The Don Who Ruined Me Now Owns Me

Mari's POV

“Is Beyhan here already?” I asked, taking the chauffeur’s hand and stepping out of the car.

My phone buzzed again—another picture from my sister. Davina, my daughter, grinning in a cherry-red dress. Happy married life, the caption read.

A flutter rose in my chest—hope or dread, I couldn’t tell. I slipped the phone into my purse before my nerves could climb any higher. I couldn’t think about her now. Not when I was supposed to be getting married.

A cold breeze swept across the marble courthouse steps, making the entrance feel larger and lonelier than it should.

No Damian.

He’d promised to walk me in. And if there was one man who had never been late to anything, it was Damian—the closest thing I’d ever had to a father. Steady. Observant. Impossible to shake. His absence pressed against my ribs like a quiet warning.

“He’s inside waiting,” the chauffeur said smoothly. “Right this way.”

“And Damian? He’s supposed to be one of the witnesses.”

A brief hesitation, then a polite, empty smile. “I’m… not aware, ma’am. He may already be in the hall.”

Inside, the courthouse felt like a maze—beautiful, old, overwhelmingly quiet. Every hallway we passed was dark, every office door locked, as if someone had swept the building clean just minutes before I arrived.

And all I could think was: Where the hell is Damian?

The man guiding me pushed open a heavy iron door and gestured inside.

The hall was vast and still. Sunlight spilled through arched windows, stretching across black-and-white tiles that echoed with every step. At first, it seemed empty—until I noticed the silhouette at the far end. Broad-shouldered. Tall. Taller than Beyhan ever was.

A prickle crept up my neck.

It had to be Beyhan. Who else would be waiting for me?

I tried to steady my breathing as I stepped onto the dais, my dress whispering at my calves.

“Beyhan?” I called softly.

No response.

“Beyhan?”

When the man finally turned, warmth drained from my body.

It wasn’t Beyhan.

It was Ramiel Valcanti—the man who had ruined five years of my life in a single night.

My first instinct was to grab my phone—to check Davina—which felt irrational. She was with my sister. She was fine.

And the soft, knowing smile on his face was the same one that had once turned my life to ash—and smiled through the smoke.

He walked toward me with that same infuriating calm—unhurried, certain, as if the room rearranged itself around him.

“Hello, Kamaria.”

He said my name like it was a secret he had been waiting to reopen.

My breath stumbled. Of course he noticed.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured—like he was speaking to my skin, not my ears.

He had no right. Not after what he did. Not after how long it had taken to stop wanting him.

And yet he stood here—in the exact spot where Beyhan should be.

“What the hell is going on?” My voice cracked with heat and panic. “How are you even—what—I don’t understand…”

My gaze swept the hall for anyone—a clerk, a witness, anyone—but there was no one.

“Your fiancé is… indisposed,” he said, his smile slow and unbearably assured. “But don’t worry. You’re still getting married today.”

“Excuse me?” I bit out. “To whom, exactly? Because my groom isn’t here.”

He lifted his arms slightly—an invitation disguised as a threat, or a threat disguised as an invitation.

“Do you see anyone else, Mari?”

“You think we’re getting married?” I managed, though my voice wasn’t as steady as I wanted.

“You understand.”

I whipped around, not caring that my skirt snapped against my legs. “Where is Beyhan?”

“I told you—he’s indisposed.”

“Then where is Damian?” My voice cut sharper than I meant it to. “He’s supposed to be here.”

“Damian?” He tilted his head, all mock innocence. “And who the hell is that?”

“My agent,” I hissed. “The one who’s supposed to keep me safe from assholes like you. Actually—just you, specifically.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “He’s unavailable.”

“You’d better not have hurt him.”

“Which one?” An entertained smirk slid across his face. “Beyhan or Damian?”

“Both! What did you do with them?”

“Nothing you need to worry about right now,” he said smoothly. “Your attention should be here—it’s your big day, after all.”

