Chapter 1

Ares

Present day,

Business before women.

That’s the ultimate rule to follow if you want to lead without holding yourself back with fucking feelings and distractions. They’re all the same anyway: pretty smiles, sweet words, and lies wrapped up in silk.

Whatever she tells you, however she acts, keep her away at any cost.

People stand at the sound of the organ. The room is packed with my men and her clan. Too many fucking people I can’t stand in the same room, ready to light up like a match in a pool of gasoline. The two large doors open, and I cross my inked hands behind my back, the suit tightening with my muscles underneath. A silhouette walks to me as the music fills the room and murmurs disappear into white noise pumping in my ears with each step she takes toward me.

She’s a payment.

A chess piece.

A woman I’m collecting just to quench my curiosity.

With her father, O’brian, by her side, she stands next to me with long hair the color of fire, a mouth fuller than I had ever seen, white silky fabric falling on her body, giving nothing to the imagination. And a waist the width of my hand.

I fucking forgot how to breathe for a sec.

Her father gives me her hand, and I try to ignore the jolt of electricity coursing through me at the touch of her creamy skin. Locking my eyes with hers, I find nothing but pure anger in them. A sight I’m all used to seeing by years of being the head of the Raven Sons. Letting his daughter go without a damn word to her, we both turn to the Priest, and I can’t even fucking remember what he said ‘cause I’m too damn focused on the woman standing next to me. Her scent hits me with spice and cinnamon, unusually warm and addictive.

The Priest shifts to me, nodding slowly. That’s my cue. I grab her wrist, forcing her to face me, careful not to take her hand because this isn’t fucking sweet or real. Looking at her endless lashes from above her, I repeat the words after him, trying as hard as I can to remind myself that those words aren’t true.

“I, Ares Jake Malone, take you, Mia Elisabeth O’brian, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.” My voice is low and raspy as I look at her, her heartbeat quickening under my fingers.

“I, Mia Elisabeth O’brian, take you…” My jaw clenches at the sound of her voice, deep and sultry. It has a distinctive, almost raspy quality. Her tone is smooth, confident, and for some reason I like knowing how pissed she is. “Ares Jake Malone, to be my husband.” Her face turns a light shade of blush when she ends the vows that are supposed to bind us for eternity.

The Priest clears his throat and murmurs to me, “The rings, sir.” I don’t let her put mine on my finger and just do it myself; no time for this lovebird bullshit. Then I take her wrist again, feeling a bit of resistance, and slowly put the emerald ring I had made for her on her ring finger. She’s staring at it, looking at the massive rock I chose for everyone to know who she belongs to.

Arranged marriage or not. A wife needs a ring.

“You may now kiss the bride,” The Priest declares, way too fucking cheerful for my taste. The silence around us is heavy; everybody knows why we're here and that there’s nothing genuine about her and I standing here spilling love vows to each other when it’s the first time we’ve met.

I could have refused her as payment, and still, I agreed to the deal.

Cracking my neck on both sides, I clench my jaw from wanting to indulge in her and push her away at the same time. I could skip that part, probably, but I’m intrigued by the small, fiery creature in front of me. This girl holds herself like a queen, not something I’m used to seeing around. That’s rare. Her wrist still in my hand, I pull her closer to me, smelling her like a lion would smell its prey before deciding if it’s ready to be captured. Her honey-brown eyes drift from my eyes to my lips, her chest heaving under the silk. She’s not backing down, and neither am I.

One damn kiss won’t change anything.

I crush my lips on her for a few seconds, our eyes staying locked and angry the whole time. When I let her go, she steps back, panting while the cheers and whistles of my brothers echo in the chapel. My gaze stays on her, giving her my hand to walk out of here. She clenches her jaw before putting her wrist in it, avoiding our hands touching like newlyweds would. Rice and flower petals hit us as we get out of the church. Once the photographer took enough pictures of us with our stern faces, I walk toward my bike parked in front of the church.

