“Do you think that threat matters to me?”
“I think you want this to work. Want me cooperative, not broken. Which means giving me something I can tell myself justifies the choice.” I meet his gaze steadily. “Let my family keep enough to survive. Enough that I’m not watching them destroyed while wearing your ring.”
He studies me for a long moment. Calculating, weighing, deciding how much control to surrender.
“That’s up to me,” he says finally. Simply.
Not yes. Not no. Just… maintaining power over the decision.
“So that’s it?” Frustration bleeds through. “I get no say? No input into what happens to my own family?”
“You get to make suggestions. Which I’ll consider when relevant.” He moves back to the table, pouring water from a pitcher into a glass. “Understand this—every concession you ask for is a favor granted, not a right negotiated. Your position here is not an equal partnership.”
“Then what is it?”
He hands me the water. I take it automatically, too stunned to refuse.
“Ownership,” he says quietly. “Possession. Mine in every way that matters.” His eyes hold mine. “But I’m not a cruel master, Elena. Obedience earns rewards. Cooperation grants privileges. You might even find the arrangement… tolerable.”
“Tolerable.” The word tastes bitter. “You’re asking me to marry you and you’re promising tolerable.”
“I’m promising safety, security, and purpose. The rest develops with time.”
“Or it doesn’t.”
“Or it doesn’t,” he agrees. “Either way, the marriage happens. The question is whether you fight every step or make peace with inevitability.”
I drink the water because my throat is dry, because I need something to do with my hands.
When the glass is empty, I set it down carefully.
“When?” I ask.
“Soon. Arrangements are already being made.”
“Of course they are.” I laugh, hollow. “You decided this before you even told me.”
“Yes.”
The honesty shouldn’t surprise me. He’s been honest about everything—his intentions, his control, his complete lack of interest in my consent.
“Do I get any input?” I ask. “Into how this happens?”
“You can choose your dress. Beyond that, no.”
“Generous.”
“Practical. The less you’re involved in planning, the less opportunity you have to sabotage or escape.”
He’s thought of everything. Covered every angle. Made this inevitable through sheer force of will and superior positioning.
I’ve been outmaneuvered so completely there’s no move left except acceptance.
“I want it in writing,” I say finally. “About my family. What you’re willing to preserve, what protections they get. I want legal documentation.”
“Done.”
“I want—” I swallow hard. “I want time. Before… before anything physical. Time to adjust.”
