Frederick Heinrich von Herheid never expected to find a girl dying in the middle of his private hunting grounds. She had no name. No memories. No place to call home. With nothing but pity—and a feeling he couldn't quite explain—he brought the mysterious girl back to Herheid Estate. He planned to give her shelter until she recovered. He never planned to fall in love with her. Arabella was sweet, affectionate, and hopelessly spoiled once she realized how much Frederick indulged her. Every day she tested the limits of his patience, and every night she found new excuses to keep him by her side. "Fritz," she would pout, curling her fingers around his sleeve, "I think I deserve a reward tonight." Frederick would sigh, pretending not to notice the sparkle in her eyes. "Greedy little bird," he would murmur. "One day you must learn restraint." Unfortunately for him, she never did. Then her memories returned. And with them came a horrifying realization. Arabella Sofia Sinclair was the only heiress to the Sinclair Grand Hotels, one of Asia's most powerful luxury empires. And somehow— She was already married to Frederick Heinrich von Herheid. Terrified by everything she couldn't remember and the dangerous feelings she still couldn't resist, Arabella waited until Frederick left on a business trip. Then she ran. A year later, Frederick finally tracks her down in Macau. The missing little bird is back where she belongs—surrounded by wealth, adored by her family, and determined to keep her distance from the man she once trusted with her heart. But Frederick has never accepted defeat. And certainly not when it comes to his wife. When a mysterious European billionaire arrives at the VIP lounge of the Sinclair Casino, Arabella is sent to welcome the guest personally. The moment she sees him, her blood runs cold. A wedding ring gleaming on his finger. And those impossible blue eyes fixed entirely on her. "Good evening, my beautiful wife," Frederick says softly. "I've missed you every day for the past year." His gaze drops to her trembling hands before returning to her face. "And you?" A slow smile curves his lips. "Did you miss Daddy?" ◆ "Sweetheart," Frederick whispers, cornering her beneath the glittering lights of the casino, "you wouldn't want your father to discover that his precious daughter is already married, would you?" "You're insane," Arabella snaps. "I know all the bad things you did! You’re a devil!" His smile only deepens. "Oh?" Frederick reaches for her hand. "Then stop struggling, little bird." "The devil wants to hold you now."

Rain hammered against the stone steps of St. Mary’s Cathedral. Mia Clarke backed away instinctively. One step. Then another. Until the cold stone hit her spine and there was nowhere left to go. The convoy had arrived less than thirty seconds ago. Black SUV. Headlights flooding the churchyard. Men in dark suits moving with military precision. And in the middle of all of it— him. Damien Lancaster stepped out of the car like violence wearing a tailored coat. He was devastatingly beautiful. That was the worst part. His looks weren't safe; his charm wasn't human. He was beautiful the way a loaded gun was beautiful: cold, polished, lethal. The priest tried to shield her. Two men pulled him aside instantly. Damien never even looked at them. His eyes stayed locked on Mia the entire time. She felt a sick twist in her stomach—she realized he was furious. Not a loud fury. Not rage. Something quieter. Something infinitely worse. It was the silence of a decision already made. In that quiet, he had already decided the fate of everyone here. “Mia.” Her name left his mouth softly. Almost gently. It frightened her more than a shout ever could. She turned to run. He caught her before she cleared the last step. One hand clamped around her wrist. The other dragged her hard against his chest. No hesitation. No softness. He smelled like rain, menthol smoke, and expensive whiskey. “Mia,” he repeated near her ear, his voice low enough that only she could hear it, “did you really think you could disappear from me?” She pushed against his chest with everything she had. “Let go of me.” That finally made him smile. Slowly. Beautifully. Wrong. “You vanished for eleven days,” he said quietly. “I stopped sleeping on day three.” The church bells rang overhead. Nobody moved. His men didn't even dare to breathe. Damien lowered his head slightly, forehead nearly touching hers. And in that terrifyingly intimate moment— she understood something too late. This man was not trying to win her back. He already believed she belonged to him. Forever.