Chapter 2 - Rich Little Trust Fund Brat
831 Words
His grip was iron. Cold, bruising, unyielding.
"Let. Me. Go," I gritted out, trying to wrench my arm free.
Instead of releasing me, Leonidas Astor yanked me closer, so fast, so violent, I stumbled straight into his chest. My pulse spiked with fury. His breath was steady, but his grip was steel. A silent warning. A challenge.
SMACK!
The slap cracked across his cheek, so loud it rang in my ears. His head snapped to the side, his jaw tightening like a vice. Stillness. Silence.
And then—a laugh.
Low. Dangerous. Almost... amused.
The bastard was laughing.
Something about that infuriating smirk—that twisted, taunting, self-assured smirk—sent my blood boiling.
"Let’s get one thing straight, Leonidas," I seethed, my voice shaking with rage. "We may be getting married, but if you ever put your hands on me like that again, you will regret it."
His fingers flexed on my arm before he finally let go, his eyes glittering with something dark, unhinged, lethal.
"If I recall," he mused, tilting his head, "you just hit me, Celeste."
"Yeah?" I sneered. "And if you touch me again, I’ll do a lot worse."
His expression didn't flicker. No anger, no shock. Just... icy amusement.
"That’s adorable," he drawled, rubbing his jaw. "Do tell, princess—what exactly do you think you can do to me?"
I took a step back, chin high, my blood roaring in my ears. "You think being a rich little trust fund brat makes you untouchable? Cute. But let’s be clear—I don’t care how much money or power you have. If you ever try to control me, you’ll wish you hadn’t."
Leonidas smiled. Mocking. Cruel.
"And here I thought you'd already made my life hell," he murmured, voice silky with venom. "But no, you’re just getting started, aren’t you?"
"Damn right."
His smirk widened. "Oh, Celeste. Do you think you’re special? Do you think you’re different? That you have any say in what happens next?" He stepped forward, invading my space, voice dropping to a low, lethal whisper. "You will be my wife, and when that day comes, you will belong to me which means I can do whatever I want with you."
I felt my stomach turn, but I refused to step back.
"You’re delusional," I spat.
"No, sweetheart," he said, his tone almost gentle, which somehow made it worse. "I’m just realistic."
I glared at him. "Over my dead body."
"Funny," he mused, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. "I don’t need you alive to make this marriage happen."
A chill skated down my spine, but I refused to show it. Instead, I laughed. Loud. Mocking.
"That’s the best you’ve got? Threats? Wow. I expected more from the great Leonidas Astor," I mocked. "What’s wrong, golden boy? Family legacy hanging by a thread?"
His jaw flexed. I’d struck a nerve.
"Careful, Celeste," he murmured, his voice all smooth, sharp edges. "You don’t know what you’re playing with."
I stepped closer, deliberately, daringly, and whispered, "Neither do you."
For the first time, his smirk faltered.
For the first time, I saw the cracks.
And then, just as quickly, he masked it.
"You think you can win this?" His voice was low, cutting, razor-sharp. "You think you can walk away from me? From this? You can’t. Your father signed your life away. You are mine, and you will do as you’re told."
I scoffed. "Right, because I’m just some obedient little pet, is that it?" I tilted my head, eyes narrowing. "Well, here’s the thing, Leo—I don’t play by your rules."
His lips curled in disgust. "You’re a spoiled, selfish little b***h, you know that?"
I grinned.
"And you’re a sad, power-hungry, mommy-and-daddy’s-money-made-me-this-way little prick," I shot back. "So tell me, who wins in this game?"
His stare burned into me, his breathing slow and controlled, but his hands had curled into fists.
He wanted to hit me. He wanted to break me.
But he wouldn’t.
Because then he’d lose.
"You think you’re better than me?" His voice was dangerously quiet.
I let the silence stretch before answering.
"I don’t think I am," I whispered. "I know I am."
Something dark flickered in his gaze. And then—he laughed.
"f**k," he muttered, shaking his head. "You really are a pain in my ass."
"Thank you," I said sweetly. "I try."
His gaze flicked to my lips for the briefest second before snapping back up.
"This isn’t over," he murmured, voice thick with warning.
I stepped past him, brushing my shoulder against his in the most dismissive, condescending way possible.
"Oh, sweetheart," I whispered, my voice dripping with mockery. "This has only just begun."
I felt his stare drilling into my back as I walked away, the weight of his presence thick in the air between us. The war had begun, and neither of us planned to lose.
And just like that, war was declared.
And neither of us planned to lose.
- Writer
