I Married The Villain Alpha

Atlas' POV

"Tell me everything." Vincent's voice rang cold and commanding, echoing through the marble halls as we left the Moon Palace.

The last image of Iris, her small frame lingered in mind as she wobbled on her feet confused, dissolved as his voice yanked me back to reality. I said nothing, unsure if words would suffice—or if they'd betray too much of the emotions swirling inside me.

"And the rogues? What have you done about them?" His patience was thinning, his tone sharp. Still, I remained silent.

"Answer me, Atlas!" Vincent snapped, spinning on his heel to glare at me. "Whatever reason you had to force your way into my fiancée's chambers, it better be worth it."

"I already apologized to her Grace," I began, refusing to falter under his scrutiny. My voice was steady, matching his intimidation. "And I simply did what you always demand of me…" I let the words hang in the thick air before continuing, "…Report." A smirk curled on my lips as I finished.

"You bastard!" Vincent's expression darkened, his face contorting with rage—a fury that would have left lesser men trembling. But his anger meant nothing to me. Not now. I need to see her again.

The impatience clawed at me, driving my every thought. The memory of her, her scent, her presence—it consumed me. And Vincent, with his constant posturing, was nothing more than an obstacle. Sensing an argument brewing, I decided to end it on my terms.

"I apologize, Vincent, if I've ruined your day," I said, feigning sincerity as I tilted my head slightly. "I should've handled the matter without disturbing you. My mistake." I bowed—a gesture more mocking than respectful.

Before he could respond, I shifted and brushed past him.

"Atlas!" Vincent roared, his voice reverberating through the hall. I paused but didn't turn. "Whatever game you're playing," he began, his voice low, boiling with intensity, "it won't work on me."

A smirk crept back onto my face as I turned to face him. "What do you mean, Your Majesty?" I asked, my tone drenched in mockery. "I would never." Without waiting for his reply, I turned back to take my leave.

"You're not a man Atlas—you're a worthless rabid beast destined to be caged. Just like your unfortunate father, born to grovel and die in service to better men like me." Vincent's voice rang in my ears, halting me in my steps again as his words shot through me.

A different kind of rage simmered beneath the surface, sharper and harder to suppress. But I swallowed it down. I just needed to be patient. Very soon, I would wipe that smug look off his damned face. Ignoring his taunts, I resumed my walk, leaving him to stew in his fury.

When I retired to the my estate at the capital , the hours stretched endlessly until nightfall. The impatience wrapped tightly at me, and as soon as darkness fell, I wasted no time heading back to the Moon Palace.

Her garden welcomed me, bathed in soft moonlight. The air was thick with the sweet scent of lilies and wisteria, but even their beauty paled next to hers. Iris stood there, her figure illuminated by the moon's glow, her presence more intoxicating than anything I could have imagined.

"I thought you might come here," she said softly, her voice pulling me forward as if it carried a magnetic force.

I parted my lips, intending to respond, but the words failed me. Instead, I moved toward her, where she sat on the garden bench. She shifted slightly, scooting to the edge to make room as usual.

I lowered myself beside her slowly, the space between us almost unbearable. Her gaze didn't waver, piercing through me. She looked paler than I remembered, her collarbone jutting out in sharp relief—a haunting reminder of everything that had happened.

"Are you alright?" I asked, breaking the thick silence that surrounded us.

Her lips parted, soft and pink, but no words came. Instead, she turned her attention to the flowers around us, her gaze distant and unreadable.

"I heard you fainted," I continued, a knot tightening in my chest. "I was worried."

"I'm fine," she said quickly, her voice fragile and rushed, as if trying to convince herself more than me.

"Are you sure?" I pressed gently. "You know… as your soon to be husband, it is now my duty to look out for you." I added a teasing tone, letting out a soft chuckle in an attempt to lighten the air.

But she didn't smile, didn't even acknowledge the joke. "I know. I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice tinged with guilt. Her words hit me like a blow, the last thing I wanted was her apology. I wanted her to feel safe. At ease.

