She drops her utensils onto the plate with a loud clang. “Why are you doing this?”
I lean back slightly. “Doing what?”
“This.” She gestures between us. “Why are you forcing me into this marriage?”
I almost smile. “I’m not forcing you. That’s the part you keep forgetting. You offered yourself.”
“I offered because it was either me or my sister,” she snaps. “I wasn’t going to let you take Milana. She doesn’t deserve this. I’m sure there are several women out there who would gladly become your wife.”
“Have you forgotten you said last night that I’m so despicable and miserable no woman would ever want to marry me,” I remind her calmly.
She rolls her eyes. “Marriage is for a lifetime.”
“I'm aware of that.”
“There is no divorce in our world. Once we’re married, that’s it. We’re stuck together until one of us dies.”
“Another obvious fact,” I reply. “What’s your point?”
She leans forward, voice trembling with frustration. “So why would you want to saddle yourself with a woman who doesn’t love you? Why tie yourself to someone who can barely stand the sight of you for the rest of your life?”
Her words hit harder than they should.
I watch her, cheeks flushed with anger, chest rising and falling, that fire burning in her eyes, and something dark and possessive coils tight in my chest. She has no idea how badly I want her. How the thought of anyone else having her makes me want to destroy things.
I don’t believe in love. Never have. Love is weakness. But this? This pull between us, the way she challenges me, the way her body reacts when I get close, the way I can’t stop thinking about pinning her down and making her mine, that’s not nothing.
I hold her gaze, letting the silence stretch until it’s almost unbearable.
“I have never cared for love in marriage,” I say quietly. “I don’t believe in it.”
Her eyes flash with disbelief and something almost like hurt. “Well, I do,” she says, voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve always dreamed of marrying a man I love. A man who loves me back. Someone I can have children with, build a life with… someone I’ll actually be happy to come home to every single day.”
She keeps talking, painting this picture of the future she always wanted, soft, warm, full of love and laughter. I listen without interrupting, my gaze never leaving her face. Every word she says pulls at something deep inside my chest, something I don’t recognize and don’t want.
I’ve never cared for love, I wasn’t lying. I think it’s for the weak. I grew up in a house where love didn’t exist, my adoptive fatherand mother barely tolerated each other. There were no tender moments, no affection, no warmth. Love was an alien concept to me. In my world, marriage is a weapon, a contract, a means to power. Nothing more.
And yet… watching her speak so passionately about the life she wants, a small, unfamiliar part of me feels tugged. A part that almost wishes I could give her what she’s describing. But I don’t know how. I’ve never seen it. Never lived it.
I lean back in my chair, keeping my expression cold, even as that strange pull tightens in my chest.
“If you want a loving marriage so badly,” I tell her, “if you want to marry a man who loves you and who you can love in return… you still have the chance to leave. After all, you were the one who volunteered.”
The words taste bitter on my tongue because they’re a lie. I’m never letting her go.
She stares at me, lips parted, chest rising and falling faster. I hold her gaze, daring her to call my bluff.
“I agreed to this because I want Milana to have a chance at happiness.”
I lean forward slightly, holding her gaze. “So why are you complaining? You decided to make yourself the sacrificial lamb.You might as well stop whining about it and accept what you chose.”
She sits back in her chair, studying me for a long moment. Then she asks, softer this time, “Have you never been loved? Is that why you’re so against it?”
The question hits somewhere deep and uncomfortable. I push my chair back and stand up slowly, towering over the table.
“This is happening,” I say, my voice low and final.“You are marrying me. You are going to be my wife. You will bear my children. You will carry my name. You will become mine in every single way that matters. So get used to the idea, Calina.”
Without waiting for her reply, I turn and walk away from the table, my footsteps echoing through the dining room.
