A raw, desperate panic clawed up my sore throat.
“No!” I thrashed, trying to pull away, but it was futile. The more I struggled, the more brutal the force of his grip was on my wrists.
Large hands pinned my wrists above my head, pressing them deep into the mattress, his calloused fingers wrapping aroundmy delicate bones with ease. His thighs caged mine and forced them apart, restraining me until I had no hope of escaping.
His stormy eyes flickered along the length of my body, making me want to curl up and hide.
“I expected more from you, Dolcezza.” He tilted his head as if I were an experiment gone wrong. I hated the shame burning hotter than my fear. How could he look so detached and cold when he almost tore my throat a few hours ago? There was not a single flicker of regret or guilt in his eyes. Those damn stormy eyes I was coming to loathe. Not even an ounce of emotion; if anything, he looked like he’d do it all over again.
What was I even thinking, coming to him and letting him use me when I knew he had no gentle bone in his body? I was so foolish to even think that if I obeyed, he’d be less cruel. I was wrong, so damn wrong it hurt more than it should.
Feeling bothered and suddenly angry, my body stopped fighting back, and I looked dead in his eyes, matching the coldness. “Fuck you.”
I expected a slap, a punch, or even him to force me.
Instead, he chuckled, slightly tightening his grip on my wrists. “You’re welcome to try, dear wife.”
I recoiled.Wife. Not a prisoner. Not captive. Not even a plaything. But wife. A title that should’ve meant something sacred. Vows of love, promises and devotion. But with him? It was a leash. A declaration of ownership.
I swallowed hard. Now that he said it, I realised I was bound to him with more than just words and violence. This wasn’t a nightmare I could wake up from.
How could he? How could he say it so casually? Did it mean nothing to him? He had no morals, no conscience, and no fucking humanity. A man wouldn’t do this. A man wouldn’t force a wedding onto someone who wanted nothing to do with him.
No, what held me down wasn’t a man.
It was a monster. And I was his bride.
This sudden reality hit harder than it had any business to. He felt it too, 'cause I saw something flickering in his eyes. My throat convulsed as I looked at him.
“You could’ve had anyone.” My voice cracked from the strain of everything he had put me through. “Anyone, willingly. So why me?”
His gaze flickered once again, something there, something gone before I could name it. Like the whisper of a ghost. There but never there. It was tangible and unpredictably unstable.
“Do I even mean anything to you?” My breath hitched, and I hoped he could feel the pain behind my words. I knew men like him were hard to reach out to, but at least he could see the damage he’d done. “Or am I just… just something to fuck? A sex slave you buy from some brothel?”
His fingers flexed against my skin. And this time, I saw the shift, the momentary lapse where the monster inside him faltered, if only for a breath.
And still, he said nothing. Just looked at me as if he was trying to decode me. Understand me. Understand my irrational words.
“Do you enjoy tormenting me?” Slat and rust rubbed against my sore throat, like all the things I could never take back.“Because that’s what this is. Every fucking breath… I feel like dying. I can’t escape you. No matter how much I try, how much I bleed.”
The silence that followed was dense.
Tears burned, but I refused them and swallowed them like poison. I had nothing left to give him. No more pieces to break, no more screams to steal.
“I am a human,” I spoke recklessly, not caring if he’d punish me later. “Not a fucking slave! You can’t do this to me. I can’t accept this. I won’t! It’s… It’s depressing! Let me go, please! I don’t even fucking know your name!”
My chest rose and fell by the time I was done speaking.
He just stared.
Like I was some caged animal throwing itself against the bars, as if my defiance was nothing more than an amusing tantrum.
I wanted to claw at his face, to dig my nails into his skin and rip apart that cold, unfeeling mask he wore so perfectly. Was there even a real person beneath it? Or was he just a hollow thing—one without a soul, without a conscience?
It made me feel small. Insignificant.
Nothing about me mattered to him.
