“Least cruel?” I laugh again, bitter this time. “Forcing someone into lifelong bondage is least cruel?”
“Compared to death? Yes.”
“I’d rather—”
“Don’t.” The word cracks sharp. “Don’t say you’d rather die. We both know that’s a lie. You want to live. You want to matter. You want recognition and purpose and safety. I’m offering all of that.”
“At what cost?”
“Your pride. Your illusion of independence. Your fantasy that the world operates on fairness rather than power.” He’s directly in front of me now. “Small prices for staying alive.”
My back hits the wall without me realizing I’d been retreating. The solid surface behind me, his presence in front—caged again, always caged.
“I won’t do it,” I say, trying to sound certain. “I won’t marry you. You can’t make me.”
“I can. I will.” His hand comes up, gripping my jaw. Not painful but firm, forcing me to meet his eyes. “This is not a request, Elena. Not a negotiation. The world has already decided your fate. I’m the only reason you’re still breathing to argue about it.”
The contact lights every nerve on fire. My pulse hammers against his palm. Heat floods through me—anger and fear and that unwanted awareness I’ve been trying to deny.
“Let go of me,” I whisper.
“Why? Because you hate how your body reacts when I touch you?” His thumb presses slightly harder against my jaw. “It terrifies you that part of you wants this even while your mind rejects it?”
“I don’t—”
“You do. I can feel your pulse racing. See your pupils dilate. Feel the heat in your skin.” His voice drops lower. “Your body knows what your pride won’t admit. You’re mine already. Marriage just makes it official.”
I should shove him away. Should fight, scream, do anything but stand here trembling under his touch.
Instead, my hands come up and grip his shirt. Not pushing. Just… holding on.
“I hate you,” I breathe.
“I know.” His mouth curves slightly. “Hate me all you want. It changes nothing.”
He releases my jaw and steps back. The loss of contact feels like both relief and abandonment.
My knees are weak. I press harder against the wall to stay upright.
“This isn’t a proposal,” I say, voice shaking. “This is a sentence.”
“Call it what you want. The outcome is the same.”
My mind races, searching for leverage, for any angle that gives me power in this situation. Then it hits me; if this is happening, if I can’t stop it, maybe I can shape it.
“If I agree—” The words taste like ash. “If I do this, my family’s assets. You said they’d be stabilized.”
“Under my control, yes.”
“No. Not destroyed. Not completely absorbed.” I push off the wall, forcing strength into my spine. “The Lawrence name remains operational. Some businesses continue as they have been. Not all of it goes to Bratva.”
His eyebrow raises slightly. “You’re bargaining?”
“If I’m going to be your wife, I should come from a family with at least some standing, shouldn’t I? A completely ruined name reflects poorly on you. Better to have a wife whose family still maintains respectability.”
For the first time since this conversation started, something like amusement crosses his face. “You’re trying to strike a bargain where you have no leverage.”
“I have the leverage of making this easy or difficult. Compliant or resistant. A willing wife or a prisoner you have to force into every appearance.”
