Claimed by the Ruthless Duke

CHAPTER 1: INDECENT PROPOSAL “I have come to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage—Eloise Green.” Everyone’s mouth was left agape, whilst the cold beads of sweat trickled down my forehead. Duke Damian Carter stood there, surrounded by a threatening air. Dangerously gorgeous, tall, and commanding. His eyes were the color of a winter sea, icy, keen, and all too knowing, and his presence filled the room like an approaching storm. My parents were frozen on the spot, stunned into silence. They were all bewildered by his sudden proclamation. My mother clutched the armrest of her chair, while my father’s eyes widened, his jaw slack. No one had expected him—the notorious, merciless Duke—to arrive unannounced on such a gentle afternoon, let alone to speak of love and vows to the family he had promised to behead just a few days ago. “P–pardon me?” My father, usually the portrait of poise and reason, faltered, his voice barely above a whisper. “You heard me.” Damian’s voice was like a steel wrapped in silk—cool, unwavering. His eyes narrowed for a brief moment, and the air thickened with tension around us in just a split second. “This is merely a formality. Whether I have your blessing or not… the marriage will happen soon.” There's a single beat of silence. No one dared utter a word. Then, slowly, he turned to me. There was a smirk playing on his lips—just a hint of amusement—but his gaze was anything but playful. It was sharp. Piercing. Possessive. I felt the weight of it crush the air from my lungs, and before I could stop myself, tears welled in my eyes. “For you, my future wife,” he said smoothly, “shall we begin preparing for the wedding?” I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. Silence settled over the room like a heavy fog. My father rose from his chair, slow and stiff, as though every bone in his body had turned to stone. His face, once warm and kind, was now pale with utter disbelief. “You barge into my home… and threaten us with marriage? Do you take us for fools, Your Grace?” Damian didn’t flinch. “I take you for people who value survival.” His voice remained calm, but there was menace curling beneath every word. “I am not here to play courtly games. Eloise and I have unfinished business—and I don’t intend to leave without her.” My mother gasped and reached for me as if to shield me from the force of his will. Her fingers trembled around mine. “No. No, this must be a mistake,” she whispered. “Eloise is just a girl. She’s not—she’s not ready for this.” But Damian’s gaze never left me. As though the rest of the room had disappeared. And I—gods help me—I couldn’t move. I should have spoken. I should have screamed, or denied him, or demanded answers. But all I could do was stare back at him, heart pounding, throat tight, memories slamming into me like waves against jagged rocks. The secret I buried deep, the one I swore would never surface—it had brought him here. “I’ll send the royal dressmaker,” he said at last, his voice remaining cold and certain. “We wed in seven days.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left as swiftly as he’d come—like a storm that had torn through the room and left only wreckage in its wake. My knees buckled. My father caught me before I hit the floor. My mother was weeping. And all I could think was— What have I done? What deal with the devil did I unknowingly make? The door slammed shut behind him, its echo rattling the windows of our home. I stayed in my father's arms, numb and shaking, while my mother whispered prayers under her breath—as if begging the gods to undo what had just happened. But there was no god in this house. Only truth. Only memory. And as the silence returned, so did the past. *** The forest was forbidden, especially after dusk. But that night, I didn’t care. I was young, full of life and mischief. The ballroom was a gilded cage—crystal chandeliers and endless waltzes, powdered smiles and empty compliments. I needed air. I needed to feel alive. So I slipped past the guards, down the garden path, and disappeared into the trees, where no one could call me "Lady Eloise" or tell me who I was meant to become. That’s when I heard it. A crack—something heavy crashing through the underbrush. I froze. My heart stilled. Then… another sound. It was a grunt followed by a curse. My heart sank, when a silhouette emerged from the shadows. Blood soaked his shirt, clinging to the side of his torso. He stumbled into the clearing like a wounded beast—a hunting knife clattered to the ground from his grip, and he pressed a shaking hand to his ribs. Our eyes met. His eyes were wild and furious, glowing like ice set aflame. “Don’t scream,” he rasped. I didn’t. Because I knew who he was. Everyone did. The heir to the crumbling Carter Duchy. The man was whispered about in noble parlors and taverns alike. Damian Carter. A scandal wrapped in velvet, spoken of in the same breath as warlords and assassins. “You’re hurt,” I said stupidly, stepping closer. “Stay back.” He staggered, his tone was sharp