Bound To Blackwood

Content Warning: This chapter contains non-consensual s****l content and violence. Reader discretion advised. The chapel reeked of lilies and lies. Isabella stood at the end of the aisle, white lace weighing her down like chains. Her hands trembled so badly the bouquet of white roses nearly slipped. The organ swelled, guests smiled, and every camera flash hit her like a slap. In three minutes, she’d become Mrs. Isabella Blackwood. Or as Damian would call her, Bella Black. The man she’d never kissed. Never touched. The man who had asked to marry Isabella to pay off a debt like she was an unnecessary commodity. The man every reporter in the city called ruthless under their breath. She refused to look at him. If she did, she’d run. “Dad, I can’t go through with this,” she whispered, gripping his arm. Richard shook her off, his face blank. “It’s too late,” he said. “We’ve already signed the agreement.” “You go with him now and my debt is settled. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” His voice was cold. Flat. Isabella stared at him. One thought burning behind her eyes. “So I’m bait now? Father, I don’t even know what this is about. Why am I being dragged into it?” His expression didn’t change. “You’re the firstborn. A daughter. It’s your obligation to help your family in trouble. And this time, he asked to marry you. Not the other way around.” “Who helps me then?” she asked. Before he could answer, the altar doors slammed open. Every guest turned. Smiles on their faces. Richard forced a smile, pinching her arm. He leaned in. “Don’t ruin this like you always do.” She nodded sharply without looking at him. Ed Sheeran’s song started as they walked down the aisle together, her eyes locking with Damian’s. Cold. Calculated. Like a man finishing a job. Or at least, that’s how she saw it. When they reached the altar, Damian held out his hand. Richard dropped her hand into his like he was handing over a deed. Their faces said it all—transaction complete. He leaned to Damian’s ear. “Now we’re even.” He said. Damian laughed, low and knowing. They exchanged a look before he turned to Isabella. He kissed her forehead. “Be a good wife, and you’ll be fine.” Then he walked back to his seat, beside his wife and two sons. Isabella’s step-family. That was it? she thought. No apology. No thanks. Nothing. This wasn’t a wedding. It was a war between two powerful men, and she was the collateral. She turned back to Damian. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw the bouquet in his smug face and run barefoot out of the church. But two of his guards stood by the doors. She’d tried to leave last night. They’d stopped her at the gate. “House arrest,” Damian had said, grinning like it was a joke. “For your own safety, Bella.” The priest began the ceremony. Words about love, honor, forever floated past her like smoke. None of it meant anything here. There was no love. No honor. Only a contract written in blood she’d never agreed to shed. Damian stood tall in a tuxedo that cost more than three years of her rent. His dark eyes didn’t look at her. They looked through her, like she already belonged to him. “Do you, Damian Blackwood, take Isabella Hale to be your lawful wedded wife?” He paused, lifted her chin until their eyes met. “I do.” His voice was absolute. No doubt. No regret. The priest turned to her. Isabella dropped her gaze to the floor tiles, counting them like her life depended on it. “Do you, Isabella Hale, take Damian Blackwood—” Her heart slammed against her ribs. The word no burned on her tongue. Saying it would send her back to being a waitress at Belmont Diner which was better than her current situation. She glanced at her father. His brows were furrowed—a silent warning. His fist clenched as her stepmother Linda, stroked his hair with a smirk— her two brothers laughing silently beside them. She looked back at Damian. Cold. Composed. Untouchable. He wasn’t even looking at her now. His jaw was locked, eyes fixed on the altar, like this was just another deal to close. A heavy sigh left her lips. “I…” She closed her eyes, fingers clutching her gown. “I do,” she whispered. “Miss Hale, could you say that again so the whole room can hear you?” Isabella lifted her head. Damian was staring at her now, smug. “She said she does. Right, Isabella?” His brows furrowed as he squeezed her hand hard. She groaned silently, then said louder, “I do.” Damian let go, a forced smile on his face. The word felt like it tore something out of her chest. A murmur swept the guests. Richard let out a shaky laugh, nodding like a proud father. Damian’s side nodded in approval. The priest smiled, hands trembling slightly. “Then by the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Damian turned to her. For the first time, his smile widened. Not cold. Not mocking. Something darker. Possession. “Finally, you’re mine,” he whispered. Her jaw tightened with fear and disgust. He cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheek to test if she’d pull away. She didn’t. She couldn’t. His lips met hers—cold, possessive, final. Isabella didn’t kiss him back. It didn’t matter to him. As long as he could call her his wife, that was enough. Applause erupted. Cameras flashed. Her father exhaled and clapped like he’d been holding his breath for years. Damian drew back, eyes darkening as Isabella wiped her lips with her sleeve. He leaned in close, voice low enough that only she could hear. “You could’ve kissed me back,” he murmured. “But it doesn’t matter now. You’re mine. We’ll have plenty of chances later.” “No one is coming to save you now,” he added, voice colder than ever. Isabella’s stomach sank. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the priest announced, “give a warm welcome to the newest couple in town. Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood.” Richard rushed forward, pulling her into a fake embrace that felt more like relief than affection. “Good,” he said. “Now make me a proud father when you start being a wife. Let them know I trained you well.” Damian’s arm stayed locked around her waist, possessive and unyielding. Isabella shoved her father back, her gaze unrecognizable. Then she whispered under her breathe, “I will never forgive you Richard Hale.”