Chapter 3: Honeymoon in Hell

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.

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