“I’m not getting on this,” a soft, sultry voice states behind my back, her beige high heels hitting the ground behind me. Turning to her, I lean on my black Harley, gawking at her silhouette.

"Yes, you are," I order, putting on my helmet before straddling my ride and tilting my head toward her. She huffs, her eyes flashing with that fiery defiance that made me forget how to breathe just minutes ago.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. I let out a low chuckle, the sound almost lost in the rumble of the bike. She glares at me for a moment longer, then reluctantly lifts her dress, revealing those long, smooth legs that would make any man fall on their knees. Putting on the helmet I've let on the backseat, she mutters something else resembling cursing. Swinging a leg across the bike and settling behind me, her body tenses. Looks like the little Irish Mafia Princess isn't used to the MC club way of life. She'll have a lot to learn.

“Hold on,” I say, sensing the stiffness of her body. She awkwardly places her hands on my sides, barely touching me. I rev the engine, the powerful roar echoing through the parking lot.

“I said, hold on,” I repeat, more firmly this time. “Or you’ll fall off, and I ain’t stopping to pick you up.” I’m an asshole, I know, but I gotta be careful. The last woman who sat on this bike took my hopes and crushed them until I didn’t even know my own name. Getting her as payment was smart to assert power over the other motorcycle clubs of the country. It made O’brian seem weak, giving me his little girl to fix his mistakes. It settled his debts, gave me a way to secure my line, and perpetuated the legacy my father had started.

With a frustrated sigh, she wraps her arms around my waist, her grip tight and wary. I can feel her body pressed against mine, the warmth of her touch cutting through the tension. We take off, the bike roaring down the road, leaving the church and the staring crowd behind. Her breath is warm against my back, each exhale syncing with the rumble of the bike. After a while, we finally reach the outskirts of the city, the familiar sight of my house coming into view.

Well, technically ours now.

The massive structure looms ahead. A huge wood cabin, made of pins and metal from building it with my own hands. It took me years to forge it until it finally was done. Figured I couldn’t live in my father’s house when he passed away so I made my own, deep into the forest, away from our enemies and prying eyes. This house was the result of blood and sweat and my chest always rose a bit taller each time I saw it.

I slow down, pulling into the driveway and coming to a stop in front of the garage. She releases her hold on me as if I had burned her, sliding off the bike with as much grace as she can muster in that dress. I watch her, the defiance still burning in her eyes, mixed with a hint of something else as she’s taking in her new home—curiosity, maybe? I had seen her house, big, fancy, over-the-top new money crap.

Would she like it there?

Why did it matter if she didn't?

I dismount and lead her toward the house, the gravel crunching under our feet. If she struggles to walk on the stones with her heels, she doesn’t show it: chin up, hands slightly trembling.

"Maria will show you around, your stuff has been brought this morning," I say blankly, opening the front door and nodding for her to enter. I never needed staff, but those folks used to work for my father, and there was no way I'd leave them without a job so I took them in. One cook. One housekeeper. It wasn't too bad actually, it made the house feel less empty when I got home after a long day. And it was convenient to have everything always ready, made it easier for me to focus on the club and spend less time managing the house. I know it's not in the typical MC club way of life to have staff but I had found this balance and it worked well for me. Other than that, my house was simple but sleek, robust and warm. Wood and metal were everywhere, furniture I had made myself when I took some time to do something else than work, which didn't happen often. I had enough money to buy myself a mansion but I couldn't care less. My house was a reflection of me and I was old enough to know there was no point trying to fool folks into portraying myself as a sophisticated man. I was rough and strong, and so was my home.

Despite being rustic, it had all the appliances needed for comfort, and even if it had nothing to do with her home in Chicago, she wouldn't lack anything here. I had made sure of that.

She steps inside, her eyes scanning the vast interior. “Okay” she says, entering the pin hallway like she owns the place. A large mirror stands on her left, the wood frame matching the tone of the rest of the house. Pictures of my brothers were displayed on the opposite wall, adding character to the house.

