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The villain wasn’t meant to be an emperor—nor was he supposed to be handsome. Yet he hates me, and I don’t know why.

Attending the Academy of the Arcane—a school for the supernatural elite to hone their power—I became a rebel, untouchable and unstoppable. My beauty became both a weapon and a curse, a mocking reminder of the life I’d lost.

Among the whispers and wary stares, one figure cut through the chaos: Tharros, the Emperor of Shadows. The supreme ruler of witches, vampires, werewolves, and fae alike. His cold, burning gaze seared through me, heavy with a hatred that felt almost intimate.

"You made me this way," he snarled, his face a living testament to fury and torment. His presence was a storm I couldn’t escape, and his accusations pierced my soul. Yet I had no memory of him—or the crime he swore I committed.

When I denied his claims, his laughter followed me like a curse.

"You don’t remember? Then I’ll make sure you never forget."

Days later, I awoke as his bride—bound to him by a marriage I never agreed to, shackled to his vengeance. Tharros’ darkness envelops me, threatening to consume everything I am.

Now, I must unravel the secrets of his hatred, the truth about my parents’ murder, and the twisted memories he swears I’ve buried.

Because in this deadly game of vengeance and power, the line between hate and something far more dangerous grows thinner with every heartbeat

Bound To The shadowed alpha

Alone once more, Vyr sighed to himself, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. His gaze drifted to the scroll, though his thoughts were elsewhere.

"As long as Nyxoria keeps taking that leaf," he murmured to himself, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes, "she'll never remember that night."

A faint, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips as he returned to his reading

Mary hurried to Nyxoria's chamber, a tray of food balanced carefully in her hands. Reaching the door, she knocked lightly and waited for a response.

"Can't I get some peace?" came Nyxoria's exasperated voice from inside. "First my uncle, and now you."

Mary hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, bowing slightly. "I'm sorry, my queen," she said gently. "You didn't eat before you left, so I brought you your meal."

She placed the tray on Nyxoria's bed, knowing it was where the queen preferred to eat whenever she was in her chambers.

The Nightweaver's Message