Chapter 2: I DO.
1645 Words
"How could you?" My voice trembled, but not with fear. With betrayal. “You sold me to him!”
We had gotten back home, the Valkof and this Hench men right outside my father's office door the cold night air hit me like a slap, but it did nothing to cool the rage burning in my chest. We walked back to the car and I couldn't keep it in.
Papa lit a cigar, his movements was slow, he was thinking.. He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke before finally looking at me. Unmoved. Unbothered.
“I made the best decision for this family.”
I took a step closer, fists clenched. "For the family? What about me? Do I mean nothing to you?"
His gaze didn’t flicker. "You mean as much as you were meant to mean."
My breath caught in my throat.
As much as I was meant to mean.
Not his daughter. Not his blood. Just a piece on the board. A useful tool when necessary I can't believe he would say something like that.
My chest constricted, a suffocating weight pressing down on me. I had always known my father was ruthless, but this? This was a new kind of cold.
“Say it, then.” My voice was raw. “Say you never cared about me.”
He took another drag from his cigar, exhaling slowly.
“I still care about you but I also care about power.”
The final nail in the coffin.
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not in front of him.
Not in front of Victor.
I had almost forgotten he was there. He had been silent the entire time, watching. Like a predator waiting for its prey to wear itself out.
The weight of his gaze was unbearable. He enjoyed this. Not in a cruel way, but in a way that said he had seen this story unfold a hundred times before.
Women crying. Fathers selling them off. Empires shifting hands.
It was just another night for Victor Ivanov.
I turned to him, fury trembling in my hands. "Say something."
He tilted his head slightly. "What do you want me to say?"
His voice was low. Steady. Unshaken.
"That you had nothing to do with this," I spat. "That you don't want this either."
A slow smirk. "That would be a lie."
My stomach twisted.
"You bastard."
His smirk didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened. He took a step forward, closing the space between us.
"You think I forced your father’s hand?" His voice was almost mocking. "No, sweetheart. He gave you away willingly."
I hated how true it was.
Victor reached out, and before I could react, his hand wrapped around my chin. Not rough. Not gentle. Just firm enough to remind me exactly who was in control.
“Be angry all you want.” His voice dropped lower. "But you are mine now."
I jerked away, breath unsteady. "I will never be yours."
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.
Just gave me a knowing look before stepping back.
Papa crushed his cigar under his shoe, already bored with my outburst. “Get ready to go to your new home for dear.”
My father walked away, and something inside me shattered.
I had never felt more alone.
I turned back to Victor. “I will find a way out of this.”
His response was infuriatingly calm. "You won't."
And the worst part?
I knew he was right.
Chapter Five: The Wedding of the Damned
The air was thick with the scent of power and deception. Gilded chandeliers bathed the grand hall in warm, flickering light, casting golden reflections off the towering crystal glasses and pristine white linens. A symphony of murmured deals and quiet threats filled the space as the most feared men in the underworld gathered, their wives dripping in diamonds, their mistresses laughing softly behind gloved hands.
For them, this was a celebration. For me, it was a funeral.
The dress was suffocating. Layers of imported lace clung to my skin, delicate yet constricting, like the golden cage I had been forced into. The gown had been chosen without my input—an extravagant display of purity and wealth. A virgin bride, untouched and unsullied, offered to a man like Victor Ivanov.
I should have felt beautiful. Instead, I felt branded.
My father stood beside me, his grip firm on my arm as he led me through the grand cathedral. I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. Not after what he had done.
The pews were filled with ruthless men—mob bosses, arms dealers, assassins dressed in custom-tailored suits. Every family was here, watching, judging. They weren’t here for love. They were here to witness the final step of a transaction.
At the end of the aisle, Victor waited.
He was unreadable, a figure carved from stone, dressed in a black tuxedo that fit him too well. The devil wrapped in silk and luxury. His hands were clasped in front of him, his face a mask of patience, but I knew better.
He was waiting to claim what was his.
The Vows of the Damned
The priest droned on, speaking of unity, of devotion, of vows that meant nothing.
I stared at Victor, refusing to look away, refusing to bow. He returned the stare, his blue-gray eyes flickering with something unreadable.
When the time came for my vows, my voice was steady. I didn’t whisper. I didn’t falter.
“I do.”
It wasn’t a promise. It was a declaration of war.
Victor’s lips twitched, almost amused, as he slid the ring onto my finger. The band was cold, heavy. A reminder that I now belonged to him.
And then, before I could prepare myself, the priest’s voice rang through the cathedral:
“You may kiss the bride.”
I barely had time to react before Victor’s hand was on my waist, pulling me closer, his other hand cupping the back of my head. I stiffened, but he didn’t hesitate. He took my mouth like he took everything else—without asking, without permission.
The room erupted into applause.
I heard none of it.
Because for the first time since this nightmare began, I felt true fear.
Victor didn’t just kiss. He owned.
And the worst part? He knew exactly what he was doing.
When he pulled away, his thumb brushed my lower lip. His gaze darkened as he leaned in, whispering against my mouth, “Now, it’s real.”
The Devil’s Dance
The reception was opulent. Wine flowed like water, cigars burned in silver trays, and the families celebrated the unholy union.
I sat beside Victor at the head of the table, my body rigid, my mind racing for an escape.
“Drink,” he ordered, setting a glass of champagne in front of me.
I ignored him.
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “You’re going to keep pretending I don’t exist, little wife?”
I turned my head, voice quiet but sharp. “I don’t pretend. I just don’t care.”
Victor chuckled, low and deep. He reached out, tilting my chin up with his fingers. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was absolute.
“You will.”
The threat was there, hidden beneath velvet words.
Before I could respond, a man raised his glass. “To the bride and groom—may your union be as strong as the kingdoms you rule.”
A chorus of toasts and cheers followed. The music swelled.
And then, Victor’s hand was on mine.
“Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a question.
I wanted to refuse, but the room was watching. Waiting. Judging.
So I let him pull me to my feet, let him lead me to the center of the floor as the orchestra played a slow, haunting melody.
Victor’s hand rested against my lower back, his grip unyielding as he guided me in slow, deliberate steps.
“This isn’t over,” I whispered.
His lips brushed my ear. “It never even began.”
I shivered—not from the cold, but from him.
The Wedding Night
By the time we arrived at the estate, I was drowning in exhaustion and fury.
Victor’s men escorted us through the grand marble hallways, and then, finally, we were alone.
The bedroom was massive—vaulted ceilings, dark mahogany furniture, and a bed far too big for comfort.
Victor unbuttoned his cufflinks, watching me with a calm patience that terrified me more than any act of violence.
“You’re quiet,” he mused.
I turned my back to him, my voice steel. “You expect me to submit.”
A pause. Then, “I expect you to understand your place.”
I whirled on him. “I am not your property.”
Victor sighed, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. “That’s where you’re wrong, Isabella.” He stepped closer. “You are mine in every way that matters.”
I clenched my fists. “I’ll find a way out of this.”
He smirked. “Try.”
I wanted to slap him, stab him, run.
But instead, I did the only thing I could—I ripped the ring off my finger and threw it at him.
It hit his chest and landed on the floor with a sharp clink.
Victor looked down at it, then back at me.
And then, he laughed.
Low, dark, utterly amused.
He picked up the ring, walked over, and placed it back on my finger.
His voice was silk and steel. “You don’t get to walk away, Isabella. You are mine—until death do us part.”
And as he stepped back, leaving me alone in that massive room, trapped in my own fate…
I realized death might be the only escape.
- Writer
