Her bridal gown weighed like chains, embroidered phoenixes coiled in gold thread as the guards slammed her onto the marble floor .The door thundered shut–a tomb sealing.
Cold pierced through silk as she trembled against stone. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Before her ,a dark figure stood framed by the moonlit window. Prince Lee Jin silhouette was a blade against the night.
"Lay flat ."
His voice echoed like a coffin dragged over gravel ,thinking she's another spoiled girl to discard.
She stayed frozen, gaze locked on the floor. Her knuckles whitened around crumpled silk. He turned. Crimson light flickered in his pupils.
"Be quick. "
When she didn't move, his hand snapped out–yanking her upright. He shoved her backward onto the bed. Silk whispered beneath her like a dying death. His weight pinned her—a mountain of silk and muscle. She froze, breath trapped like a bird in a fist, as his mouth crashed onto hers.
It wasn't a kiss
It was claiming.
His lips moved with brutal precision—no tenderness, only conquest. She tasted winter mint and something metallic, like licking a blade. When she tried to twist away, he shackled her wrists above her head with one hand, fingers digging into bone.
" Please"
Her whisper frayed against his mouth,
"I beg you"
He didn't stop.His free hand slid down her throat, over the frantic flutter of her pulse, and tore open her bridal robes. Cold air kissed her exposed skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears searing hot paths to the pillows. Then, the shift.Where his touch had been clinical, it turned hungry. A low growl vibrated against her collarbone as he bit—not hard enough to bleed, but enough to brand. His hips settled between her thighs, and she felt him: hard, insistent, inhumanly hot.
This isn't Lee Jin, she realized. The demon had taken the reins.When he entered her, it was with a single, vicious thrust. Pain split her—a white-hot tear—but beneath it bloomed something worse—a dark, seductive heat. As if his demonic blood was weaving a spell in her veins. She gasped, back arching against her will.
He crawled onto her body, the heat of him searing through silk. She froze, breath trapped in her throat—a rabbit beneath a wolf. His hand slid into her hair, yanking her head back as his mouth crashed onto hers.
It wasn't a kiss.
It was conquest.
His tongue forced past her lips, tasting of iron and winter wine. She writhed, nails scraping his chest, but he pinned her wrists above her head with terrifying ease. Silk ripped. Cold air kissed her collarbone as her gown tore.
"Please,"
she begged, the word a shattered whisper against his mouth.
"I beg y—"
He swallowed her plea with another kiss—deeper, slower, almost cruel in its precision. His free hand slid down her side, calloused palms scraping bare skin as he pushed fabric from her shoulders. She felt his heartbeat–a war drum against her ribs.
Then—he stilled.
His lips lingered on her jaw, breath ragged.
"Open your eyes."
When she did, his gaze held hers. Crimson fire burned in his left pupil—but the right was human. Dark. Devastated.
"You tremble like a bird,"
he murmured, thumb tracing the frantic pulse at her throat.
"But your skin..."
He lowered his mouth to her shoulder, biting just shy of pain.
"...tastes like defiance."
She gasped. Not from fear now—from shock.
This touch wasn't rage.
He kissed the hollow beneath her ear.
"Breathe."
His hand slid lower, skimming her hip. Every movement was deliberate. Calculated seduction.
"You think I want a corpse?"
His teeth grazed her earlobe.
"I want you alive when you break."
Then—he claimed her.
Slow. Relentless. A blade sheathed in velvet. She cried out, tears spilling hot and silent. He watched her face as he moved—not with triumph, but hunger. As if memorizing every flinch, every gasp.
"Look at me,"
he commanded, fingers tangling in her hair.
And she did.
In his eyes, she saw it:
The demon—ravenous, possessive.
The man—hollow, almost grieving.
When the end came, it was a snarl against her neck. His body shuddered—not with pleasure, but surrender.
He collapsed beside her, sweat-slicked and silent. The bed smelled of salt, sex, and sorrow.
Hee Joo curled into herself, torn silk clutched to her chest.
He hadn't been cruel.
That was the true violation.
Her body remembered his hands not as weapons—but as worship.
He stood, the bed groaning as his weight lifted. Silk whispered as he pulled on his coat, the fabric swallowing the scent of sweat and salt.
She lay curled like a broken-winged bird, sobs shaking her bare shoulders. Tears carved paths through the drying sweat at her temples. He watched—detached, yet unable to look away—as a droplet fell onto the rumpled sheets.
Then he saw it.
Blood.
Crimson bloomed across ivory silk. Not a smear—a stain. Vivid. Accusatory.
Ice flooded his veins.
Virgin blood.
The truth struck him like a dagger between the ribs:
Her purity wasn't a lie.
His curse hadn't just fed... it had been broken.
For seven brides before her, those sheets had stayed spotless. Seven times, he'd summoned the guards with a bored wave. Seven times, he'd turned his back on their screams.
This changed everything.
The "petty game" of bridal inspections—his father's brutal theater of power—was over. He hadn't just taken a wife.
He'd bound his soul to hers.
His hand trembled as he touched the stain. Warmth lingered. Her warmth.
He covered himself with his coat, signaled the maid to clean the mess—and her—then walked out without a backward glance.
The door clicked shut. On the bed, her muffled sobs were the only answer.