I wish I could tell Ben how things turned out this way, but all I can do is lie. The mafia would kill us if I tried to tell my brother anything. The weight of this secret crushes my chest, but I can’t let it show. I have to keep up appearances.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sudden arrival of a towering figure entering the hall. He’s a big, muscular man with a slightly dark complexion, piercing green emerald eyes, thick eyebrows, and a jawline as sharp as a knife. His presence commands attention as he strides in wearing pants and a crimson shirt. Despite the situation, I can’t help but notice how striking he looks.

"There you are, our precious groom," the man says, his voice thick and dry.

"You aren’t invited here, Malcolm," Masimo growls, his voice stern, fists curling in anger. There’s a soft edge of a growl, barely concealed behind his words.

"Relax, I’m here to congratulate you on your wedding. You have a pretty wife; it makes me want to steal him away from you," Malcolm sneers, his eyes roaming over me with a hungry gaze, making my skin crawl. The crowd watches, tension thick in the air. Masimo steps in front of me, shielding me from Malcolm's leering gaze.

The atmosphere shifts, and I can sense a change in Masimo. Anger, hatred, and something unexpected—a raw, primal jealousy—flare in his ocean-blue eyes. The intensity of his emotions makes him look monstrous, and for the first time, I feel a chill of fear for him.

"I don’t want your fucking presence at my wedding. Just get lost, and if you ever look at my husband like that again, it will be the last time you ever see anything," Masimo warns, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. The sheer ferocity in his words makes Malcolm pause.

"Okay, chill dude, I’ll leave. I’ll send you a present later. Have fun," Malcolm says, smirking as he winks at me before leaving. Masimo moves to go after him, but Mika steps in, reminding him that the wedding must go on.

The priest resumes the ceremony, but I’m lost in my thoughts. My mind swirls with questions, and the guilt of lying to Ben gnaws at me. I glance at my brother, who is still in shock, his face pale and eyes wide. This isn’t how I imagined my wedding day, and I can feel the weight of everything bearing down on me.

"Do you take Ian D'Souza as your lawfully wedded husband?" the priest asks Masimo.

"Yes, I do," he responds without hesitation, his voice firm and resolute.

"And do you take Masimo Lorenzo as your lawfully wedded husband?" the priest asks, turning to me.

I freeze, the name catching me off guard. *Masimo Lorenzo*. The name fits him perfectly—strong, commanding, powerful. I suddenly find myself distracted, my thoughts swirling, until Masimo waves a hand in front of my face, snapping me back to the present.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"Yes, I do," I manage to say, feeling a lump in my throat and tears threatening to spill, but I smile them away.

"Through him, with him, in him, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, all glory and honor is yours, almighty Father, forever and ever," the priest continues.

"I now pronounce you husband and husband! You may kiss the groom," the priest declares.

Masimo’s hand finds the small of my back, pulling me closer. Our chests press together, and I can feel his breath warm against my ear as he leans in.

"It’s just a mere kiss. Don’t make it hard for me, and seem happy. Or else, you know what happens if things don’t go according to my plan—I get mad, real mad," he whispers, his voice low and threatening. He moves his face in front of mine, his eyes boring into me. I can feel his breath brushing against my upper lip, but just as he’s about to kiss me, Ben interrupts, yanking me away from Masimo’s grip.

"I know something’s wrong. Just tell me. I won’t let him harm you. He can’t do anything to us, so please, just tell me the fucking truth," Ben pleads, his voice trembling with desperation.

"Why the hell can’t you accept that I really love him and that now I’m married? He is my husband!" I shout, trying to hold back tears. "He is my husband now, dammit! Just admit it and move on. There’s nothing wrong. I really do love him, and it would be best if you don’t come and create a scene here again."

I pull my wrist from Ben’s grip and run to Masimo’s bedroom—*our* bedroom. The moment I’m alone, I collapse onto the bed, burying my face in a pillow as sobs wrack my body. I can’t stop crying, the weight of everything crashing down on me. It feels like hours pass before I finally manage to calm down, my body aching with exhaustion.

When I finally get up, I change into a new set of clothes that Masimo bought for me. I hear a knock at the door.

"This is your dinner. The boss will be late, so eat up and sleep," Mika says, placing the tray on the table before leaving. I eat in silence, my appetite barely there, and eventually, I fall asleep, drained by the events of the day.

But in the dead of night, I hear the door open and close softly. A blurry figure approaches the bed, and I realize it’s Masimo. He slips into bed beside me, maintaining a distance, though the bed is large enough to make the space feel vast. I don’t react, too exhausted to care, and eventually, I fall back into a restless sleep.

The next morning, I wake up to find the bed empty. Masimo is already gone. I roll over lazily, stretching out as I take in the rare moment of peace. Being a surgeon means long hours and sleepless nights, so any chance to rest is a luxury. I lie in bed, letting the morning sun filter through the glass window.

The view is breathtaking—mountains bathed in the early light, birds chirping, and the tranquility of nature surrounding me. It’s the only thing I truly love about this house. The door opens, and I see Masimo walk in, half-naked with a towel hanging low on his hips. My eyes betray me, lingering on him longer than I should, and he catches me staring.

"You look like a hungry kitten," he smirks, his gaze teasing.

"I’ve seen better," I retort, trying to cover up my embarrassment. But he strides over to me, his presence overwhelming.

He corners me against the glass window, his chest inches from mine. I push against him, but he only moves closer, his breath warm against my neck as he inhales deeply, sending shivers down my spine.

"You haven’t seen what’s underneath the towel," he murmurs, his voice dripping with arrogance.

"I don’t want to see your fucking small dick," I snap back, but I instantly regret it when I see the anger flare in his eyes. He scoffs, biting his lip, and I know I’ve pushed him too far.

Shit, I guess I fucked up again with this useless big mouth of mine.