***

In a dark and stuffy room, Damian sat on the floor with his hands tied behind his back. His clothes were shabby, his hair was disheveled, and his face was covered in bruises.

The sound of party music could be heard faintly in the distance, making Damian's blood boil. "Elena is having a reception today?" the man muttered softly, full of anger. "I can't just leave it at that!"

The rope around his wrists began to loosen. Damian continued to rub his hands against the edge of the wooden chair.

"I won't let Elena be happy," Damian hissed. "I'm the father of Elena's children. I should be Elena's husband,...