The video call turned into a dark competition of egos. Each Lord wanted to prove they were the true master of their household, leading to a provocative exchange of photos.
The 2:10 AM Challenge: Sharing the "Trophies"
Lord Dragunov: (Taking a long sip of whiskey, eyes glinting with mischief) "We've bragged enough with words. Let's see some proof! Everyone, share a 'late-night' photo of your wife. Let's see who really has their Queen under control."
Lord Marcos: (Laughing loudly, already scrolling through his phone) "Great idea, Dragunov! Mine is already out cold after I dealt with her temper."
The Photo: Marcos sends a shot of his wife's back; her face is buried in the pillows, her skin marked with the faint red traces of a rough night.
Lord Nikolai: (With a mysterious smirk) "My wife is far too clever to let me take her picture easily, but here..."
The Photo: Nikolai shares a close-up of his wife's hand resting on the silk sheets, highlighting a massive diamond ring and a golden bracelet—the price of her silence.
Lord Lucian: (Cold and brief) "She doesn't dare move when I'm around. Her submission is my proof."
The Photo: Lucian tilts his camera slightly, showing his wife's legs tangled in the black sheets next to his own tattooed arm.
Victor's Beautiful Response
The group turned their attention to Victor. Dragunov and Marcos began to mock him. "What's the matter, Victor? Is the 'God-Mother' too much for you to handle? Show us the prize!"
Lord Victor: (Looking down at Alia with a look of intense, pained love) "You guys see bodies. You see trophies. But Alia... she is my soul. I won't turn her into a product for your entertainment."
Victor gently brushed a strand of hair away from Alia's face. She was still deep in her peaceful, acting sleep, her head heavy on his chest.
Lord Victor: (Takes a photo of himself instead)
The Photo: Victor sends a high-quality, stunning close-up of his own face. He is drenched in sweat, his silver hair messy and damp. His eyes are filled with a mix of exhaustion and a strange, protective calm.
Lord Dragunov: "Hey! We asked for a picture of your wife, Victor, not a selfie!"
Lord Victor: (His voice turning ice-cold) "My wife is right where she belongs in my arms. She is my strength, and I will not insult her by sharing her vulnerability with the likes of you. My sweat and my exhaustion are the only proof you need that I've tamed the storm. I don't just own her body; I have her heart."As soon as morning broke, the harsh ringing of Victor's phone shattered the peaceful atmosphere of the entire house. On the other end was Victor's father—the legendary former mafia king whose words were still regarded as law in the underworld.
That Morning Call: Grief and a New Turn
The sharp morning light pierced through the curtains and fell across Alia's face. As soon as Victor answered the phone, his father's deep and heavy voice echoed from the other side.
Victor's father: "Victor, your grandmother is no more. I just received the news a short while ago—she has passed away. I'm leaving immediately, and you have to come too. This isn't just a family matter; it's a question of our family's honor."
Victor sat there, stunned. Running a hand through his silver hair, he glanced briefly at Alia. Last night's heated fight and this dawn's quiet embrace—all of it seemed to fade away in an instant.
Victor (in a low voice): "I'm coming, Father. But… Alia will come with me."
Victor's father: "You're bringing Alia? Do you know what kind of environment it will be there? All the major families will be present. But if you think she can handle it, then bring her."
Alia Wakes Up
The sound of the phone had woken Alia as well. She opened her eyes to see Victor sitting at the edge of the bed, deep sorrow reflected in his eyes. On the carpeted floor, the knife she had thrown away the previous night was still lying there.
Victor turned toward her and gently placed his hand on her forehead.
Victor: "Alia, my grandmother has passed away. You have to come with me. Outside the mafia world, we have a huge family—everyone will be there today. Will you come with me?"
Alia realized this was not just a funeral; it was a major test—an opportunity to prove herself in front of Victor's family as "Victor's wife." The heart that had softened last night now felt the weight of a strange new responsibility.The atmosphere at the grand cathedral was heavy with the scent of incense and the chilling silence of the underworld's elite. Victor stood before the mirror, buttoning his obsidian-black shirt before throwing his royal long coat over his shoulders. The heavy fabric trailed behind him like a shadow of authority. His silver hair, usually messy, was now slicked back, giving him the look of a cold, mourning king.
