Chapter 2
829 Words
“No, let me go! I said Let me go!”
Hazel’s screams echoed off the cold marble walls as Vincenzo’s guards seized her arms. Their grips were like iron, bruising, unrelenting. She kicked, thrashed, nails clawing against expensive suits, desperate to break free.
They didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look at her.
“Vincenzo!” she cried, her voice breaking. “You said I had a choice!”
He stood by the doorway, silent. Watching.
That same cold, unreadable mask was etched onto his face. Hands in his pockets, jaw locked, eyes like winter frost.
“Vincenzo!”
Still no answer.
“Please—don’t do this,” she choked out, her feet dragging across the floor as they pulled her toward the exit. “Please. I’ll do it willingly, just not like this—”
One of the guards yanked her closer, and she stumbled. The heels they made her wear were too tall, too tight. Pain bloomed up her ankle, but it was nothing compared to the burn in her throat from screaming.
This wasn’t a marriage.
This was a kidnapping in plain sight.
She twisted again, muscles straining, screaming until her voice was hoarse. No one stopped them. No one helped her.
Powerless. Helpless.
Exactly how he wanted her.
“You don’t have to do this!” she screamed again. “I said yes, I”
“Then stop fighting,” Vincenzo finally said, his voice quiet, lethal.
Hazel froze.
Not because the command was loud, but because it was calm. Controlled. Like she was a tantrum to be managed, not a person to be understood.
Her lips trembled. “Please…”
He walked up to her, slow, purposeful. The guards held her still as he leaned in, face inches from hers.
“You may have agreed to be my wife,” he said softly, “but this isn't a fantasy, Hazel. This is reality. My reality. And in my world, obedience comes before luxury.”
She looked at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “You're hurting me.”
He reached out and tilted her chin upward. “Good. Then you'll remember it.”
Then he turned and walked away, like her pain was beneath him.
She screamed again, voice shrill with terror. “I hate you!”
No answer.
Only the sound of luxury Italian shoes on marble floors.
The guards dragged her through the front doors and out into the chilled night air. Her hair whipped across her face as she fought, eyes blurry with tears, rage, and disbelief.
A sleek black Rolls-Royce waited at the curb, its doors already open.
“No no, please please” She kicked again, legs thrashing like a wild animal.
They lifted her without effort.
Shoved her into the backseat.
The door slammed shut.
Hazel lunged for it, but there were no handles on the inside.
Just smooth leather. Caged luxury.
The driver got in. The engine purred to life. The car moved forward.
And Hazel collapsed into the seat, sobbing.
Her fingers gripped her hair as her mind spiraled. Everything was wrong. Her plan, her mission—this wasn’t infiltration. This was entrapment. This was surrender.
This was his game now.
Her body trembled uncontrollably, and her voice broke into small, pitiful sounds that she couldn't hold back. She hated him. Hated him with every breath in her body.
But worst of all…
Part of her feared she’d never hate him enough.
Thirty Minutes Later
The car rolled through massive black gates lined with iron thorns. Surveillance cameras followed every angle. Beyond the gates was a private road, lined with shadowed trees, leading up to a mansion that rose like a beast from the earth dark stone, sharp angles, glowing windows like watching eyes.
Hazel’s breath caught.
Vincenzo’s world.
His kingdom.
And now… her prison.
The car stopped in front of grand marble steps. A butler waited under the light of golden sconces, flanked by more guards. They didn’t move until Vincenzo’s sleek black Maserati pulled up behind them.
She watched as he stepped out, buttoning his suit jacket as if this were a dinner party. His cold gaze flicked to the car.
Her.
Then the door opened, and two guards reached inside.
“No,” she whispered. “No…”
But she couldn’t resist anymore.
Her body was sore. Her voice was gone. Her spirit, fraying.
They escorted her up the steps as the mansion doors opened wide, revealing a sweeping foyer lit by crystal chandeliers and dripping with luxury. Black marble floors. A grand staircase. Oil paintings older than her existence.
It was beautiful. Terrifying.
Vincenzo walked ahead like a king returning home.
Hazel stumbled inside.
And behind her, the doors shut with a thunderous echo, like the lid sealing a coffin.
He thought he’d caged her.
But what he didn’t know…
was that he’d just invited the storm into his kingdom.
And she would be the one to burn it to the ground.
- Writer