“Guests will be there in an hour for dinner. I want you in the living room before they arrive to welcome them,” I say, removing my jacket. The house only had one floor above with four bedrooms. I thought they'd be full with kids by that time but there were just empty rooms waiting to be filled.

One day, maybe…

“Is it how it's gonna be now? You ordering me around like a domestic?” She rests a hand on her hip.

“My house, my rules. You follow them or you get out,” I say in a harsher tone than I should have taken.

Fuck, it’s going well already.

I choose to take her in. I wanted to. I still do. But fuck, the past keeps hitting me back as I watch a new women step in my house and I guess I don’t know how to act since my last experience left me in pieces.

Perhaps she’ll be different.

Maria is waiting next to the stairs, her apron clean and her usual warm smile on her face.

“Could you show her around?” I ask her without consulting Mia. Not that there's a lot to show compare to the size of her house but still, it's good for her to know her new home.

“Of course sir. Welcome to your new home, Mrs Malone. I’m Maria, the housekeeper. Feel free to ask me anything you need.” She hesitates, but in front of the genuine smile of Maria, she turns to head up the stairs, her dress trailing behind her. I watch her go, heading to my office, clenching my fist hard.

I hope she’ll like the house. I hope she’ll love all the changes I made for her. And I hope she’ll see behind the fucking fortress, that I’m just a twisted and dark man looking for a match as wild as me.

Mia

What an asshole .

Ordering me around like a child. God, I hate entitled, self-absorbed men.

I mount the steps to the first floor, followed by Maria, who at least seems genuinely nice, which makes me wonder why the hell she would work for that man. After showing me three large bedrooms with adjacent bathrooms with high-end finishes and, well, it pains me to say it, but decorated with taste—she leads me to a large mahogany door. The house is nothing like I was expecting. It looks like a cabin where you sleep after a day of skiing. Despite being different from my fancy house in Chicago, it's cozy, warm. The wood makes everything look…inviting.

“This is yours. Your belongings have been brought here today,” she says with a warm voice before opening the wood door and leaving me room to enter first.

It's big, with huge windows that let in the last light of the evening. The view is breathtaking, as if the woods were melting with the inside of the house. A king-sized bed dominates the center, draped in rich, beige linens. The furniture is all dark wood and leather, contrasting with the feminine touches of my old girly room. Wool covers are spread on the bed, and it makes me want to snuggle with a book and stay there all day.

The view is stunning, the trees stretching out into the horizon. Maria stands in the doorway, waiting.

“Thank you, Maria, it’s…stunning,” I say, wishing I sounded less impressed. Wouldn’t want to give him that kind of satisfaction.

“Mr Malone had had it redecorated a month ago, he wanted it to be more comfortable for you.”

What?

Why would he do that? I’m only a part of a deal he made with my father? Why would he change his home to accommodate me? It’s hard to believe, especially because in the few hours we’ve spent together he’s been all but rude to me.

But that kiss…

No, forget about that, it wasn’t real.

“Mr Malone is, um,” she looks down, reflecting on the words she wants to say, “he is a good man. Not everyone has the chance to see it, but with time, I hope you will.” Nodding once, she steps to the doors opposite the bed.

“Here is the main bathroom, and this other door is your dressing room,” she says as she opens two large doors, one leading to a large sleek bathroom and the other one to a long walk-in closet.

The bathroom is straight out of a magazine, with marble floors and countertops, a freestanding bathtub, and a rain shower that looks like it could wash away a week’s worth of stress. Every fixture gleams, from the shiny, modern faucets to the polished handles on the cabinets. Soft, ambient lighting enhances the warmth feel of the space, casting a glow over the room. I could totally see myself doing my twelve step skincare routine here.

Maria gestures toward the bathtub and shower. “You have everything you need here—towels, toiletries, and anything else, just let me know.” I nod, still in awe of the room around me. It's simple, yet it looks like a mix of rustic features and comfort bound together.

