Married to the faceless king

They said Wilfred did not exist.

Not in the way other men existed—with a face that could be remembered, a voice that lingered, a body that left warmth behind. Wilfred existed like gravity: unseen, unquestioned, lethal. You never looked for him. You only felt the pull when it was already too late.

The city learned his rules the way a body learns pain—through repetition. Crime flourished everywhere except where Wilfred’s shadow touched. There, it knelt. There, it begged. There, it died.

On a ra

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