Fu*ck
1063 Words
Irene Jones POV
I sprinted outside, ignoring Albert’s warning. Hell, I’d rather beg on the streets than set foot in the Myers mansion—or anywhere I couldn’t predict what waited for me.
Theodore might have been my husband, but only on paper.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to go anywhere.” I didn’t look back. Albert was still pushing Theodore’s wheelchair—I could hear it.
“Mrs. Myers, you’re going to regret this.” His voice carried no urgency, no panic.
I didn’t get far.
A cluster of men in black appeared ahead, blocking the path. One glance was enough. Theodore’s guards.
Fuck. Why the hell did he need this many? It wasn’t like he had come here for war.
Or… had he expected me to run?
“We don’t want to force you, Madam,” one of them said evenly.
Hot-blooded as I was, I knew I couldn’t outrun men built like them.
One stepped forward. I backed up instinctively, my toes skidding over gravel. My breath caught sharp, chest tightening. Another guard angled in from the side.
They’re closing in.
“I said I’m not going anywhere!” My scream cracked, but I forced myself to stand firm. Don’t you dare cry. Don’t give them that.
“Madam, please.” The one in front didn’t raise his hands, didn’t even twitch. “Mr. Myers gave strict orders that you’re not to be harmed.”
“Oh, how generous of him.” My fists clenched at my sides. “But dragging me back like this isn’t harming me?”
He didn’t answer—just tipped his chin toward Albert.
The sound of wheels scraping across stone reached me before I turned.
Theodore sat in his chair, too calm, too quiet. One hand rested lazily on the armrest, the other curled around his ring.
His eyes met mine—and held. Not sharp. Not angry. Just… patient. Watchful.
I couldn’t even see them through the mask, yet it felt like he was stripping me bare.
“You done?” he asked.
I hated how steady his voice sounded.
“I’m not yours to command.”
He inclined his head slightly, as if I’d proven some silent point. “No,” he said. “But you are mine to protect.”
The wind surged behind me, scattering dry leaves across the pavement. The rasp carried too loud in the silence between us.
“I don’t want to hurt you, so behave, Irene.”
This man—hiding behind a mask, refusing to show me his face—acted as if I were the problem. As if I were the one at fault.
My nails dug into my palms. “Then don’t force me. You want me to behave? Treat me like a person instead of a prisoner.”
He didn’t flinch. Only tilted his head, studying me through that blank mask.
“I’m not your enemy.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
His wheelchair moved forward a single step, and my body betrayed me—I stepped back. The fear thrummed beneath my defiance, and he saw it. I hated that he saw it.
“You can walk on your own,” he sighed, “or we’ll carry you.”
My jaw locked. “You lay one hand on me—”
He lifted a gloved finger. “Then walk.”
Albert pushed the wheelchair closer. “Madam, it would be better if you followed our young master’s rules. He is your husband now.”
My stomach twisted. Husband. The word tasted like rusted metal.
“On paper,” I muttered. “That doesn’t give him the right to own me.”
Neither of them bothered to respond. In their world, marriage was ownership.
Theodore remained silent, watching me as though he had all the time in the world. That eerie calm unsettled me more than if he’d raised his voice.
He gestured toward the black armored car waiting behind him.
“I’m not getting in that,” I argued.
“Madam,” Albert murmured, softer now, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
“Harder for who?” I hissed.
No answer.
I scanned the guards, the car, the man in the mask who hadn’t moved since threatening to carry me. Every path was sealed.
Trapped.
My gaze flicked back to Theodore—his hand steady on the armrest, gloved fingers curled in quiet command.
“Here’s the deal,” he said, voice low. “Either you come with me willingly, or I call your stepfather. And we both know how that’ll go. I’ll inform them about your behavior.”
My blood chilled. So he knew.
He knew how I was treated in the Jones family. That was why he dropped that threat so easily, like it cost him nothing.
Bastard.
Rage and shame surged together, burning in my throat until I couldn’t speak. I wanted to scream, to strike that calm off his face—but I stood frozen.
Because he was right.
One call, and I’d be dragged back to that house. Back to the bruises no one asked about. Back to the silence. Back to the way they looked through me, like I didn’t exist.
And Theodore knew—the worst part of it all was that he knew, and still he used it.
“f**k you.” I spat the words and walked.
I wanted to claw the mask off. Wanted to see if he could stay calm with blood running down his cheek.
Every step felt like surrender, but my choices had already been stripped away. All I could do now was keep my spine straight and pretend I still had power.
The guards didn’t touch me. They didn’t have to.
Theodore stayed silent as I passed, turning his head slightly, watching like I was a puzzle he’d already solved.
I climbed into the car. The door shut with a soft, final click—quiet, yet deafening.
He wanted obedience. He got silence.
But that didn’t mean I had given up. Not even close.
Albert lifted Theodore into the seat beside me.
How foolish I had been to believe this man suffered. Wealth protected him, disability or not. Rich men always found ways to hold more power than someone like me.
“I hate the way you talk, Irene.”
- Writer