"I'm glad you showed up," she said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Earlier, I mean… it was unexpected."

Her words were like a balm to the ache I hadn't even realized had taken root in me. She was glad I came and I had never been happier I shifted into my wolf form to get to her faster.

"If you hadn't been there, I probably would have lost it," she admitted, hugging herself as her gaze dropped to her lap. Her vulnerability was so raw, it twisted something deep inside me. "Vincent just does whatever he wants."

"You're welcome, Iris," I said softly, unable to stop myself from reaching out. I tugged gently at a strand of her orange curls, an attempt to ground myself—and maybe her, too.

But the guilt followed. She was clearly disturbed, and I didn't know how to bridge the gap between us, how to ease her pain.

I just knew I couldn't leave her like this.

"Did he do something to you?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, a thought that had been clawing at the back of my mind.

Iris remained silent, her expression unreadable. The quiet stretched between us, tightening the knot already coiled in my stomach.

"Is there something you're hiding from me, Iris?" I asked again, my voice softer this time, coaxing.

Her breath hitched. "N-no," she stammered, but her hesitation betrayed her. I knew she wasn't telling me everything.

"You know," I began, my tone steady but gentle, "you said we should be honest with each other. That was one of the rules we made, remember?" I let the memory linger in the air, hoping it would ease her guardedness. "I'm not trying to force you to talk," I added, my gaze fixed on her, "but if something's bothering you, maybe I can help."

She exhaled shakily, her gaze finally lifting from the ground to meet mine. Her pupils dilated, and in that moment, the tension inside me unraveled just slightly.

"I…" Her voice was soft, a whisper, but it held my full attention. "The sickness… well, it's not really a sickness, but that's what they call it." Her words tumbled out, hesitant, as her hands fidgeted nervously.

I stayed quiet, my focus entirely on her as she spoke.

"Sometimes I fall into a deep sleep," she continued, her voice faltering. "It's only happened twice, but…" Her words trailed off, as if she were weighing every syllable. "But I promise you, it won't be a problem," she added quickly, her tone urgent, as if trying to convince herself more than me.

"A problem?" I muttered, my voice filled with disbelief. The idea that she thought I'd see her as a problem stung in ways I hadn't expected.

She glanced away, her fingers still twisting together nervously. My chest tightened—not from frustration but from worry.

"Iris," I said firmly, leaning closer, "you're not a problem. Don't ever think that." My words hung in the air, a promise I silently vowed to keep.

Her eyes darted back to mine, and her expression softened, like a veil lifting to reveal something raw and tender beneath. A faint smile curled her lips, and a blush bloomed across her pale cheeks, subtle yet striking. She looked like the most delicate masterpiece ever created—so beautiful, I almost doubted she was real.

The urge to reach out and stroke her cheek surged within me, to feel the warmth of her skin beneath my fingertips. I barely held myself together under her gaze, every fiber of me aching to close the space between us.

"Thank you," she mumbled, her voice gentle, threaded with sincerity.

I stayed silent, letting my smile mirror hers as a cool breeze whispered past us, carrying the faint scent of lilies.

"Vincent…" she started again, her voice faltering. "He's planning to announce our wedding at the ball."

Fear flickered in her eyes, clouding the faint blush on her cheeks as uneasiness took its place.

"When do you plan to announce our relationship?" she asked, her voice quivering subtly.

The sight of her so afraid of him sent a sharp pang through my chest. The urge to pull her into my arms and shield her from the weight of her fears grew stronger with each passing second.

"Don't worry, Iris," I said, my tone steady but gentle, "I'll handle everything."

Her gaze searched mine, as if looking for assurance, for a promise she could cling to.

"I will be attending the ball myself," I added, my voice firm.

The tension in her face eased slightly, though the worry still lingered in her eyes. It didn't matter. I'd make sure she never had to face Vincent's wrath again.