Chapter 4 The Weird Wedding

A ripple of confusion passed through the room, and the guests exchanged uneasy glances. Could it be that the bride doesn't know her groom is the mafia boss of Hepham? He rarely attends any events—his own wedding would be no exception. It became evident during the ceremony that the mafia boss seemed indifferent, perhaps even displeased with his new bride. Everyone couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the beautiful girl, her future uncertain and shadowed by the grim reality of her marriage. Clifford stepped forward, his gaze a mixture of guilt and avoidance. “Minerva, the groom has some urgent matters to attend to today, so he won't be able to make it. But don't worry, the pastor will carry on with the ceremony as planned.” Thus, the strange wedding ceremony began. The minister stood before the lone bride, who recited her vows by herself. Afterward, she placed the ring on her own finger. “Does she really not know anything?” The guests began to whisper amongst themselves. Minerva's gentle, compliant manner only deepened the sympathy they felt for her. As they watched, the murmurs turned to hushed criticisms of Hazel, their whispers laced with disapproval. “I heard the bride is the daughter of his ex-wife...” one guest murmured quietly. Hazel's face darkened at the whispers. She had thought she was the one orchestrating this wedding, but Minerva had easily turned the situation on its head, leaving her embarrassed and exposed. It was clear that Hazel had underestimated Minerva. But, she thought to herself, there would be plenty of time in the future to put her in her place—plenty of ways to deal with her. Minerva arrived at Twilight Villa, the infamous residence of the mafia boss of Hepham. A servant led her into a lavishly decorated room, its opulence masked by an eerie stillness. The lights were off, and thick curtains blocked any trace of daylight, leaving the space cloaked in darkness. An unsettling atmosphere lingered in the air as Minerva moved toward the bed. In the dim light, she could just make out the figure of a man sitting on the plush mattress. This was her newly-wedded husband. Minerva had barely reached the edge of the bed when she felt her delicate wrist seized by slender fingers. In an instant, her world spun as she found herself pinned beneath him. Is the mafia boss, known for his sadistic tendencies, about to make his move on me? The thought flashed through her mind, and she cursed inwardly for being caught off guard. Reacting quickly, Minerva bent her knee, aiming to strike at his groin. But the man was faster. With effortless precision, he dodged her attack, bent his knee, and restrained her, leaving her trapped and unable to move. His movements were swift, precise, and coldly efficient. “Let me go! You jerk! Freak!” Minerva struggled fiercely, her body rubbing against his, separated only by a thin layer of fabric. A deep, magnetic voice whispered in her ear, “I never expected my bride to be so nimble.” Minerva froze, recognizing the voice immediately. This voice... It was the man from last night! “Do you remember me? My newlywed wife,” he asked, his tone laced with amusement. The realization hit her like a wave. She remembered the mysterious man from the night before, his cryptic words before he left echoing in her mind. My bride. The man's voice was smooth and captivating, effortlessly drawing her attention. Under the moonlight the previous night, she had also caught a glimpse of his strikingly handsome face. The contrast between his appearance and the dark rumors surrounding him made it hard for Minerva to reconcile the two. At that moment, his slender fingers traced down her jawline, moving with deliberate precision to the buttons of her blouse, unfastening them one by one. Minerva swiftly grabbed his large hand. “I've stopped moving. What are you doing?” His response was calm, almost teasing. “Make some noise. I know you can. You learned how to last night.” At that moment, Minerva heard a faint sound coming from outside the newlywed room. It was a housekeeper, speaking in hushed tones, “Old Mrs. Lemieux, this isn't right, we should go back...” “Hush.” Dorothy Hastings, the man's grandmother, made a silencing gesture, her expression tense. “All I want to know is whether my grandson is pleased with his new bride.” Dorothy was aware of the rumors swirling about and couldn't shake the worry that the bride, upon hearing them, might come to despise her grandson. The rumors, regrettably, were spread by her very own grandson. Zevan, the notorious mafia boss of Hepham, a man who rarely made public appearances, had crafted a fearsome reputation to uphold his image. Minerva considered getting up to investigate the commotion, but Zevan's firm hand on her shoulder held her in place. “Make a sound, quickly,” he ordered. Confused, Minerva glanced up at him. He was nothing like the mafia boss depicted in the rumors. Could he be an imposter? Or are the rumors entirely false? “I don't understand what you're talking about. What's with this strange request? Or is this some kind of fetish of yours?” Minerva eyed Zevan warily, her tone laced with suspicion.