Transmigrated as the Villain's Abandoned Wife

Chapter 5: The Masked Bride

The island smelled like power.

Salt. Smoke. Expensive leather. Blood money perfume.

Ezra stepped off the jet and into another life — again. The same villa. The same marble halls. The same cold wind brushing past the back of her neck like a whisper of death.

But this time, she didn’t walk in as the fool.

She walked in angry.

She didn’t speak a word to Joshua since the jet. Not since he’d grabbed her like a beast and thrown her over his shoulder in front of strangers. Not since he locked her in their cabin like she was some fragile pet needing discipline.

> He thinks silence is an apology.

He thinks dragging me means I belong to him.

But I’m not a toy. I’m not a prisoner.

I am the storm he doesn’t see coming.

Their suite in the villa was cold and perfect — black satin sheets, silent walls, untouched mirrors. She showered in silence. Painted her lips in wine-red defiance. Slipped into the dress the staff had laid out for her: black silk, open back, slit high enough to kill.

Her mask was feathered, dark, delicate — like it belonged to a queen who poisoned her lovers.

She wore it gladly.

---

The masquerade began at midnight.

It wasn’t just a party. It was a performance.

Golden chandeliers floated above a sea of devils in disguise. Mafia heads, weapon lords, smugglers in suits. All masked. All watching.

Ezra stepped into the ballroom like smoke on heels. The moment she entered, heads turned. Even the music seemed to lower — just slightly — as if the room itself sensed something had arrived that shouldn’t be ignored.

She didn’t look at Joshua.

But she knew exactly where he stood.

Back wall. Hands in his pockets. Mask half-shadowing his face. Staring at her like she was the trigger to a gun he wasn’t ready to fire.

She made sure not to look back.

---

Someone handed her a drink.

A glass of liquid amethyst — deep violet, glittering faintly under the chandelier light.

“House signature,” the masked woman said. “For the new bride. It’s tradition.”

Ezra took the glass. Tipped it to her lips.

Sweet. Cold. Smooth. Addictive.

She didn’t know the alcohol was heavy until it was already too late.

> One sip became three.

The burn came later — soft in the throat, hot in the chest, dangerous in the blood.

Her lips tingled. Her spine loosened. Her heartbeat changed rhythm.

The room spun just slightly.

And the music changed.

Lower. Darker. A sensual beat thrumming through the floor.

Ezra stood still.

Then something inside her snapped loose.

> You dragged me like property?

Fine. Watch what your property does now.

She stepped onto the dance floor.

Alone.

And the world stopped breathing.

---

She didn’t dance like a bride.

She danced like the storm before a massacre.

Her mask glinted beneath the lights as her hips rolled, arms cutting the air like ribbons. The silk of her dress clung and swayed, teasing the skin of her thighs. She spun once — slow and sharp — hair loose, wild.

She became a spectacle.

The crowd froze.

Guards with scars stared. Wives clutched pearls. Enemies forgot their cigars.

Ezra danced like sin draped in elegance.

And every step screamed: I don’t belong to you.

She was free. Drunk. Dangerous.

And then she felt it.

> That gaze. Burning. Possessive. Cold as a gun barrel pressed to her spine.

Joshua.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

But the way he stared at her could’ve cracked marble.