wavy blonde hair partially pinned back in an elegant bridal half-updo. A gown of intricate white lace with tiny, delicate pearl buttons running down her spine. The kind of woman who had lived behind iron gates, smiled for royal painters, and pretended her blood was purer than everyone else's.

Her father had betrayed Enzo’s kingdom, breaking treaties and leaving Enzo’s borders bleeding.

So Enzo had gone hunting. He had broken her father's empire, stripped his titles, and backed the old man into a corner. When cornered, the desperate coward had offered the only thing he had left to barter: his daughter.

Enzo had taken her to swallow her family name whole. The wedding had taken place that afternoon inside a private chapel, guarded by armed men. Harper had walked down the aisle, silent under the weight of lace and diamonds.

Enzo had hated her instantly for the frozen calm on her face. He assumed it was arrogance. He assumed she believed marrying a cursed prince was the worst punishment a woman of her class could suffer.

At the reception, her father had leaned in, whispering a final command that drained what little color she had left.

Now, at two in the morning, Enzo had come upstairs to demand her submission.

But Harper was struggling. Her arms were twisted behind her, fingers clawing frantically at the tiny pearl buttons running down her spine. The gown was old-fashioned, stiff, and suffocating.

“Turn around,” Enzo ordered, his deep American accent cutting through the silence, cold and commanding.

Harper shook her head, a breath catching in her throat.

“I can do it,” she whispered, her voice shaky and small.

“You’ve been fighting that dress for twenty minutes.”

“I said I can do it.” Her voice cracked.

Enzo took a slow step closer. His intense, dark eyes locked onto her face, his gaze softening into a sudden flash of sharp suspicion.

“Your father told you something, didn't he?” Enzo asked, his voice lower now, probing. “What did he say to you before he left?”

Harper swallowed hard, her blue-gray eyes red-rimmed and brimming with tears she was desperately trying to suppress. Her chest heaved as she hesitated.

“He told me…” she whispered through a cracked voice, “that this is what I deserve.”

The tension in the room shifted, turning heavy and suffocating. Enzo noticed the controlled panic, the way she made herself look as small as possible.

“You don’t get to play the victim tonight,” Enzo said coldly, trying to hold onto his anger. “Your father gave you to me because he had nothing else left to sell.”

Harper nodded once, a single tear finally escaping. “I know.”

Enzo reached around her shoulder, his hand moving toward the top button of her gown.

Harper panicked completely.

“Don’t!” she gasped, twisting away with such violent, panicked fear that the delicate lace tore open.

A sharp sound split the silence as the back of the wedding dress ripped apart from collar to waist, opening completely.

Harper flinched, curling her shoulders forward in terror. She dropped her head, hands clasped tightly, folding in on herself as she sobbed softly.

“Please… I’m sorry,” she wept, turning her face away from him. “Don’t use the belt.”

Enzo completely froze. The words he had prepared died in his throat. His face turned entirely pale with shock.

Exposed against the white lace of her torn dress were long, angry, deep red scars stretching across her pale skin.

Enzo’s breath caught in his lungs. His hand slowly rose into the air, trembling, hovering over her back but completely paralyzed.

Looking at those jagged marks, a sickening, terrifying wave of realization crashed over him. He knew those scars. He knew the exact shape of those wounds. They weren't from her father's belt.

They were claw marks.

In a flash of horrifying memory, Enzo remembered the night of the blood moon months ago—the night the ancient curse had taken him completely, transforming him into a monstrous, out-of-control beast that tore through the eastern woods. He remembered attacking a silhouette in the dark, a helpless girl who had crossed his path, before his beast fled into the night.

It had been her.

The spoiled princess was gone. What remained on the floor was the innocent girl he had hunted, broken, and scarred in his monstrous rage.

His eyes widened in absolute horror. The deep emotional tension peaked as he stared at the damage he had caused, realizing he had forced a marriage of revenge on the very woman he had already ruined.