The wedding was perfect.

Too perfect.

White orchids cascaded down the pillars of the grand ballroom in the heart of Bangkok, silk drapes fluttering like whispers in the wind. Music swelled, violins crying gentle notes that could almost mask the tension sitting in Milo’s throat. But even with the butterflies, even with the spotlight, he couldn’t stop staring at the man waiting for him at the altar.

Win.

Thailand’s youngest billionaire. The country's most wanted bachelor. The boy who once used to chase fireflies with him in his garden was now the man in a designer tuxedo, smiling like a dream—and hiding knives behind his eyes.

Their fingers touched as Milo reached the altar. Win laced them together, giving his hand a tender squeeze, his smile warm and soft and so very fake.

“You look beautiful,” Win whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair from Milo’s face.

Milo managed a nod. His heart pounded, not from love or nerves—but from the tight coil of dread in his chest. He didn’t know why Win had returned so suddenly after Mimi’s death. Or why, after years of silence, he proposed marriage.

But he did know one thing: Win was lying.

And so was he.

The officiant’s voice echoed. Vows were exchanged. Rings slipped onto fingers that once held hands in childhood. The cameras flashed like lightning as Win leaned in and kissed him—softly, sweetly, possessively. The crowd erupted in cheers. Family members clapped. Milo’s parents looked proud. Win’s parents looked pleased.

And only Milo felt the funeral hiding beneath the wedding.

---

The bridal suite smelled of roses and wine.

Milo stepped inside quietly, hands brushing the marble wall. He stood still in the soft light of the chandelier, staring at the reflection of his new husband pouring red wine in two crystal glasses.

Win turned slowly, smile still intact. “Finally alone.”

His voice was honey.

Milo tried to speak. “Win, I—”

“Shh.” Win crossed the room and handed him the wine. “Not tonight. Let’s just enjoy this… finally being together.”

He pulled Milo toward him, their bodies close, his hand cradling the back of Milo’s neck. To anyone else, it would’ve looked like love. But Win’s grip was firm. Controlling. Possessive.

They sat on the bed, and for a moment, there was silence.

Then Win’s hand trailed down Milo’s arm.

“You know,” he said, his voice dropping, “I’ve waited years for this moment. Not the marriage—the revenge.”

Milo’s blood ran cold.

“What?”

Win pulled out his phone. The screen lit up. A video played. Blurry, grainy, just enough to be damning. Milo holding a gun. Mimi falling. A scream. A shadow disappearing off-camera.

“You killed her,” Win whispered. “And you thought you got away with it.”

Milo stood, shaken. “That’s not what happened—”

Before he could finish, Win shoved him back onto the bed. The wine glass shattered on the floor.

“You don’t get to speak,” Win hissed, straddling him. “You don’t get explanations. You get consequences.”

Milo struggled, but Win’s weight was unmovable. His eyes glinted, not with desire—but rage.

“Tonight,” Win said, “I’m going to make sure you never forget what you took from me.”

And that night, Milo didn’t sleep.

He bled.

In silence.

And with no one to believe him.

To be continued...

The pain woke him before the sunlight did.

Milo winced as he shifted beneath the silk sheets, his body aching in places he didn’t know could hurt. Every inch of him throbbed—shoulders, back, thighs, wrists. Bruises bloomed like wilted flowers down his skin. The hickeys might fade. The fingerprints might not.

He was alone. Again.

No trace of the man who did this to him. No apology. No guilt.

Just emptiness.

He stared at the ceiling with red-rimmed eyes, whispering to himself.

"How did it end up like this?"

"Was loving him my fault?"

"Why?"

FLASHBACK – YEARS AGO

Bangkok, Age 10

Milo remembered laughter. Endless summer afternoons running barefoot through his family’s villa gardens, holding hands with Win and Mimi as they played tag among the flower beds.

Win was always between them—protective, sweet.

Mimi was always smiling.

And Milo… Milo just felt lucky to be loved by both.

They were inseparable. Childhood best friends.

Two rich families. One perfect trio.

Back then, Milo believed things would always stay like that.

Until Win left.

He was thirteen, tall for his age, smart beyond his years. His parents sent him abroad to study in London. A future heir, groomed for greatness.

The night before he left, he hugged both siblings tightly.

“You two better not forget me,” he joked, ruffling Milo’s hair, then turning to Mimi. “Especially you. Don’t stop smiling.”

Milo watched Mimi beam, while something in his own chest quietly ached.

And then Win was gone.

The Shift

Time changed everything.

Mimi grew colder, sharper, but always wore her angelic smile around others. She started dressing how Win liked—laughing the way he liked—texting him constantly while Milo faded into the background.