and wary. “You don’t want any part of this.” He was right, and when he said that, I should have turned. I should have run. But something about the way he stood—defiant yet fading—made something flicker within me. Pity. Fascination. Maybe something darker. “You’ll bleed to death if I leave you here.” It was stupid. I wanted to castigate myself. “I’ve had worse.” He hissed through his teeth as he leaned against a tree. “You nobles are all the same. Curious little moths. Come too close, and you'll burn.” The curious side of me did not listen. I dropped to my knees beside him anyway. “Then burn me.” His eyes flickered. Momentarily, I thought he might laugh. Instead, he passed out. Over the next week, I returned to him in secret. Hidden beneath cloaks and lies. By day, I was the dutiful daughter. By night, I was his silent caretaker. I stitched his wound with trembling hands, brewed tonics from memory, and wiped the sweat from his brow when he trembled in fever. At first, he barely spoke. He scowled when I came. He refused to eat. Barked insults when I touched his side. But the walls began to crack. “You have strange hands,” he muttered once. “How so?” “They don’t feel afraid.” It was the fourth night that changed everything. A storm rolled in. I arrived soaked and breathless, cloak torn by brambles. He was waiting for me, leaning against that same tree—but his gaze was different. Softer. Like he’d been watching the rain just to see if I’d come. “I could’ve left,” I said. “Told someone, and had you arrested.” “You didn’t.” He slowly stepped closer. “You saved me.” His voice was quiet, almost reverent. “Why?” That made me stop on my tracks. I didn’t have an answer either. Maybe I was just lonely. Maybe I wanted to feel something reckless. Maybe it was the way he looked at me—like I wasn’t a pawn on someone’s board. “You didn’t ask for my name,” I whispered. “I don’t need it.” His hand brushed my jaw. “I’ll remember your face long after this place has turned to dust.” Without warning, he crossed the bridge that sets us apart and our lips meet. My eyes widen in shock, but my heart has been filled with warmth I never knew someone could make me feel. I couldn’t grasp what this feeling was. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was fire and desperation and a thousand unsaid things. It was a moment stolen from fate. But it ended too soon. Because the next morning, he was gone. No note. No trail. Just a blood-stained bandage and a crushed flower where I’d last seen him sleep. *** I stared at the empty doorway long after Damian had gone, as if his shadow still lingered. My chest heaved. My lips trembled. My fingers clawed at my skirts as if I could tear away the shame, the fear, the truth pressing against my skin. The memory clung to me like a second skin—that night, that kiss, that choice. A year ago, I had believed it was a secret swallowed by the trees. A flicker of madness beneath the moon, a wounded man, a reckless girl… a kiss that was never meant to mean anything beyond the forest’s edge. But I was wrong. I had meant something to him. Not in the way a girl dreams of. Not in the way stories tell of star-crossed lovers and fated reunions. No—I was not the beloved. I was the possession. I was the promise. And he had returned to collect the secret camaraderie we shared long ago in that forbidden forest. I sank to the floor, cold creeping into my bones despite the summer warmth still hanging in the air. My parents called my name, distant, muffled, like voices underwater. I couldn’t answer them. Because now I understood. He hadn’t come for love. He hadn’t come for forgiveness. He had come because I saw him at his most vulnerable. Because I touched the blood he tried to hide, stitched his wound, held his gaze when others would have fled. And perhaps, to a man like Damian Carter, that meant ownership. Binding. A thread that could never be cut. To him, I belonged. The smirk on his lips. The certainty in his voice. “This is just for formality.” My breath hitched. My hand flew to my mouth. He wasn’t asking for my hand. He was claiming it. Just as a hunter claims the prey he marked long ago. I had thought he vanished that night to protect me. That the kiss we shared had frightened him as much as it had me. That maybe—just maybe—it had meant something tender. But now I see the truth. He didn’t run from me. He waited. He rose to power. Became Duke. Gathered every tool, every title, every ounce of control he needed to return—to take what he believed was already his. And I—I had let him. I fed the wolf. I kissed him. I watched him disappear into the night and never screamed. And now he’d returned wearing a crown of thorns and a vow forged in silence. “Eloise,” my mother whispered, kneeling beside me. Her hands touched my face, brushing the tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “What is happening? What did he mean?” I couldn’t answer her. Because I wasn’t just afraid of Damian Carter. I was afraid of myself. Of the part of me that had been waiting, all this time, for him to come back.