Then, Alia stepped out.
She was a vision of dark elegance. Her long black gown swept the floor, and a sheer black veil draped gracefully over her shoulders. But the crown jewel was the simple green tiara nestled in her dark hair—a symbol of life and power amidst the mourning. It didn't look like a piece of jewelry; it looked like a statement.
The Departure
Victor walked up to her, his eyes softening for a fraction of a second. He took her hand—not with force this time, but with a silent, regal respect.
Victor: "You look like a Queen who is ready to inherit the world, Alia. Today, they won't just see my wife; they will see the woman who commands the King."
Alia remained silent, her eyes cold but her posture radiating an unbreakable pride. She adjusted her veil, the green tiara glinting under the palace lights, and followed him out.
The Arrival: Stunned Silence
As their convoy of twelve armored black limousines pulled up to the funeral grounds, the other Pentagon Lords—Marcos, Dragunov, Nikolai, and Lucian—were already there with their wives. They were whispering about business until the car door opened.
When Victor stepped out, followed by Alia, the whispers died instantly.
Lord Marcos: (Choking on his drink) "Is... is that the same girl from last night? She looks like she belongs on a throne, not in a cage."
Lord Dragunov: (Smirking, but impressed) "Victor didn't just bring a wife; he brought a Goddess of Death. Look at that crown. He's playing a dangerous game."
The King's Approval
They walked through the crowd, the hem of Victor's royal coat brushing against the stone floor. They didn't look at the other Lords; they walked straight toward Victor's father, the legendary former Mafia King.
The old man stood tall, his eyes sharp despite his grief. He watched his son and Alia approach, seeing the way they held hands—a perfect union of power and beauty.
Victor's Father: "Victor... Alia. You have arrived. Seeing you two like this, I realize the lineage of the Pentagon is safe. You don't just carry our name; you carry our pride."
Alia bowed her head slightly, her green crown catching the light. At that moment, she wasn't a captive or a victim. She was the most powerful woman in the room, and even the other Lords had to lower their gaze.The sky turned a heavy, bruised purple, and as Victor and Alia stepped onto the cathedral grounds, the heavens opened up. A torrential downpour began to wash over the city, but the chaos of the rain only added to their terrifying majesty.
The Wall of Black Umbrellas
As the first drops hit the pavement, a hundred bodyguards moved in perfect, rhythmic precision. Like a synchronized machine, rows of men in black suits formed a living corridor. Instantly, a sea of massive black umbrellas bloomed over Victor and Alia, shielding them from the storm.
The bodyguards stood like statues in the rain, their sunglasses slick with water, their presence creating a dark, impenetrable wall between the couple and the rest of the world.
The Scene in the Rain
The rain lashed against Victor's heavy royal coat, making the fabric look darker and more menacing. Beside him, Alia walked with the grace of a phantom. The wind whipped her black veil, and the raindrops that managed to catch her green tiara made the emeralds shimmer like cold, hard eyes.
Lord Dragunov: (Shouting over the thunder to Marcos) "Look at that! Even the weather is making them look like royalty. Those guards aren't just protecting them from the rain; they're guarding a throne!"
Lord Marcos: (Wiping rain from his face, looking bitter) "I've never seen a security detail that tight. Victor isn't just attending a funeral; he's declaring a coronation."
A Moment Under the Shadow
In the middle of that dark umbrella-covered path, the world felt small. The sound of the rain hitting the umbrellas was like a drumbeat. Victor felt Alia shiver slightly from the cold wind. Without breaking his stride, he pulled her closer, tucking her under the heavy fold of his coat.
For a moment, Alia looked up. Through the veil of rain and the shadows of the umbrellas, she saw Victor's profile sharp, aristocratic, and fiercely protective.
Victor: (His voice low, barely audible over the storm) "Stay close. Let the rain wash away the world. Inside these walls, and behind these men, you are the only thing that matters."
As they reached the massive cathedral doors, the army of bodyguards parted with a synchronized bow. Victor and Alia stepped into the dry, candle-lit warmth of the church, leaving the shivering Lords and the howling storm behind.