Realizing she truly had no choice, Ophelia pressed her eyes shut and turned her head from him as much as she could.
“I will tell my father of my change of heart in the morning,” she forced herself to say.
Her body instantly rebelled as she said the words, and she worried she was going to be sick right then and there.What would such a man do if she vomited on him? Hit her? Push her? There would certainly be some sort of punishment.
Abraham suddenly released her though, enabling her to avoid finding out what his reaction would be, and took a step back from her.
“See?” He said, his tone suddenly light and playful, “I told you you were trainable.”
Ophelia didn’t answer, only snapped her eyes open and glared at him.
“You will have to fix that look in your eyes before we start courting in public,” Abraham advised, taking another step back, “Cannot have our peers believing that this is anything less but true love.”
Again, Ophelia kept her mouth shut, silently counting the seconds as he put more space between them.
“I shall see you soon, beloved,” Abraham said with an overly dramatic bow. “Now be a good girl and go inside. It is quite chilly out here. We would not want you catching your death before our wedding.”
Ophelia’s eyes widened as she picked up on the underlying threat. Abraham’s grin back at her wide was wide and full of satisfaction. Then without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away.
For several moments, Ophelia remained frozen to the gate as she faced an onslaught of emotions. The fear of Abraham’s blackmail. The loss of her freedom. The pain of being called a good girl by someone that was not Tristan. The heartache of her choker being broken.
The gaudy gold around her throat felt heavy, suffocating, and she reached up, and tried to rip it off. Yet as she pulled and tugged at it, she found not only unbreakable, but actuallylockedaround her throat. Like a wild animal being forced into becoming a house pet, Ophelia realized that everything about her life was about to change.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Come now, Tristan! Where is that fighting spirit you had a few weeks ago!” Hugo goaded, then took another swing.
Again, Hugo’s hit landed square and true, this time into Tristan’s jaw. Tristan, sweaty and bruised, stumbled from the hit. The entire world spun around him. He felt nauseous. Dizzy. And worst of all, empty. His back sagged into the ropes of the ring and for a moment he just stayed there, unsure what it was that made him want to get back up.
“Get up,” Hugo barked, walking a circle in the middle of ring. “I am not letting you off that easy. Something is not right within you and if you will not talk about it I am going to beat it out of you.”
From the outside of the ring, Alistair, Everett, and Dominic exchanged worried glances. Alistair rose from his chair, gripping the back of it tightly as he watched the sorry excuse for a fight wage on.
“Hugo. Perhaps he has had enough,” Alistair warned.
Both men ignored him as Tristan forced himself away from the ropes and staggered forward.
“I am fine,” he panted, feeling a sharpness in his lungs. No doubt from a bruised rib- one of many injuries he’d sustained thus far from the fight.
He bent his knees, trying to find balance in his trembling form, and put his boxing gloves up to his face.
“Ring the bell,” Hugo grunted.
“I think he’s had enough old boy,” Everett spoke up, running a worried hand through his hair.
“Ring the blasted bell!” Hugo shouted, narrowing his eyes at Tristan.
“We’re going until he finally breaks and tells us what’s wrong.”
“Ring it,” Tristan wheezed, feeling sweat pour down his forehead, “I told you. I am fine.”
A moment of awkward silence stretched within the room before the sound of a single bell toll ring echoed through, and Hugo came at Tristan again. Tristan swung out at Hugo far too early, the momentum making him twist nearly into a pirouette, andhe grunted in pain as Hugo got two good shots at his already bruised kidneys.
“Enough!” Alistair snarled as Tristan went down to his knees.
“No!” Tristan said on a ragged breath. He pressed his gloves to the floor and pushed himself up. “I want to keep going.”
He wobbled as he turned around to face Hugo, but Hugo was no longer in his fighting stance. He wore a deep frown as he gravely shook his head, his gloved hands hanging at his sides.