I stepped toward him before my brain caught up, anger dragging my body forward. My hands were curled in fists, and somehow, he looked amused.

“There is no way in hell I’m getting married without my fiancé,” I ground out. “So tell me. Where is my fiancé?”

“Detained,” he said with infuriating calm. “I’ll give you the details later. For now, we’re on a schedule.”

He stepped off the dais, the air shifting with him. His jaw tightens—not with anger, but something far more controlled, like he’s fighting the urge to be gentler than the situation allows.

And before I could move, his hand closed around my wrist and dragged me forward. Shock pinned me in place for three steps before instinct kicked in and I ripped away.

“Don’t touch me!”

He released me, but the momentum sent me stumbling. I caught myself on the desk with a sharp slap of my palm, hair spilling into my eyes as I glared up at him.

“You’re an asshole.”

“We have a lifetime for that.” A smirk tugged at his mouth. “For now, you need to sign.”

My gaze dropped to the desk. To the wedding papers waiting like an execution order.

“You can’t be serious,” I whispered.

“And yet,” he murmured, “here we are.”

“You can’t make me marry you.”

“The law doesn’t matter,” he murmured. “My world does.”

He picked up a golden pen, signed his name with a fluid confidence that made my stomach twist, and held it toward me.

“Your turn.”

“You’re insane.”

“Sign.”

I didn’t answer. I grabbed the pen and hurled it across the room. It sailed, clattered, skidded, spun, while I’m breathing hard, adrenaline burning through me. Then—the worst thing happened.

I remembered his mouth on my throat. Hate wasn’t the only thing clawing at me anymore. Beneath the fire, buried deep and unwelcome, was the memory of that night—his breath at my skin, the way my name had slipped off his tongue like a prayer, the wildfire he’d lit that had never fully gone out.

And I wanted to scream just to silence the part of me that still reacted to him.

A shadow filled the doorway. A man retrieved the pen and handed it to me with quiet deliberation.

“Listen, Kamaria,” he said softly. “Don’t make this worse for yourself. Please.”

I froze. He knew my name.

He must have seen the confusion flicker across my face, because he lifted his hands, almost in a placating gesture.

“Hael,” he clarified. “Ramiel’s brother. Nice to meet you, too.”

I stared at him—really stared. The same clean jawline. The same carved-from-stone composure. The same quiet arrogance that said: we don’t lose.

My gaze snapped to the devil waiting at the altar.

“You think this is normal?”

“For us?” Hael’s mouth lifts faintly. “This is civilized.”

“Your brother destroyed my life,” I spat. “Now when I’m finally rebuilding, he walks in like some nightmare I forgot to kill.”

“Kamaria—” Hael began.

“Enough!” Ramiel’s voice cracked through the room. It wasn’t the voice I remembered. This one was colder, stripped of restraint—the part he never showed me.

“This is not up for discussion,” he growled. “If you don’t sign, I will make you.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to make me.”

And that was when he moved.

He crossed the distance in three long strides. By the time I turned, he was already behind me. One arm jerked my arm behind my back, the other clamped around my wrist like steel.

“Let me go!” I screamed, thrashing, kicking, fighting with every ounce of strength in me.

It didn’t matter.

He slammed my hand onto the desk. The pen clicked. Before I could recoil, he wrapped my fingers around it and dragged my hand across the page—forcing the ink, forcing my name, forcing my future.

My signature spilled across the paper in strokes that weren’t mine.

And then he released me.

I staggered back, breath crushed out of my lungs, dress slipping off one shoulder. The room spun as rage flooded up so hot and feral it felt like it might rip me open.

And still, he looked at me like I was something holy.

I bolted.

Two steps from the door, I slammed into Hael’s chest and bounced off like I’d hit a wall. He didn’t even flinch.

“Get away from me,” I snarled from the floor.

“Believe me, I’d be anywhere else if I could,” Hael sigh was a tired one. “But here we are. So, congratulations… Mrs. Valcanti.”

"Hell," Ramiel whispered from behind me. "this is going to be fun."