“You may kiss the bride,” the priest announced.A shiver ran down my spine, every muscle in my body recoiling in silent protest as the words I had spat at him two days ago echoed in my head:I wouldn’t even spit on your face, let alone marry you, Liam Knight.Yet here I stood—his bride.His eyes glimmered with triumph, cold and cruel, screaming victory without a word. That smirk of his twisted deeper, mocking me, reminding me that he had broken me, forcing me to do what I had sworn I never would—even if he begged.But he didn’t beg. He commanded. He owned the moment.He stepped closer, his towering frame eclipsing every ounce of freedom I had left. Fingers gripped my chin, tilting my head up, and I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms. His lips crashed onto mine—unwelcome, unworthy, revolting. My stomach churned with disgust, but I endured. For my father. For the man who was now a pawn in Liam’s ruthless game.When he finally pulled back, his smile remained sharp as a blade. “I made you mine, Babygirl,” he murmured darkly, voice dripping with possession. “And I can’t wait until we’re alone.”My breath caught, staring into the storm in his eyes. The old Aurora would’ve trembled. Would’ve broken.But she’s dead.I may have bowed for my father’s sake, but if Liam Knight thought he was getting a submissive wife, he was gravely mistaken.