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“FUCK!” I yell as loud as I can.
I don’t care if they hear it. They won’t punish me for it. Not when I’ve just been “married” to a patriarch who wants to keep my body intact so I can birth for him. It’s fucked up, and they all know it. They just don’t care.
How long has this been going on? How many women have been subjected to these men? How many came before me, before them? Why won’t the government do something about communities like these? Have the police never shown up on their doorstep and demanded a look inside? Maybe they’ve kept them at bay with force. Or do they have some sort of arrangement with them? A loophole in the law that allows them to do whatever they want as long as it’s on this land?
No one will tell me anything. The only way to find out is to go search for information myself.
I get up from the bed and look around the empty room. It still smells of sex and old men stench, and it makes me want to retch, so I immediately get up and waltz out the room, slamming the door shut behind me. I don’t ever want to come back here again to this room they use for blessing marriages … and impregnating women.
My feet stop at the top of the stairs, and my hand immediately covers my belly right on top of my scar. With closed eyes, I suck in a ragged breath and blow it out right away to calm myself down. It was just one time. Two times, if I count the one in the Jacuzzi. The chance is small. It won’t happen, not to me. I promised myself that.
With my head held high, I march downstairs and banish the memory of being on that bed with all those eyes on me to the back of my head, so I’ll never have to think about it again.
Chapter 23
Natalie
A week later
I haven’t left my room out of pure spite.
Even though there are no more guards at my door, which I assume is because they don’t think I’m an escape risk anymore, I still don’t want to leave.
I’d rather sit here than spend one second in the presence of these assholes who watched me fuck the man who is now … my husband.
My mind still can’t wrap itself around the fact that I’m married. According to the Family’s rules anyway. None of this would ever hold up in a real court of law.
But what can I do here in the temple? With no power, no weapons, no voice, nothing to defend myself with? Nothing. My only option is to stay here as a sign of protest.
To show them I don’t agree with how things go here.
But staying in my room, isolated from everyone else, puts a toll on my mental health. And I don’t think I can hold out for much longer.
I breathe out a sigh and gaze through the barred window at the people outside who are merrily going about their day as if there’s nothing to worry about. But at least they’re doing something useful, while I sit here and wish someone would do something about the injustice in this community.
Maybe I’m overthinking things.
It’s not like any of the patriarchs will suddenly stop going about their daily activities because I’m moping around in my room, waiting for one of them to actually care.
They never will.
There’s no point in waiting here.
Without thinking about it any longer, I turn around and march out of my room. I may not be allowed out of the temple without permission, but I can at least look around the house and see what else there is.
So I walk around aimlessly, looking at all the beautiful paintings while leaning against the banister. There’s more downstairs, rooms that I’ve never stepped foot in, so maybe I should have a peek.
“Hey.” A familiar voice makes me stop in my tracks.
Patrick.
He’s leaning against the banister right next to the main staircase that I was just about to descend on my way to the ground floor. “How do you feel?” he asks.
I glare at him for a second, wondering if he means it or if he’s just messing with me. why would he ask me this now? It’s not like he was ever interested. “Does it matter?”
A wicked smile spreads on his lips. “That depends who you ask.”
I frown. “Are all of you patriarchs so cryptic?”
He laughs. “Sounds like you’re getting to know us well.”
I wish. Or maybe not. I’m not sure right now which one would be better for me at this point. I shrug and place a foot on the stairs.
“Wait,” he says, making me stop. “Come here.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I’m asking you to,” he says, raising a brow.
I sigh. “Of course … it would be rude of me to deny the request of a patriarch.”
