The priest gave me a warm smile. “Should I repeat the question?”
“Uh. . .n-no.” I swallowed hard.
My heart pounded in my chest.
But I knew I had no choice.
I had to accept, had to submit to this fate if I wanted to survive. “I do.”
A soft sigh left Gianni as if he feared for a few seconds that I would say no.
That caught me off guard.
I checked him and saw fear flicker across his eyes and then disappear. It was so fleeting that I almost missed it, but it was there, and it sent a ripple of uncertainty through me.
What? Why was he scared?
Could it really be that Gianni had been nervous that I might say no?
The thought seemed absurd.
This was a man who had just orchestrated a brutal spectacle to assert his dominance, who wielded power and fear like weapons.
Yet, for a split second, I had seen something almost human in him—something that hinted at vulnerability.
As the priest continued the ceremony, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Gianni than the terrifying image he projected. He wasn’t just a cold, ruthless killer; he was a man who, for whatever reason, really wanted me by his side.
A man who had feared—even if just for a moment—that I might refuse him.
He said that he had waited a long time to have me. But when did he first see me?
I glanced at him and once again—just like in the moment when I’d first saw him—he looked familiar.
Have I seen him before? I feel like I have. But. . .there’s no way I would have forgotten that face.
I thought back to his quick show of fear as he waited for me to sayI do.
Could it be that he cared for me in some twisted way?
That behind the possessive dominance, there was a part of him that valued me not just as a possession, but also as a partner?
My mind raced as I stood beside him, replaying the events of the past few hours. I thought about the way he had looked at me when I walked into the ballroom, the way his eyes had traced the curves of my body with something more than merelust.
There had been approval, yes, but also something deeper, something that hinted at a connection between us that went beyond the physical.
And then there was the way he had squeezed my hand just moments ago, grounding me when I had felt like I might drown in the overwhelming reality of this situation.
It had been a small gesture, but it spoke volumes.
It was as if he was trying to reassure me, to let me know that I wasn’t alone in this, even though it felt like I was.
Or was this just wishful thinking?
Did the Devil truly have a heart?
As I stood there, I realized that maybe, just maybe, this marriage didn’t have to be one of mycompletesubmission.
Maybe I could carve out a space for myself within his dark world, a space where I could have a say, where I could assert some independence.
