CHAPTER TWO
1163 Words
Dorian
“People are starting to give you names.” Marcus, my second-in-command said as he walked into my office, holding out a tablet like it was some kind of offering. “They are calling you The Widower.”
I leaned back in my leather chair and lifted an eyebrow. “Are they now?”
“It’s trending,” he added, scrolling through the tab. “Articles, gossip blogs, conspiracy forums… all of them are talking about you.”
I smirked, tapping my finger on the desk. “Good for them.”
Marcus sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Some think you’re cursed after the death of your twelfth bride. Others…” He hesitated for a second. “Others think you’re killing them.”
My laugh came out low and sharp. “Let them think whatever makes their miserable lives interesting.” I said coldly.
“You know the rumors don’t matter to me,” Marcus said gently, “but they matter to everyone else. Especially the people we’re trying to make deals with.”
I waved a hand. “Speaking of deals, what’s happening with the Irish mob? Have they agreed to meet again?”
Marcus’s expression fell immediately. And I knew his response wouldn't be something good. “Dorian… he said he won’t seal any alliance until you marry another wife.”
My brows furrowed.
Then I let out a humorless chuckle. “That’s impossible.”
“I told him that,” Marcus said and I could sense the frustration in his voice. “But he insisted. No wife, no deal.”
“That alliance would broaden my territory by forty percent,” I muttered. “It would give us access to the shipping routes, the ports, the weapons line… everything.”
“I know.” Marcus dropped the tablet on my desk and paced. “But he’s firm. He thinks the deaths of your wives mean you’re unstable. He said he can’t trust his territory to a wifeless man.”
“f**k,” I cursed under my breath. “They’re trying to call off the deal on purpose. They know damn well it’s impossible for me to marry a thirteenth wife.”
Marcus nodded. “Yeah. I mean, no one in their right mind would give you their daughter now. Even if you offered a billion dollars.”
“They’d think I’m walking them into a grave,” I muttered, frustration rising in my chest.
The room fell quiet for a moment. My office felt colder suddenly. Dark wood, black marble floors, tall windows stretching from floor to ceiling. The estate was silent except for the ticking of the old clock in the corner.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “A man without a wife is irresponsible… that’s what he said?”
Marcus nodded again, rubbing his chin.
I exhaled slowly. “Ridiculous.”
There was nothing more to say. I dismissed him with a flick of my hand. “I’ll call you later when I need you.”
Marcus bowed his head slightly and stepped back. “I’ll give you space.”
When the door closed behind him, I rose from my chair and went to the whiskey cabinet. The crystal decanter caught the light as I poured a generous amount into my glass. My reflection glinted in the liquor’s surface. Sharp jawline, cold eyes, and a face people called beautiful, dangerous, or dead inside depending on their perspective.
But they were all correct.
I took a slow sip, letting the burn travel down my throat as I walked towards the window.
The estate grounds stretched out below. The gardens were kept too perfect. The fountains were too silent. The guards patrolled the surroundings discreetly. Everything was designed to look peaceful. But nothing about my life had ever been peaceful.
My father’s face flashed before my eyes. His angry eyes, the sneer he used to give my mother before raising his hand or whatever weapon he has on her.
I remembered that night clearly.
The night he murdered her.
I would never forget her scream as he landed the center table on her head, causing her skull to shatter. Her brain matter became visible.
My blood boiled. Out of anger, I came out behind the sofa I had been hiding. I took the kitchen knife and followed him to his room. He was already washing himself in the bathroom, washing off her blood. I tiptoed behind him, he looked back at me, shock written all over his face.
“What are you doing here, you bastard?!” He yelled. “Seems you want to join your mother! Get out now!”
For the first time, I didn't panic. Instead I brought out the knife. He tried to fight me, but his hands were slippery from the soap.
Seventeen times.
I counted every single one.
I had stabbed him seventeen times.
People said I was cursed. But what they don't know is that the day I killed my father was the last day I ever felt anything. My emotions were dead, buried along with my parents.
Twelve wives. Twelve deaths. All within a year.
The doctors ruled them as natural cases. But I know there's more to it.
I sipped my whiskey again.
After a while, the door opened once more.
Marcus entered, breathless. “I have good news.”
“I doubt that,” I muttered.
“No, really. This one is actually good,” he insisted. “The guards at your casino are complaining about a man named Richard Rowan.”
I frowned. “Rowan?”
“Yes. Apparently he owes the casino two million dollars. And he can’t pay. He came tonight saying he wants to pay using… another method.”
The pieces clicked instantly.
I narrowed my eyes. “A woman?”
Marcus nodded, a smile spreading across his face. “His niece.”
Of course. Disgust crawled up my spine. Men like that always turned to trafficking their own blood the moment desperation sank its claws in.
“He brought photos,” Marcus continued, lifting the tablet.
He turned the screen, but I didn’t bother looking. I didn’t need to. A gambler with no options, offering a woman he should be protecting, it disgusted me, but it also handed me an opportunity on a silver platter.
I waved my hand impatiently. “I accept.”
“You accept?” Marcus asked carefully.
“Yes.” I nodded
He blinked. “You didn’t even look at her.”
“I don’t need to.” I said flatly.
“You’re thinking about the deal with the Irish…”
“Obviously,” I said. “A wife is what they want. A wife is what I’ll give them.”
Marcus hesitated, his face etched with concern. “Dorian… are you sure? After what happened with the others…”
“One more dead wife won’t change anything.” I said, my voice void of emotions.
- Writer
