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“You don’t have a choice,” he replies as he pulls me from his office by my hair. “You will do this. I’ll keep you locked up and monitored until you’re officially Mrs. Jackson Blackhart. After that, you’ll never have to see me again. Do your year and leave him.”
I kick and scream all the way to the cellar, where he tosses me on the ground. He turns around and storms out before shutting the door behind him. I scramble up as quickly as I can and bang on the door.
“Let me out of here!” I yell. “If you make me do this, you better hope I never see your sorry ass again!”
In the dim light of the cellar, I think back on everything my father has done. I refuse to be passive, to let my spirit be crushed by the weight of my father's sins. No matter how hard I try or how much I scream, Dad ignores my pleas.
He keeps me in the cellar, bringing by food and water. He escorts me to the bathroom to relieve myself and then back to the cellar. I put up a fight the entire way. I don’t care about the hits, but he doesn’t listen. As the three days draw to an end, I’m taken out of the cellar, told to shower, walked out to a car, and driven to a church. The city blurs past as I inch closer to the church. I never thought that living in Henderson City, home of the world’s elite, would make me feel trapped.
Upon arrival, I’m ushered into a room where a woman greets me and tells me to put on a wedding dress. It isn’t just her in here. There room is filled with guards to make sure I don’t bolt out the door.
“I’m not putting it on,” I tell the woman defiantly.
The woman gives one look at the guards, and they stomp forward with determination in their eyes. One grabs me by the arms while the other starts ripping off my clothes.
“Let go of me, asshole!” I scream. “Get your filthy hands off me.”
It’s no use. They don’t listen, but I fight them every step of the way. Unfortunately for me, I lost the battle. Soon, my father has a death grip on me as we walk down the aisle. I spot Jackson standing in the front, and his gaze makes my skin crawl. The way he’s leering at me makes me want to puke.
He’s tall with golden locks and piercing blue eyes. I’m short with long, curly brown hair and eyes like emeralds. To anyone looking, we’d make a beautiful couple. However, there is no love between us. This is no fairytale. There’s no one here but me, my father, Jackson and his thugs, and the priest.
I'm walking toward the precipice of my worst nightmare as the organ plays the haunting melody of the wedding march. The fabric of the gown feels heavy. An unwanted burden, and the eyes watching me feel even heavier. I have no choice but to do this because as much as I hate my father at this moment, he’s all the family I have left. The pit of my stomach is churning with a whirlpool of dread and fear, yet my mind is strangely clear.
As I inch towards Jackson, my mind is not on the man waiting for me at the altar or on the vows that they expect me to make. Instead, it's on the promise that I make to myself, a solemn vow echoing within the confines of my soul.
“I will not let this break me,” I tell myself, steeling my heart against the horrible fate that awaits.
I will not be a damsel in distress, and this is not my end. I refuse to let it be my end. I will fight. I will resist, and one day, I will break free from this prison, from the shackles of this forced marriage. Jackson Blackhart may think he owns me, but I swear he will never own my spirit.
1
CHAPTER 1
Isabella
I delicately dab the concealer under my left eye, wincing as I brush over the tender skin. Trying to camouflage the telltale marks of abuse has become an art form. One that I've sadly perfected over time.
Every stroke of the brush feels like a betrayal, an acceptance of the reality I'm living in. Jackson's rage, once an occasional occurrence, has now become my daily storm. Each day holds the promise of a new bruise, a fresh reminder of the torturous existence that is marriage to him.
As I look in the mirror, I see the reflection of a woman trapped in a daily saga of fear and despair. I’ve been married to Jackson for what feels like a lifetime, with each passing day feeling harder than the last. The memory of when I first arrived suddenly swirls in my mind.
The silence in the car is deafening. My emotions swirl all over the place. From sadness and betrayal to anger and bitterness. I can't believe I'm married to Jackson Blackhart. My heart pounds in my chest like a sledgehammer, every beat echoing the truth I can hardly bear to face. I glance at Jackson, on his harsh profile silhouetted against the car's dim light.
His eyes are focused on the road, but the rigid set of his jaw tells me he's just as aware of the tension coiled between us. As the city lights give way to the looming shadows of our destination, my stomach churns with a gnawing uncertainty. The house that awaits us, my new home, feels like a prison already. Each mile that rolls by under the car's tires enhances the growing sense of dread.
"Isabella," Jackson's voice cuts through the silence like a knife, cold and harsh. "You will play the part of a dutiful wife. I will expect you to fulfill your wifely duties." His words hang in the air as a chilling decree.
“Go to hell, Jackson," I hiss and my words are laced with venom. "You and my father may have forced me into this marriage, but I will never share my body with you."
The impact comes a split second later. His backhand strikes my cheek with a force that jerks my head sideways. I can taste coppery blood where I've bitten my lip.
"You would do well to remember who you're talking to, Isabella," his voice is dangerously low. "I won't tolerate your disrespect."
As the car pulls up in front of Jackson's home, I can't help but let out a gasp. It's not a home, it's a fortress. Tall, imposing walls of stone and glass stretch out before me, their stark elegance softened only by the moon's glow. Lavish gardens sprawl around us, their greenery soaked in silver. Fountains glisten in the moonlight, and their opulence is intimidating. The mansion's grandeur takes my breath away because it's so beautiful.
I step out of the car, and the crunch of gravel under my shoes echoes ominously in the silent night. I take a moment to take it all in. The grand staircase led up to a set of massive oak doors, the walls lined with ivy, and the windows aglow with the warm light from inside. Everything is meticulously maintained, reflecting a richness that feels alien. This isn't a home, it's a cold testament to Jackson's wealth and power.
Jackson walks away, leaving me standing there, gaping at the enormity of his mansion. My eyes follow him as he strides confidently toward the entrance, his broad shoulders set with an air of authority. I quicken my pace to catch up with him as my shorter strides struggle to match his long, powerful gait.
