He kissed her like punishment, held her like a claim, and left her trembling in a silence older than time.

Heat.

That was the first thing she felt.

Not fear. Not panic.

Just unbearable, consuming heat.

Ezra’s body stirred beneath heavy sheets, skin bare and flushed, the ache in her thighs raw and real. A hand gripped her waist. Hips moved against hers, slow and steady. Breath fanned her neck. His body was everywhere — heavy, burning, constant.

Her eyes opened slowly.

The ceiling was unfamiliar. The bed, too soft. The weight above her — terrifyingly real.

She didn’t know this man.

Didn’t remember agreeing.

But her body remembered something. A rhythm. A pulse. A raw ache where pleasure and pain blurred.

Her heart fluttered wildly. Her arms lay still. Her voice remained trapped in her throat.

And in her heart, a quiet pout formed — not a cry, not a scream.

> So cold… he won’t even look at me.

The moment passed like smoke.

And he stilled.

His body paused mid-movement.

Ezra’s breath caught. She didn’t understand why. She hadn’t spoken. She hadn’t moved.

But something in him stopped — as if he’d noticed her, really noticed her, for the first time.

Then, without a word, his head dipped.

And he kissed her.

It wasn’t sweet.

It wasn’t kind.

It was deep. Unforgiving. Ruthless.

His mouth crushed hers like punishment, slow and merciless. His tongue claimed her lips with quiet precision, drawing a helpless gasp from deep in her throat.

Her fists clenched the sheets. Her body arched without consent. Her mind fractured under the heat, the shame, the confusion. And when he pulled away, her breath was gone.

He didn’t speak.

But he moved.

He wrapped his arms around her, dragging her tightly against his chest. Skin against skin. Her cheek pressed over his heartbeat. One hand tangled in her hair. The other rested across her stomach like a silent brand.

Ezra lay frozen, limbs trembling, breath uneven.

He didn’t ask.

He didn’t look.

He just... held her.

And then — he slept.

Like nothing had happened.

Like everything had.

She blinked into the darkness.

The silence pressed down on her, thick as velvet. The warmth of his body threatened to lull her into a numb haze. But her mind wouldn’t rest. Couldn’t.

Because something was wrong.

Something wasn’t right.

This body. This bed. This pain. This man.

And then — it hit her.

Like a wave crashing backward through time.

> This isn’t a stranger’s life.

> This is my past life.

> But twisted. Changed.

> A parallel world… one I never escaped.

Memories flooded in — not like visions, but like feelings: blurred pain, fire, sorrow. The scent of blood and betrayal. Familiar hallways. Familiar cold. Her skin prickled. Her soul remembered.

Ezra stared at the ceiling with wide, glassy eyes, her breath shaking beneath the weight of his arm.

He had no idea who she was now.

But she did.

And she knew this world was not fiction.

It was punishment.

It was fate.

And somehow… she had come back.

🖤 To be continued...

Ezra lay frozen in Joshua V. Kwon’s grip.

His body was wrapped tightly around hers like both armor and restraint—his arm heavy across her waist, his bare chest pressed against her back, and the unbearable heat of his presence seeping through the thin layers between their skin. His breath brushed along her nape with a steady rhythm, the calmness of his sleep taunting her with indifference. There was no sign of the man who had just invaded her space and stolen her breath with a kiss that tasted like war. No flicker of the storm behind those cold eyes. He slept like a beast at rest—calm only because he had already taken what he wanted.

But Ezra didn’t sleep.

She stared into the darkness, every nerve in her body awake and pulsing. Her lips still ached from the violent kiss he had forced on her, raw with the memory of his mouth devouring hers without permission or warning. There had been no tenderness, no hesitation. Only power. Domination. A silent command that told her exactly where she stood in this twisted reality—beneath him.

And yet… her skin still burned. Her heartbeat wouldn’t slow.

It wasn’t just the kiss. It was the storm of memories that had come crashing into her mind the moment her eyes closed. Violent, fragmented images she couldn’t place but felt in her bones. A broken mirror reflecting her face, lips curled into a cruel smirk. Screams echoing through locked doors. Cold hands covered in blood. A voice—hers, yet not—laughing as someone fell to their knees.

Ezra’s stomach twisted violently.

> This isn’t a nightmare. This isn’t some hallucination.

I’ve transmigrated—again. Not into someone new… but into the past. Into her. A version of me I buried. A version I swore I’d never become.

And now I’m trapped in her body. Her story. Her marriage to a man who doesn’t love, only claims.

Joshua V. Kwon.

The coldest legend in uniform. A man made of war and rules… and rage.

He kissed me like he owned me. Like he didn’t care who I really was—as long as I bent to his touch.

She turned slightly, carefully, to look at him.