“Thanks, Maria.” I’m used to expensive things and luxurious places, but here, there's nothing to envy about what I’ve always known. She smiles warmly and nods in return, then turns her attention to the closet.

“And here’s your dressing room,” she says, opening the doors wide.

My jaw drops at the sight before me. The closet is way bigger than I thought, with rows upon rows of shelves and hanging racks. It’s immaculately organized, with my colorful and luxurious clothes neatly arranged by type and color. The wall at the end of the closet is a display of my high heels, arranged perfectly as if they were on show. I step inside, almost afraid to touch anything, feeling like I’ve stumbled into a boutique when it’s actually my own wardrobe.

“This is…perfect,” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Maria smiles proudly. “Mr Malone made it by himself, you know?” Her words hang in the air. Where I come from, men don't do anything themselves, they hire people to do this sort of thing. And somehow knowing that he made it makes me respect him a bit more.

“I’ll leave you to it, Mrs Malone. Let me know if you need anything,” she says before quietly leaving and letting me alone to explore. As soon as she’s gone, I walk through the closet, running my fingers over the familiar fabrics of my dresses. I glance over at a set of drawers along one wall, and when I open them, my jaw falls on the floor.

How?

My favorite candles and skincare products are stocked in quantities, as if someone knew exactly what I was using on a daily basis. Only my sister, Kiara, knows that kind of thing.

Did he ask her? I shake my head. No, that’s silly, but then, how could he know so much about my personal habits?

Closing the drawers, I wander back to the bedroom and spot my favorite magazines neatly stacked on my side of the bedside table. Glancing at the other bedside table, I only see a black notebook on it.

I realize at this instant that this is our room.

Not mine .

My heart quickens at the realization.

I’ll talk to him and ask to take a guest bedroom. There’s no way I’m lying in the dark with a stranger. Watching the clock of the drawer, I notice I only have thirty minutes to get ready. Well, I’ll take my time, give him a taste of his own medicine. I’m not a woman to be ordered around and do as she’s told.

Once I’m freshened up and looking freaking good in one of my favorite burgundy strapless dresses, I walk back to the bedroom and flop onto the bed, sinking into the soft mattress and staring at the ceiling. I sigh. This room is beautiful, but it's not where I belong. Remembering the reason why I'm here, I bite my lower lip.

I’m here because my father blackmailed me into it. It was either this or marrying Kiara to a dying Don of an Italian mafia, a man so old he needs assistance to eat and wash himself. I couldn’t do that to my seventeen-year-old sister. I’m sure my father could have found a way to settle his debt with Ares in a different way but he chose to offer me. As an object. A chess piece. Something you can give and take. And I had to agree to this, I had to say “yes” between gritted teeth as he was dangling Kiara’s threat over my head, my own mother completely unbothered by this fact. It's not usual for the Irish Mafia to make deals with MC Clubs but there were exceptions to the rule. And I was one of them.

Agreeing to this never meant to submit myself to this new husband I didn’t know anything of. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I'm startled from a knock at the door. I palm my cheeks, composing myself.

“Come in,” I say with confidence.

The door opens, and Ares steps in. He might me a jerk but he looks damn well in a tuxedo. A bit too well maybe, the suit clashing with his tattoos and huge muscles.

Aren't bikers supposed to be wearing jeans and T-shirts all the time?

“Like what you see, princess?” he says with a smug grin.

Oh, was I freaking drooling over him? God, Mia, get it together.

Placating a fake sarcastic smile on my face, I answer, “What made you think that we would sleep in the same bed tonight?” with a hand on my hips. Anger pulses through me when I see an amused grin appear on his face.

Is he mocking me?

“A wife should sleep in the same bed as her husband. That’s common sense, don’t you think so?” Oh, I see how it’s gonna be. Mr Alpha male has never been told no? Well, there’s a first time for everything.

