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CHAPTER 4
Serenity
The door to the guest bedroom that I claimed as mine was thrown open.
The force was so hard it cracked against the wall, jerking me awake.
My father and his two favorite guards, Trent and Brad, stormed into the room so quickly I didn’t even have time to throw the comforter off of my body. A swift backhand made my cheek sting, a sensation I was all too familiar with. My bottom lip trembled as my father hovered over me.
“You've failed me,” he said.
Trent and Brad pinned me to the bed, holding me down as I tried to scramble away. My father’s hand darted out like a snake strike, clenching my throat.
He squeezed.
Hard.
I flailed, digging my nails into his hand, trying to pry it away as the air dwindled in my lungs. My heart slammed rapidly against my chest, adrenaline coursing through my veins as my body tried to fight off the three men.
My limbs slackened, tingling with their lack of strength until I was just smacking limply as he continued to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.
I couldn't breathe.
The last thing I'd ever see would be his angry, disappointed eyes.
I didn't want to die like this?—
A choking gasp tore through me, my heart racing furiously as I bolted upright in bed.
It took me a minute to orient myself.
I was in the same bed, in the same guest room, but I was alone.
Late afternoon sunlight trickled in through the partially slanted blinds from the bay windows across the room. I’d fallen asleep sometime after breakfast, having intended only to curl up for a minute and rest my eyes.
It was a dream. A dream.
I silently repeat this to myself until my heart stopped racing and my fingers stopped trembling. But try as I might, I couldn’t get rid of the sensation of my father's hand wrapped around my throat.
I focused on my breathing, doing my best to ease my racing mind. It’d been one week since I'd gathered the courage to knock on Gareth’s hotel door.
One week since he’d flown me to Vegas and given me his last name.
He hadn't touched me, except for a microsecond of a kiss he'd given me at the altar. And even in a moment of rare boldness, like this morning in the kitchen where I'd offered myself up to him, he’d turned me down as bluntly as possible.
He was determined to leave me as untouched as I’d come into this marriage.
I was determined to at least leave it with some form of power of my own.
Without my virginity, I was of no value to my father or the family. My father dictated my education, offering nothing outside of the basics. Anytime I’d begged my father to let me try something new, like painting or music or reading anything that wasn’t educational, anything that would give me some form of emotional escape, I'd always been met with a stern lecture. The only thing I needed to grow my skill set in was being a good, submissive wife. Because that's what I was born for. Because I hadn't been born a male, a prince to the Irish throne, but a girl, nothing but a pretty, pure princess with an equally pretty price tag.
Emotion clogged my throat, tears building in the backs of my eyes that I couldn't stop, no matter how hard I cursed myself.
Tears were a weakness, and ground for punishment.
Just like speaking out of turn was.
Although these past couple of years, I had cared less and less about the punishments. Ever since my father started taking me to the billionaire’s game, and I was exposed to more of the outside world rather than the environment that was created for me. Somewhere along the way, I’d found a sort of courage. It hadn't been enough to stand up to my father, but I’d savored the little pieces given to me during the games when my father wasn't watching.