Even in sleep, Joshua was dangerously beautiful. The lines of his face were sharp and cruel, kissed by moonlight leaking through the sheer curtains. A faint scar dragged across his jaw like an artist’s final stroke. He didn’t look peaceful. He looked like a king resting after a massacre. The kind who dreamed not of peace—but of conquest.

Ezra’s jaw clenched.

> He thinks I’m still her. The old Ezra. The villainess who burned people for fun and whispered poison into noble ears.

Maybe he wants to punish her. Maybe that kiss was the start.

But I’m not her. Not anymore. And I won’t let him use me to kill her ghosts.

Her fingers curled slowly into the sheet beneath them, nails digging deep. Her blood boiled with fury and something hotter—shame, perhaps, for how her body had betrayed her. For how his touch made her tremble even in hate.

And then—impulse struck.

She shifted slowly, pretending to adjust in sleep, until her face hovered close to his. His lips were slightly parted. Calm. Relaxed. So unaware.

She leaned in, eyes narrowed with quiet rage, and bit him.

Hard.

Joshua jerked in his sleep, a sharp grunt escaping his throat as he stirred, hand gripping her waist tighter by reflex. His brow twitched. His lips bled—just a little. Just enough.

Ezra didn’t move.

She held his gaze for a breathless second as his eyes fluttered open halfway—hazy, disoriented, but dark with warning.

She smiled, just barely. A ghost of a grin, sharp as glass.

“Sleep tight, husband,” she whispered, voice low, venomous.

Then she turned away and shut her eyes—pretending, flawlessly, to sleep.

Let him wonder.

Let him taste his own blood and question what kind of woman now lay in his bed.

Because if Joshua V. Kwon thought he could control her with brute force and cold kisses, he was about to learn a new kind of war—one fought in silence, in shadows, and behind a sweet smile that bit back.

Ezra woke to quiet.

Not peaceful. Not warm. Just… quiet. The kind that feels unnatural. The kind that creeps beneath the skin like a warning wrapped in silence.

The bed beside her was cold, untouched. No sign of him except the scent lingering in the sheets—clean linen, bitter coffee, and something darker. Something sharp. Something violent.

She sat up slowly, silk sliding from her shoulders.

Her body remembered the night before—not with butterflies, but with bruises. Her lips still ached. His did too, she knew. She’d left a mark.

A bite.

She didn’t regret it.

> He kissed me like I was already his. Like my mouth was just another territory to conquer. So I reminded him—this bride has teeth.

And he bled for it.

Ezra wrapped her robe tightly, stepping to the window.

Outside, sunlight lit the private garden in soft golds. And there he was.

Joshua V. Kwon.

Barely buttoned black shirt. Apron tied neatly around his waist. Sleeves rolled up.

Making coffee for handpicked guests behind the estate’s hidden café counter like he was just a charming bachelor with a love for roast blends.

Ezra stared.

> Morning café owner.

Nighttime mafia king.

And secretly, a decorated military captain on a mission that leaves bodies in rivers.

He hasn’t told me any of it. Not yet.

But I already know. Because I died once learning the truth too late.

She dressed with cold efficiency, ignoring the slight sting across her collarbone—the ghost of his grip from the night before.

When she stepped outside, Joshua looked up.

And she saw it.

The faint bruise at the corner of his lip.

Not dramatic. Not obvious. But real. A deep red reminder of her rebellion. Her bite.

His eyes locked onto hers.

No smile. No scolding. Just a slow, quiet acknowledgment—one that said, you got one hit in. Don't try for two.

“Morning,” he said, voice low.

Ezra smiled sweetly. “Didn’t sleep well?”

He tilted his head, brushing his thumb casually across his bruised lip.

“Dreams were sharp,” he replied. “Might’ve been the company.”

She walked toward the counter, accepting the black coffee he handed her without asking. Bitter. Strong. Just the way she liked it.

> Of course he remembered. Even if he pretends he doesn’t know me, he does.

He memorized me once. And he’ll do it again, thinking it’s the first time.

Joshua sipped his own drink, watching her.

She matched his calm.

“Plane’s ready at ten,” he said. “Don’t bring much.”

“Honeymoon?” she asked lightly, taking another sip.

He gave a faint smirk, lip bruised. “Something like that.”

She leaned in slightly, just enough for him to smell the soft perfume at her throat.

“Sounds thrilling,” she whispered.

His gaze didn’t move. “You have no idea.”

But she did.

> La Volta. The island where the shadows live. Where power speaks louder than law.

The honeymoon destination of a mafia king in disguise.

And this time, I’m not the foolish bride who walks in blind. I’m the storm he doesn’t see coming.

She toasted her cup to him—graceful, sweet—and turned back toward the house.

Let him lead.

Let him think he’s in control.

Because this time, Ezra was already five moves ahead.