CHAPTER 1: The perfect wedding

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.

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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...

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