Page 127 of Maddening Fixation

I instinctively held my breath.

“From this day forward,” he snarled, his voice ringing through the church with terrifying clarity, “I vow to make your life a living hell.”

“I will break your body, your spirit, and your soul until you beg me for the mercy you stole from me.” His bloodshot eyes bored into mine, burning with years of bitterness. “This marriage is your sentence.”

His bleeding hand trembled, though whether from rage or blood loss, I couldn’t tell.

“And I swear on my blood... on my name... on everything I am...” His voice dropped into a deadly whisper. “I will enjoy every second of your suffering.”

My chest tightened.

I kept my face carefully blank, refusing to let him see how deeply his words cut.

It hurt.

More than anything ever had.

The man I’d loved for as long as I could remember was standing across from me at our wedding, not promising to love or cherish me...

But swearing to make me suffer.

And the cruelest part was that he believed I deserved it.

Romeo slowly curled his wounded hand into a fist.

A sickening wet sound echoed through the sanctuary as fresh blood squeezed between his fingers, dripping steadily onto the marble beneath his polished shoes.

He turned his head toward the priest, contempt flashing across his face.

“You’ve wasted enough of my time. Finish the ceremony.”

He spoke with the calm finality of a man whose orders were law.

The elderly priest visibly recoiled. His trembling fingers nearly lost their grip on the microphone, which struck the marble stand with a sharp metallic clang before he managed to catch it again.

For several long seconds, the old man’s lips parted without producing a sound.

His carefully prepared sermon had vanished beneath the weight of Romeo’s fury.

I couldn’t blame him.

I felt just as shattered.

I stood rooted to the altar, unable to move.

The humiliation of being degraded at the altar before everyone burned deeper than I could bear. A tear stung the corner of my eye, but I forced it back.

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting to regain control.

No.

Not here.

Not in front of him.

I had spent my entire life learning never to cry before an audience. Bratva daughters weren’t raised to show weakness. We smiled through betrayal, stood through grief, and bled without complaint.

Yet today...