Chapter 1Scarlet Tears at Eighteen

The blood feud between the Monroe family and the Norton family had raged for generations.

My father was killed by a conspiracy orchestrated by the Monroes, and Peter Monroe's father was murdered by my uncle.

We were born into a legacy of violence. Our families were sworn, mortal enemies.

But absolutely no one knew that for the past eight years, Peter and I had been secret lovers in this very cabin.

When we were intimate, he would wrap his hands around my throat and squeeze tight.

I would bite down hard on his shoulder.

We wouldn't stop until the heavy, metallic taste of blood filled our mouths.

He would lean in close to my ear and aggressively whisper that he truly wanted to kill me.

I would whisper back that we should just die together. That even if we went to hell, we wouldn't let each other go.

I used to be incredibly naive. I actually believed that our love could wash away the hatred, that it could conquer the impossible circumstances of our reality.

But today, everything changed.

Peter walked into our cabin with his arm wrapped tightly around a strange girl.

He looked me dead in the eye and introduced her as Chloe.

And then he told me that she was his future wife.

...

I paused my hand mid-stroke as I cleaned my handgun. I didn't stand up.

Peter guided the girl to the sofa directly across from me and sat down.

The girl kept her hands tightly clenched around the cuff of his suit jacket.

Her wrists were incredibly thin, pale, and delicate. Completely soft.

A stark contrast to my own hands, which were covered in callouses and old, jagged scars.

I looked up. Click. I flicked the safety back on and set the heavy black pistol onto the coffee table.

"Peter. Did you ask my permission before bringing trash into my house?"

Chloe's face instantly went chalk white. She shrank back, pressing herself deep into Peter's chest.

Her voice trembled, sounding incredibly pitiful and wronged.

"Peter, let's just go. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have insisted on coming..."

"What are you afraid of?"

Peter looked down at her. His eyes held a terrifyingly soft warmth that I had never seen in our eight years together.

But when he looked back up at me, that warmth instantly shattered into razor-sharp ice.

"I own half this property. If you can sit here, so can she."

He reached out, gently pinching the girl's chin, and tilted her head up.

Right in front of my face, he kissed her.

Chloe offered a weak, symbolic push against his chest before completely giving in.

As she closed her eyes, I caught the smug, victorious glance she shot me from the corner of her eye.

I sat perfectly still, my fingers crushing the gun-cleaning cloth in my lap.

The slick, dark gun oil seeped through the fabric and coated my skin, making my stomach churn with disgust.

When they finally broke the kiss, Peter gently wiped the corner of Chloe's mouth with his thumb.

"Chloe is clean. She's gentle. She's never had blood on her hands, and she hasn't taken any lives. Not like you. You reek of violence. You look like a vengeful ghost."

"Aria, a man doesn't want a partner who swings a machete next to him in a turf war. A man wants a woman who can speak softly, who acts cute, and who can stay safely at home."

"And that is something you will never be able to learn."

"Is that right?"

I laughed. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, staring him down across the coffee table.

"Eight years. It took you eight years to figure out what kind of person I am?"

"I knew from the start."

Peter's Adam's apple bobbed. His gaze drifted back down to Chloe.

"I was just blind before. But now, I finally understand what I actually want."

He stood up, wrapping his arm around Chloe to guide her out.

As they walked past my chair, her sharp stiletto heel deliberately stepped on the gun cloth I had dropped on the floor, grinding it viciously into the hardwood.

The absolute second the front door clicked shut, I stood up and violently kicked the coffee table.

It flipped through the air and crashed. The whiskey bottle, the crystal glasses, everything shattered into a million jagged pieces.

For the next two weeks, Chloe's presence became a suffocating shadow over my life.

She showed up at the exclusive club where I was hosting a major business negotiation.

She "accidentally" bumped into me while holding a glass of red wine.

The dark liquid soaked my silk blouse. Before I could even react, her eyes welled up with tears and she threw herself into Peter's arms.

I was furious and tried to confront her.

But Peter stepped in, shielding her behind his back in front of all my business partners.

He stared me down, his face a mask of absolute coldness, and delivered a ruthless threat.

"Aria, if you touch a single hair on her head, I will personally destroy your primary supply line."

I looked at him, smiled coldly, and didn't say a single word.

The very next day, he made good on his threat. He brought his men and intercepted my shipment.

Three tons of product. He didn't leave me a single scrap.

She printed out dozens of intimate photos of her and Peter and mailed them to every single department in my corporation.

She sent me text messages in the middle of the night, attaching pictures of Peter sleeping next to her.

The background of the photos was the silk sheets we had picked out together. The lighting was from the Nordic chandelier we had installed together.

I never replied. I just ordered my men to dig up every single detail of her past.