I stood frozen; the veil slipping from my fingers and falling to the floor like a whisper. The air in the room shifted as Hades appeared in the doorway, his silhouette blocking the light behind him.
He didn’t knock. Just stood there, an unyielding force in a tailored suit that felt too much like armor.
“We’re getting married tonight.” His voice sliced through the silence with casual authority.
Just like that. No buildup. No grand ceremony planned out. Just… tonight.
My heart dropped, thudding painfully against my ribcage.
“It’ll be private. Quiet. Just the papers. You sign. I keep you.”
The weight of his words sank into my chest, and I went still, unable to muster any protest or fight. The veil lay crumpled at my feet, a symbol of everything he had stripped away from me—everything I had tried to reclaim.
“You can cry. You can curse. You can pretend you still have a choice,” he continued, stepping into the room with a confidence that felt suffocating, his presence consuming every corner of the space. “But by midnight, you’ll be my wife.”
My breath hitched as his gaze locked onto mine—intense and unwavering—like he could read every defiant thought swirling in my mind. I wanted to scream at him, to tear apart this ridiculous notion that he could simply dictate my life as if it were his own plaything.
But the fire inside me dimmed under the weight of reality; there was no escape route left for me here. Every plan I had unraveled in an instant, swept away by his calm resolve.
I searched for words but found nothing but silence clinging to my throat like smoke from a dying fire.
His smirk widened ever so slightly as if he enjoyed watching me grapple with this new reality—a reality where my resistance felt futile against his iron will.
“Tonight,” he repeated softly, as if letting it settle over me like a dark cloud ready to unleash its storm.
His eyes glinted with something predatory as he stepped closer, invading my space. “I can’t wait for the wedding night,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “When I finally claim you. Temper that attitude of yours.”
I felt a surge of anger flare within me, hot and bright like a spark in dry grass. How dare he? My heart pounded as I met his gaze, a fire igniting behind my eyes.
“You think you can just take me? Fuck you!” My voice shook with fury as I lashed out, fingers curling into fists at my sides.
"Oh, I will."
He moved before I could even react, catching my wrist in an iron grip that was more surprising than painful. His calm demeanor remained unshaken as he stared down at me, the corner of his mouth quirking up into that infuriating smirk.
“I want to hurt you,” he said softly. “Just like this.”
His grip tightened slightly but didn’t bruise. I could feel the heat radiating from him—an electric pulse that sent chills racing through me. His stare bore into mine, intense and unwavering.
“That fire in your eyes?” he continued, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ll still have it after the vows. I like it better that way.”
I fought against his hold instinctively, pulling away with all my might. “You’re insane if you think I’ll ever give in to you,” I spat back.
He didn’t release me; instead; he leaned closer until the warmth of his breath brushed against my cheek. My pulse quickened, a conflicting blend of fear and something else—something dangerous and intoxicating—that made it hard to think clearly.
“Then let’s make it interesting,” he murmured before releasing my wrist, but not before leaving me reeling from the intensity of his presence.
As I stumbled back a step, every part of me wanted to scream—scream at him for this twisted fate he forced upon me and for making me feel so utterly trapped yet strangely alive all at once.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t argue anymore. I just sat there, numb, the veil still resting in my lap like a weight too heavy to bear.
Hades knelt in front of me, the floor creaking under his weight. His gaze locked onto mine, and for a moment, the air between us crackled with unspoken tension. He reached for the veil, his fingers brushing against the fabric before lifting it gingerly from my lap.
With a practiced ease, he placed it against my hair—not pinning it, just holding it there as if testing its weight.
“See? Perfect,” he said, his voice smooth and deceptively calm.
The way he looked at me felt invasive, as if he were cataloguing every reaction, every flicker of emotion behind my eyes. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him even as nausea swirled in my stomach. I wanted to shove him away and scream until my throat burned, but I couldn’t muster the energy. Instead, I remained frozen in place.
