My lady remember Ch 1

“My lady, remember—your husband-to-be is the one with the beauty mark by his eye.”
Just before leaving, the maid gave her one last reminder, “If they play pranks during the wedding chamber games , whatever you do, don’t mistake the wrong man!”
Deborah Sandford nodded.
Today was her wedding day—she was marrying Simon Montage.
Simon had an identical twin brother Damian Montage. They looked exactly alike. The only way to tell them apart was the small beauty mark at the corner of Simon’s eye.
Simon was gentle and warm, always treating her with kindness and care.
Damian, on the other hand, was the feared Duke of Newgate—a ruthless general known for his cold, brutal nature.
Deborah had never seen this infamous prince before, but she was confident she’d be able to tell them apart. She thought, ‘Come on, who doesn’t recognize their own husband?’
The maid and the wedding host left the room.
It was the night of the wedding, with candles glowing and silk drapes swaying. Deborah sat alone in the bridal chamber, staring at the tightly shut door.
The thought of what was supposed to happen tonight made her a little nervous. After all, it was her first time.
As the night deepened, the door finally opened. A tall figure stepped inside, cloaked in the shadows.
There was no playful ruckus, no guests barging in to tease the couple. He came in alone.
With him came the strong, heady scent of alcohol. He had clearly been drinking.
Deborah instinctively tightened her fingers in her lap, waiting for him to lift her veil.
But he didn’t come over right away. Instead, he poured two cups of wine, then walked to the bed holding one of them.
Before she could see his face clearly, a chill filled the air. His presence carried a cold, almost icy aura.
As he leaned in closer, her heart began to race.
“Nervous?” he asked. His voice, roughened by alcohol, was deep and smooth—like aged wine with a dark, seductive warmth.
There was something strangely bewitching about it, especially on a night like this.
Deborah had known Simon for a whole year. He never drank.
But now, with wine on his breath and shadows in his eyes, he felt like someone entirely different—charming in a darker, more dangerous way.
She didn’t respond. Her fingers clenched even tighter.
Finally, he lifted her veil.
The man’s face came into view—striking, impossibly handsome, like a figure conjured out of a dream. His features were so perfect they seemed unreal.
And there it was—the beauty mark at the corner of his eye. Clear as day.
Deborah didn’t know why, but the sight of it made her let out a quiet breath of relief.
“Simon…” she said.
“Let’s drink the wedding wine first.” He brought one of the cups to her lips.
Without hesitation, Deborah drank it in one gulp.
But before she could lower the cup, he pulled her into his arms. Hard.
It was as if he wanted to pull her right into his body—the embrace was intense, overwhelming.
Her face turned scarlet in an instant.
He lowered his head and kissed her.
It didn’t feel like the Simon she knew. Gone was the gentle touch. In its place was something colder, more forceful.
The kiss was wild and domineering, deepening quickly. It felt like he was staking his claim, taking in every breath she had.
Soon, Deborah felt dizzy, her body going soft and weak. She thought, ‘Simon has never been like this before. Is it just the alcohol?’
“Simon… ah! Simon, what are you—” she started. He suddenly turned her around, positioning her so her back faced him.
Then his tall frame pressed forward, pinning her against the carved headboard.
Her wrists were tugged together—and to her shock, she realized he had tied them with the silk canopy drapes.
“Simon, please… don’t do this…” she said, heart pounding in alarm.
But he only leaned in and wrapped his arms around her from behind.
He began loosening the sash of her wedding robe, and with a low, dangerous laugh, whispered, “On our wedding night… what do you think I’m going to do?”
His voice, roughened by strong drink, was as seductive as it was terrifying.
Deborah’s eyes flew open, her entire body giving an involuntary shiver.
“Don’t… please, let me go,” she begged, struggling instinctively. That was when she realized—her hands were bound too tightly to break free.
He gave a sharp tug.
Her wedding robe slid off her shoulders in an instant.
Pale skin gleamed beneath the silk, the contrast so striking it was almost indecently alluring.
A wave of cold rushed over her.
It was his face, that familiar beauty mark—everything said this was Simon. But she thought, ‘Why… why does he feel so different tonight?’
She tensed as she felt the heat of his lips trail slowly across her bare back. Her entire body locked up.
Then his lips returned to her neck—and suddenly, he bit down.
“Ah!” she gasped. Pain jolted through her, and panic took over. “No…”
His breath was icy—so cold it seemed to pierce through her skin.
She thought, ‘This isn’t Simon. Simon is never like this. He never touched me with such force, such brutality.’
She twisted against the bindings. “You’re not… you’re not Simon. Who are you?”
But the man only gave a low, dark laugh, pulling her tighter against him. His body was burning hot, every inch pressed close.
She could feel him—his arousal, his tension—hard and undeniable against her. His breathing was heavy, ragged.
“You’re asking who I am?” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “You’ve already forgotten your own husband?”
His hand clamped firmly around her waist. Then, with one swift movement, his fingers caught the last scrap of fabric covering her—and tore it away.
His voice, seeing her fully exposed, dropped to a hoarse whisper, rough and almost feral. “Then let me remind you. I’ll make sure you remember exactly who I am—so deeply, you’ll never forget.”
Deborah was so terrified, she nearly screamed. “You’re not Simon! Who are you? Let me go!”
But he wasn’t listening. His hot hand slid down from her stomach… lower…