Bride for revenge

Layla’s POV I always imagined that if something terrible happened to me, I’d feel it coming. Some gut instinct, some shiver down my spine. But when it happened, there was no warning. Just an empty parking garage, a text message, and then — darkness. It had been a long day at the firm. Ten hours of back-to-back meetings, client calls, and an unexpected structural issue in the blueprint we’d already sent for approval. I was exhausted — mentally fried, physically aching — but at least the week was done. Ethan had stayed a little later too. He always waited when I worked overtime, even though he wasn’t assigned to my team anymore. Said he couldn’t focus if he didn’t know I’d made it home safely. I’d found it sweet, even if I teased him about being overprotective. My phone buzzed just as I stepped into the elevator. Ethan: Got the food. Don’t take the long route through the garage. I miss you. Me: Too late. Already in the garage. 20 mins tops. I miss you more. ❤️ I took the long route anyway. I always did. It was quieter down there, and after the day I’d had, I needed silence. The underground lot echoed with every step of my heels. The rhythmic click on concrete was oddly soothing, like I was walking my stress away. My car was parked in its usual corner — tucked beneath a flickering light, wedged between a concrete pillar and a rust-colored sedan. I was maybe fifteen feet away when I heard it. Tires screeching. A black SUV came out of nowhere, speeding around the bend like it had been waiting. I froze. Before I could even scream, the door flung open. Two men jumped out. Black clothes. Gloves. Masks. I turned and ran. I didn’t make it far. One of them grabbed me, pulling me backward with inhuman strength. I kicked, punched, thrashed — every movement fueled by panic. My scream barely escaped before I felt the sharp prick in my neck. A needle. The world started to spin. My arms went limp. “Ethan…” I whispered. His name was the last thing on my lips before everything faded. When I woke up, it wasn’t to flashing lights or a hospital bed. It was soft. Too soft. My head rested on a pillow that smelled faintly like roses and cedar. The sheets were silk. The mattress beneath me felt like clouds. It wasn’t mine. None of this was mine. I sat up, suddenly alert. My body felt heavy, like I’d been drugged. My head throbbed. But I forced myself upright and looked around. The room was massive. Elegant. Like something from a royal mansion. Cream and gold tones everywhere. A crystal chandelier. Velvet curtains. A fireplace. But no windows. I climbed out of the bed, barefoot, heart racing. What the hell was this place? Where was my phone? My purse? Where was Ethan? I padded across the carpet toward the door. It looked heavy — old wood, thick with gold handles. I twisted the knob. It wasn’t locked. Which was almost more terrifying than if it had been. I cracked it open — and there he was. A man. Tall. Composed. Wearing a black suit like it was a second skin. His hair was dark, slicked back with precision. His eyes were colder than winter. He didn’t flinch when I opened the door. “Good,” he said calmly. “You’re awake.” I stared at him. “Who the hell are you?” “Damien Blackwood,” he replied. “And you, Layla Carter, are going to marry me.” The silence that followed was unreal. Then I laughed. Not because it was funny — because it was insane. “You’re kidding, right? Is this a prank?” “I don’t joke.” “You drugged me, kidn*pped me, and now you’re saying I’m going to marry you?” “Yes.” I took a step back, rage building in my chest. “You’re out of your goddamn mind. Let me go. Right now.” “I’m afraid that’s not an option.” “Screw you. I have a boyfriend. I have a life. You can’t just—” He cut me off, his voice cold. “Your life belongs to me now. Your father made sure of that.” My chest tightened. “My father? What does he have to do with this?” Damien reached into his coat and pulled out a folded document. I hesitated before snatching it from his hand. It was a contract. A marriage contract. My name. His name. And my father’s signature at the bottom. “I don’t believe this,” I whispered. “He wouldn’t…” “He did,” Damien said simply. “Two years ago. In exchange for clearing his debts and keeping him out of prison.” “He… traded me?” Damien nodded. “He gave you to me, Layla. You’re mine now.” I tore the paper in half and threw it at him. “I’m not anyone’s.” He didn’t react. “You can fight this,” he said, “or you can accept it. Either way, the wedding is in three days. And you’ll be there.” I glared at him, heart pounding. “You can chain my body, but you’ll never own me.” For the first time, a flicker of something crossed his face — not anger. Not amusement. Something else. “I don’t want to chain you,” he said quietly. “I want you to remember me.” “Remember you?” But he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him. Leaving me alone with the shattered truth. My father had sold me. And now, I belonged to a stranger who thought he had the right to everything — including me.