“Are you too insecure that you have to trap a woman into a fake marriage to finally get your way? Or is it too hard for your tiny ego to be told no?” I fire back. I'm not always like that, especially at home…but when my parents aren't there to humiliate me or gaslight me, I'm all sass and confidence.

"Oh Mia, Mia…” Ares walks slowly toward me like a lion. “Don’t change anything, I like my women feisty, especially my wife.” He smirks.

I scoff, crossing my arms. “I’m not your wife, Ares.” He stops in front of me, his towering frame casting a shadow over mine.

“You are my wife, Mia. Whether you like it or not.” I meet his gaze defiantly, refusing to back down.

“I didn’t agree to this. You know damn well that I didn’t get a say in that.” His eyes narrow, a flicker of annoyance passing over his features.

“It doesn’t matter what you want. This is how it’s going to be.” I grit my teeth, anger boiling inside me.

“I refuse to sleep in the same bed as you.” I narrow my eyes at him, standing my ground. "I'd rather sleep on the floor in the hallway than here with you." His jaw clenches hard, and a fire of possessiveness dances in his eyes.

"If you do that, Mia," he says, his voice low and menacing, "I'll pick you up in the dead of night and carry you back to our bed myself. Every. Single. Fucking. Night.” His words hung in the air like a warning, sending shivers down my spine. I swallow hard, suddenly feeling a pang of uncertainty and reminding myself who this man is.

Could he be bluffing?

He's the president of the Ravens Sons, not the average Joe. God knows what he is capable of. Ares's expression softened just a fraction, his eyes searching mine as if he could hear my mind.

"You look…” Stopping midway in his sentence, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Get downstairs. The guests should be there any minute.” His voice is colder than a few seconds ago.

As Ares turns his back on me without a word, my breath quickens, and I feel the flush of frustration heating my cheeks.

What is it about this man that is so freaking exasperating?

I clench my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to shout after him, to unleash all the pent-up anger and defiance swirling inside me. But deep down, I know it won’t make a difference right now.

His words echo in my mind, a stark reminder that this marriage isn't going to be easy. Perhaps I should try to escape? But what would happen to Kiara? I pace the room, my mind racing with thoughts of how to resist him, how to break free from this unwanted situation. But with each step, I realize I have finally found an opponent worthy of my defiance.

This isn't just a battle of wills.

It's a war.

This is just the beginning, and I know I will have to fight every step of the way. Because Ares Malone is not a person who will give up easily, and neither am I.

-

Mia's home.

10 years ago,

“Straighter. Straighter! Damn it, why did god give me such a useless child?” My mother gasps as she tries to make me bend to her personal etiquette class she's been obsessed with lately. “Just do what Kiara would do. It’s not hard, girl!” she spits at me.

“I'm straight, Mom. I swear, I'm trying,” I assure her, fighting the tears bubbling in my throat.

“Sssh. I don't want to hear you. Now, come on. One bite after the other and do not eat like a hungry animal. Manners, Mia, manners.” She points her finger in the air as she displays a plate of beef stew in front of me.

“Mom…you know I can't. It's…you know—” Sweat gathers in the low of my back just like each time I'm about to have a panic attack.

“Enough with this eating disorder nonsense! You're not sick, Mia. You're picky and difficult. Don't try to make yourself more important than you are. Do you think a man would care about this? So stop it and eat. We won't stop this lesson until you eat your meal,” she tells me, while tears fall on my cheeks. I don't know why I've got this…thing. I’m only thirteen and still, it has been poisoning my life for two years already and no matter how hard I try, it doesn't go away.

I can't eat this. I'm going to die. It's not…it's not…clean.

But my mother doesn't care.

So I eat and I cry until all I can think of is the lack of air.

Until I can’t see or hear anything.

Until I don't even feel alive.

“You've always been a disappointment,” she says before kissing my forehead and leaving me on our dining room floor .