“You're still pining for him?” she scoffed one night when she caught Milo staring at an old picture of the three of them. “Pathetic.”

Milo stopped replying to Win’s messages. Not because he didn’t miss him, but because it hurt too much. He watched Mimi lie to their parents, lie to Win, and lie to the world—always the perfect daughter, while painting Milo as jealous, bitter, unstable.

And people believed her.

Even Win.

Three Years Ago – The Night Mimi Died

The rain was heavy that night.

Milo had followed Mimi up to the rooftop terrace after another ugly argument. She was on edge—angry, paranoid, accusing him of trying to ruin everything.

“He’s mine, Milo!” she snapped. “He loves me! You’ll never be anything but a mistake to him.”

“You manipulated him,” Milo shot back. “You played him for years and made me look like the villain.”

“You are the villain,” she hissed.

Then—chaos.

A third person was there. Someone Milo didn’t recognize. Voices raised. A struggle.

A gun appeared.

A scream.

A single shot.

Mimi fell.

And Milo was the one holding the weapon when the lights came on.

Present Day – 2 Months Ago

Win returned to Bangkok—taller, sharper, and powerful enough to silence a nation.

He came looking for Mimi, diamond ring in hand. He’d come to propose. To marry her, just like he’d promised her years ago.

Only… she was dead.

And all fingers pointed to Milo.

There were rumors. Whispers. A mysterious CCTV clip that showed Milo with the gun and Mimi falling.

And then—Win’s sudden announcement:

“I’ve fallen for Milo.”

He told the families he wanted to marry the surviving twin. And the families agreed. The alliance was too valuable to question.

Milo didn’t get a say.

Only a date.

And a wedding.

And a night filled with pain.

He lay in bed now, blinking at the ceiling.

His voice cracked in his throat.

"I didn’t kill her..."

But no one believed him.

Especially not the boy he once loved.

To be continued...

The sheets were stained.

Milo lay motionless, eyes open, the ceiling above him blurred from unshed tears. The sun poured in through the massive window, warm and golden—but all he felt was cold.

His body ached.

Inside. Out.

Everything.

He could feel every place Win had touched him. Every place he hadn’t touched—only taken.

There were no sweet words after. No tenderness.

Win hadn’t even looked at him once it was over.

He’d zipped up his pants, adjusted his cufflinks, and walked out as if Milo were nothing more than a used napkin.

Milo hadn’t moved since.

Now, every muscle screamed in protest as he tried to sit up. The sheets dragged across raw skin, sticky with sweat, blood, and shame. A sharp gasp escaped his lips—he bit down on it quickly. No one could hear that. Especially not Win.

The mirror across the room caught his reflection.

He looked like a ghost.

His lips were swollen, bitten. His neck was painted with purples and reds, some shaped like teeth. His wrists were bruised from where Win had pinned them above his head. And lower—

He shut his eyes. He couldn’t look.

“This is your punishment,” Win had whispered against his ear last night, voice soaked in venom. “For what you did to her.”

Her.

Mimi.

The name clanged in Milo’s chest like a bell tolling for the dead.

He hadn’t even gotten to say he didn’t do it.

Not once.

A knock on the door. Sharp. Three times.

“Milo.” Win’s voice. Calm. Cold. “Get cleaned up. You’ll be sitting next to me when the press arrives.”

Milo opened his mouth, then closed it again. What could he say? That he could barely walk? That he bled when he tried?

He stood.

His knees buckled instantly, and he fell back onto the bed with a cry.

Footsteps. Closer.

The door opened without permission.

Win stepped inside, dressed in ivory, as pristine and powerful as a man above the world. His eyes scanned Milo’s naked form—unbothered by the bruises. If anything, he looked satisfied.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Milo’s throat tightened. “I can’t—”

“You can,” Win cut him off. “You’re good at pretending, aren’t you?”

Milo’s fingers clenched the sheets. “Why are you doing this?”

Win walked over slowly, leaning down until their faces were inches apart.

“Because every time you breathe, she stays dead.”

Then he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Milo didn’t cry.

He just sat there, naked in a stranger’s body, wondering when he stopped belonging to himself.

To be continued...

Author:-

 You love to hate me, it's a twisted game,

 Smiles in the sun, but you curse my name.

 Sweet like sugar, but I burn like flame,

 Still you chase me, wild and untamed.

 Kiss me slow, then push away,

 Pull me back just to make me stay.

 Toxic rhythm, we know the beat,

 Love in war, bitter and sweet.

 You say I'm chaos, yet you're addicted,

 Our kind of love—darkly scripted.

Oh doesn't these lines match the story plot~