Chapter 1: Marriage

In the winter of 2015, Olive Hart sat on a train from a suburban orphanage, heading for Los Angeles. Taken to the suburbs at age nine, she was now returning to LA—for a marriage between the Hart and Augustine families. A Hart daughter was to marry into the Augustine family, but rumors of the groom's terminal illness had dissuaded Olive's two sisters from consenting.

Olive sat on the bunk, a book in her hand. The train door burst open, the cold wind carrying a sweet, fishy smell of blood. She looked up to see a tall figure collapsing from the platform into the train. In seconds, men in black swarmed in.

“Boss, no one’s here. Let’s just kill him,” one roared. Their leader, the most frightening of the group, fixed his gaze on Olive.

A wave of heat washed over her. The man's eyes conveyed a chilling murderous intent. Seeing their weapons, she feigned panic, begging, “Don’t hurt me! I saw nothing.”

Their leader stepped forward, staring at Olive's small face. Her eyes, incomparably bright, darted around. He’d never seen such dazzling eyes.

“Little beauty, we won’t hurt you. Just please my brothers.”

Olive’s lashes trembled. “I don’t want to die! As long as you don’t hurt me, I’ll serve you all.”

Her soft plea ignited the leader's lust. He lunged at her, trying to subdue her.

“Boss, you first. We’ll kill this girl, then we'll all have some fun,” one man suggested.

Consumed by desire, the leader, dropping his weapon, reached for Olive's clothes. But a small white hand stopped him. He looked up into Olive’s bright eyes. The panic and weakness were gone, replaced by a cold stare.

“You…” he began, but Olive kicked him in the groin.

“Fuck!” he groaned, collapsing.

“Boss!” The men shouted, startled. They moved to help, but the fallen man suddenly opened his eyes and snatched a weapon from one of the men in black. In seconds, they were all down.

Olive sat up. She knew he’d only feigned unconsciousness. Their eyes met. His were extremely narrow, sharp as a falcon’s, like small abysses that could draw anyone in.

“Master, we’re late.” Rescuers arrived, efficiently cleaning up. A confidant handed the man a cloth. He wiped his hands, then walked toward Olive, his bony fingers gripping her jaw.

He squinted playfully. His voice was low and magnetic. “What do you think I’ll do with you?”

Olive was forced to look up at the tall, handsome man. His aura was powerful and cold. Despite his clean hands, she smelled blood. She knew she couldn't escape easily.

She knocked away his hand. “I’m the bride marrying into the Red Villa.”

He raised an eyebrow. Interesting. His bride?

“You’re not from Los Angeles? The Hart daughter is marrying into the Red Villa.”

“Yes, I know. And I am the bride. If anything happens to me, it’ll be a big problem for you. Let me go. I saw nothing, and I’ll say nothing!”

Olive sarcastically thanked her stepmother, Monica, for the money that had paid for her train ticket. Monica hadn't sent it out of love, but because the marriage was crucial to her.

The marriage between the Hart and Augustine families (the Red Villa) was the biggest gossip in LA.

Olive’s words intrigued the man. He’d been set up by a business rival. Meeting her was an accident.

Intently studying her, he guessed her age to be around twenty. Though her face was pale and her clothes messy, her eyes were clear and intelligent, shining brightly.

He withdrew, taking his men with him. Olive relaxed. He turned, speaking slowly, “I’ll see you soon.”

Cambridge Hotel and Suites. The Hart family wedding was underway.

In the bridal lounge, Gabriella Hart, Olive’s half-sister (same father), said, “Olive, our mother died when you were nine. You pushed Grandfather down the stairs. Dad sent you to the orphanage. You know why you’re back. Comply, or you’ll return to the suburbs. To the Harts, you’re a sacrificial lamb. Behave like one.”

Olive twisted her lips. “I understand. I have no time for this. Stop barking.”

Gabriella, furious, stared at Olive's stunning eyes, consumed by jealousy. She wished she could gouge them out. ‘She should be ugly!’

“Olive, it’s time,” Patrick’s deep voice announced as he entered with Monica and guests.