To Each Their Own 2

The Ballroom Hall was decorated in white and pink flowers. A giant crystal chandelier swayed in the center of the room, showering a resplendence of radiance and blue petals on the guests below.

"Damn! Who is the whore lucky enough to marry the Demon Lord? Is she the princess of the Fae?"

"I heard she was pregnant. Knowing his desperation for a child, the Demon Lord might just marry her."

"No, no, you're all wrong. I heard from a palace servant close to my cousin that the Fae Princess miscarried. This woman is a purchased good."

"Purchased good!? Fuck! Who's the slut!?"

Separated in groups of threes and fours, the female guests huddled together. The shrieks of disbelief and venomous denial couldn't be suppressed even under the threatening glares of their mates as they animatedly exchanged gossip.

Seated on bronze chairs a few feet below the wedding dais, the mistresses of the Demon Lord exchanged inscrutable glances and sweet smiles.

"Lady Irene, you've known our master for 200 years. It's unfortunate your sincerity failed to reach him." A voluptuous beauty in a deep cut red dress twirled her hairpin and sighed sympathetically.

Seated on the right side of the dais, another in a royal blue dress crossed her ankles and mildly said, "I don't find it unfortunate. Though thousands long for it, becoming the mistress of the Demon Lord is an honor few have the fortune to receive."

At these words, the atmosphere instantly became strained as expressions stiffened. The women didn't know about the dungeon behind the palace. But with the disappearances of mistresses that complained or commented about their status, they had an inkling that nothing good would come out of talking about the topic.

As such, the instant Lady Irene brought up the topic of being a mistress, none of the ladies dared to comment.

After a brief moment of silence, a soft chuckle from the left broke the awkward atmosphere. "Hehe...that's true. Look at all those women. They're green with envy looking at us."

The mistresses softly chuckled and straightened their postures, seeming proud and regal in their glamorous dresses and dazzling jewelry.

Right at this moment, the spotlight shined at the top of the golden stairs, attracting the attention of the guests to the majestic man with midnight black hair and dark crimson orbs. His black suit hugged his figure, defining his slender yet powerful figure.

Gasps of awe and astonishment rang out in the hall. The female guests audibly swallowed and fanned their faces, some tugging at their dresses to show their cleavage, while others tucked a strand of hair behind their ears in a flirtatious manner.

As the richest and most powerful figure in the Mediterranean Euro Region, the ruthlessness of the Demon Lord was barely mentioned among the females. They turned a deaf ear to his brutality and focused on how large his fortune was.

Some didn't even know what he looked like or how old he was. But that never stopped them for longing for the man.

Now graced with the majesty of a noble man whose appearance surpassed even that of the Werewolf King, Fae King, and Vampire King, they lost their composure and were overwhelmed with the urge to grab his attention.

Iblis frowned and glared at the group of women. A bloody aura reeking of corpses and promising destruction erupted from his figure and swept through the hall, instantly snapping the females back to their senses and drenching their male partners in cold sweat.

The guests subsequently lowered their heads in a servile manner, not daring to look at the demon in the eye.

"Pack of cowardly trash!" Iblis snorted disgustedly and retracted his gaze.

He had long become accustomed to such attention. Normally, he wouldn't even bother to spare a glance to the greedy gazes. However, today was his wedding day, and he wanted no woman but his soon-to-be wife to admire him.

When he first saw her in his hotel two weeks ago, he merely found her scent interesting.

She didn't smell like blood, dog fur, brimstone and ashes, or corpse, as so many women smelt. It was nothing like the stale scent of the hybrids or the greasy smell of the humans.

She smelt fresh, like clean rainwater. Morning dew grass and evergreen plants. Intoxicating like a ripe fruit filled with nectar. And soothing, like the tranquility and serenity spoken of in biblical and holy scriptures.

To put it simply, she smelt like the peace he had been searching for centuries, but failed to grasp due to his blood soaked hands.

He didn't know what made her different, special enough to exude such a scent. But the moment her fragrance entered his nostrils, he knew he had to have her.

As such, he did a background check and discovered she was married to a small fry who owed him money.

Stealing a man's woman, or breaking someone's marriage, wasn't his thing. And because of his status, he never had to resort to such means before. So...he had been unwilling to fight with a measly omega for his woman.

Therefore, he did what he was good at, and threatened the man to pay back his debt within a week if he wanted his life. He never expected the man to take the initiative to sell his wife to him, before he even took action.

This was exactly what he wanted, what he planned to do. Only...he didn't expect for things to proceed so smoothly. Iblis didn't hesitate to draw up a contract of clearing the man's debt in exchange for the woman.

On the night she entered his palace, he hadn't been planning to touch her.

But just like when he first saw her in the hotel, something that had never happened to him before happened again upon seeing her naked body.

His body reacted. His member swelled and twitched, and he felt the desire to touch her burn through his veins.

She was stubborn, with a deep sense of self-esteem he never saw before. She would rather stab herself than sleep with him. In her eyes, he was a demon who considered her a property to be used and trampled upon.

And truthfully?

He did take her lightly at the beginning. Due to years of living around women who only desired his attention, he never considered the fact that she might be different.

So when he visited her, he considered it as a matter of course for her to welcome him with open arms and spread her legs. In his eyes, aside from her enticing scent, she was nothing more than another cunt eager for him to fill.

However, he realized the error of his actions after seeing the drastic step she took.

A woman who could take her life to maintain her dignity would never submit to him or willingly embrace him in her arms. His conjecture was proven true when she said the phrase 'death before dishonor' in his dungeon.

A woman like her wouldn't welcome him without an honorable bond between them. So he did the only thing he knew that would get him what he wanted.

Marriage.

By marrying her, she would no longer be his property, whore, prostitute, and all the other words she used to describe herself, but his lawfully wedded wife.

When she became his wife, she wouldn't push him away.

To be honest, he did feel a teeny tinny bit of respect for her after their short exchange, but not to the extent he told her in the cell. To him, women had always been lowly creatures who could stoop to any level to achieve their aim, even if it meant selling themselves.

But she was different, so he was willing to go through the hassle of performing this ceremony with her. And with her special scent, he was certain she wasn't a hybrid of vampire and wolf, witch and fae, fairy and human, or any of the other living creatures walking this earth.

Probably the only one of her kind, and the last of her race, he hadn't slept with a woman that carried her scent. So after they consummated their marriage, the chances of him getting an heir from her were higher.

In the eyes of others, even with the identity of his second wife, she was just another addition to his harem. Only he knew what she meant to him.