Page 20 of Bound in Ruin

My heart drops into my stomach. It’s the city courthouse.

Panic spikes through my blood, sharp and cold. I turn to him, my eyes wide. "What is this? Why are we at the courthouse?"

Dominic cuts the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt, his dark eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. "We're getting married. Right now."

"Right now?" I echo, my voice rising as shock turns into pure fury. "You bring me here without a word, without any notice? Why didn't you tell me?!"

Dominic scoffs, turning in his seat to look at me, a cold, pragmatic tilt to his lips. "Why would I? It’s not like you have a choice, Rosalia."

Before I can scream at him, he opens his door, steps out into the cool subterranean air, and walks around to my side. He pulls the door open, stretching out an arm toward me, offering a hand to help me down.

I glare at his outstretched hand, every nerve in my body screaming at me to slap it away with all the force I can muster. But as I look past his shoulder, I catch the glint of security cameras and the distant movement of court guards watching from across the garage.

We are in public. The game has already started.

Swallowing down the rage burning in my throat, I place my palm in his, letting his cool, firm grip steady me as I step down onto the concrete.

The second my feet touch the ground, I snatch my hand back, but Dominic merely adjusts his suit jacket, unbothered, and gestures for me to walk ahead of him toward the private elevators.

The ride up to the magistrate's floor passes in a silent, suffocating blur.

As we sit in a quiet, sterile waiting area outside the judge's chambers—surrounded by grey walls, harsh fluorescent lights, and the distant hum of administrative machinery—the initial shock slowly begins to recede, leaving behind a cold, sharp clarity.

I look down at my hands folded tightly in my lap.

He’s right. It’s not like I have a choice. I never had one from the moment my father traded me away.

But as the reality sets in, a strange, unexpected wave of relief quietly settles over the panic. A small, hidden, sterile courthouse wedding with no guests, no press, and no family... this is a mercy compared to the alternative.

My mind flashes back to my wedding with Luciano—the grand cathedral, the hundreds of fake smiles, the suffocating white dress, and the grand spectacle arranged by powerful men who treated me like a prized cow being paraded before the slaughter. My father had turned my agony into a high-society media circus.

Here, in this cold, empty room with only a judge and two silent witnesses waiting behind closed doors, there are no cameras. No performative joy. No audience to applaud my captivity.

It’s efficient. It’s clinical. And in our dark, twisted world, it's the quietest victory I'm going to get.

I take a slow, deep breath, lifting my chin as the heavy double doors finally swing open.

The ceremony is quick, practical, and stripped of every ounce of sentimentality.

The magistrate speaks in a flat, monotone voice, droning through the legal jargon and the binding clauses required by civil law. There are no flowers, no soft music, and no tearful toasts.

Just the quiet scratch of a pen against official parchment, two stone-faced security guards serving as forced witnesses, and the ticking of an old wall clock.

Yet, as stripped-down as it is, the sheer intimacy of the small room unsettles me far more than I expected.

Without the distraction of a crowded cathedral, the suffocating grandeur of high-society guests, or my father’s watchful gaze, there is nowhere to hide. Every word spoken feels amplified.

Every shift of Dominic’s shoes against the hardwood floor echoes in the quiet space. When he steps up beside me, his towering presence blocks out the rest of the room entirely.

When the time comes, Dominic doesn't hesitate. He takes my hand, his grip steady and warm, and slides a band onto my finger. I look down, my breath hitching in my throat.

It’s a massive, flawless emerald-cut diamond, heavy and blindingly brilliant under the harsh fluorescent lights. The platinum band feels icy against my skin, a stark, weightless chain wrapping itself around my life once again.

"By the power vested in me," the magistrate says, closing the leather folder on his desk with a dull thud, "I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Dominic doesn't lean in for a dramatic kiss. He simply turns to me, his dark eyes searching my face with that terrifying, unreadable intensity, and gives a subtle, single nod.

And just like that, it’s done.