“Yes, you are.”
“I am protecting you.”
“You don’t protect someone by imprisoning them.”
His expression didn’t soften.
“Marriage,” he said quietly, “is safer than captivity.”
The implication was clear: if I didn’t become his wife, he thought I would end up as someone else’s weapon, but that made zero sense to me.
“You think I will stand there and say my vows to you?” I scoffed, unable to prevent the tears that followed.
“Yes.”
“Under threat?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
A flicker of something that almost looked like amusement crossed his face. Or it might have been respect disguised as that. I was no longer sure.
“I do,” he said, and that unsettled me more than anything else.
“I will never forgive you,”
“I’m not asking you to.”
He stepped closer again, and this time, there was no heat in his gaze. Only inevitability.
“You have two choices,” he said calmly. “Marriage by consent or marriage by violence.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, my stomach dropping.
“It means,” he said evenly, “you walk down that aisle on your own feet. Or I carry you.”
The air left my lungs.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
The silence that followed was unbearable, so I calculated things in my head. I could have screamed, but I didn’t have a phone, and no one was going to hear me. There was nowhere to run, and I could not even fight him since he was clearly stronger. My family was out of reach, and he had me cornered perfectly. I had no other choice but to listen to him, no matter how barbaric his demands were.
“You are a monster,” I whispered.
“Possibly.”
I look at the dress again, my eyes filled with tears.
“You will regret this.”
“I already do.”
That surprised me, but it didn’t change anything. I closed my eyes, realizing how survival outweighed pride. At least for now. I didn’t have another choice.
“Fine. I’ll marry you. But understand this,” I continued, opening my eyes to meet his, “you may bind me legally, but you will never own me.”
