chapter 2 : THE WEDDING FROM HELl
1357 Words
*Scene 1: 6AM. The Worst Day of My Life*
I didn’t sleep.
I spent all night staring at the ceiling of a mansion I might not own by tomorrow. Javi sat outside my door like a guard dog. Dad cried in the kitchen at 3AM. I heard him.
And at 6AM, a team of stylists invaded my room like it was a crime scene.
“Miss Margason, we have 2 hours to make you a bride,” the head lady said. She had scissors and the confidence of a dictator.
“I’m not a bride,” I mumbled into my pillow. “I’m a hostage in white.”
Carl burst in wearing pajamas. “I heard. I came. I’m mad.”
“You’re in pajamas,” I said.
“I was sleeping,” he snapped. “You’re getting married today. To a man you met 12 hours ago. This is not a rom-com, Mandy. This is a felony.”
The stylist yanked my hair. “Sit still, dear.”
“Don’t ‘dear’ me,” I said. “I’m being sold.”
Carl gasped. “SOLD? Mandy Margason, you are NOT a cow.”
“Feel like one,” I said. “Moo.”
Javi appeared in the doorway. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do,” I said. I sat up. “Because if I don’t, you lose everything Grandpa built. And I’m not letting a 30-year-old debt kill my family.”
Javi’s jaw clenched. “He’s dangerous, Mandy.”
“So am I,” I said. And I meant it.
*Scene 2: The Dress That Felt Like Armor*
The dress was insane. Silk. Lace. $20,000 probably. It weighed more than my future.
I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked like an angel. A furious, cornered angel.
“Beautiful,” the stylist whispered.
“Hostage chic,” I whispered back.
Carl held my hand. “If he hurts you, I will key his car. I don’t care if it’s a Lamborghini.”
“It’s probably a tank,” I said.
Dad knocked. He looked 10 years older. “Ready, baby?”
No. “Yes,” I said.
*Scene 3: The Courthouse. No Church. No Flowers. Just Hell.*
We didn’t get a church. Rodrick didn’t do romance. We got a courthouse at 10AM, a bored judge, and two witnesses who looked like they’d seen war.
Rodrick was already there.
Black suit. Again. No tie. Top button undone. He looked like he’d slept 0 hours and killed 3 people before breakfast.
He looked at me. Once. His eyes didn’t soften.
“Miss Margason,” he said.
“Mr. Japheth,” I said.
That was it. No “hello.” No “you look nice.”
Javi stood beside me, vibrating with rage. Dad couldn’t look at me.
The judge started talking. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered…”
I tuned out. I watched Rodrick instead. His jaw. His hands. No ring. No nerves. Just… cold.
“Do you, Mandy Margason, take this man—”
“Yes,” I said, before the judge finished.
Everyone blinked.
“Eager,” Rodrick muttered. Only I heard it.
“Desperate to be done,” I muttered back.
He turned his head. For a second, our eyes met. And for a second, the cold cracked. Just a c***k. Then it was gone.
“Do you, Rodrick Japheth—”
“I do,” he said. Flat. Final.
“Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you—”
“Kiss the bride,” someone whispered. Probably Carl.
Rodrick stepped in. No hesitation. His hand went to my waist, firm, possessive. He tilted my chin up.
And he kissed me.
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft. It was a contract with lips. Hard. Claiming. Over in 3 seconds.
He pulled back. “Mrs. Japheth,” he said.
My stomach flipped. I hated that.
*Scene 4: The Car Ride of Silence*
We didn’t go to a reception. We got in his car. Bentley. Black. Obviously.
Javi tried to come. “She’s riding with me—”
“She’s my wife now,” Rodrick said, without looking at him. “She rides with me.”
The door closed. Silence.
I stared out the window. He stared at the road.
“Congratulations,” I said finally. “You bought a wife. How’s it feel?”
“Expensive,” he said.
I snorted. I shouldn’t have. “Witty. Did you practice that in the mirror?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t have mirrors. They lie.”
Okay. That was… deep. Annoying.
“Look,” I said. “Ground rules. I’m not moving into your bedroom. I’m not cooking. I’m not—”
“You’re not sleeping on the floor either,” he cut in. “There’s a guest wing. Use it.”
I stared at him. “You… you don’t want me in your bed?”
His knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “No.”
“Good,” I said, too fast. “Because I don’t want to be there either.”
Lie. My body was confused. Shut up, body.
*Scene 5: The Japheth Mansion. Bigger. Colder.*
The Japheth estate made the Margason mansion look like a shed.
Glass. Steel. No warmth. No photos on the walls. Just money and silence.
A housekeeper opened the door. “Mr. Japheth. Mrs. Japheth.”
“Don’t call me that,” I said.
“She’s joking,” Rodrick said. “Elena, show her the East Wing.”
Elena nodded. I followed her.
The East Wing was huge. A bedroom bigger than my old house. A bathroom with a tub I could drown in. And zero personality.
“Mr. Japheth said to tell you: the debt is cleared. Your family is safe.” Elena smiled. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” I said, dead inside.
When she left, I kicked the bed. “This sucks.”
*Scene 6: Dinner. The Interrogation*
7PM. Dinner. Alone. Just us.
Long table. 20 chairs. Two people.
He ate like a soldier. No talking. I poked my steak.
“So,” I said. “30-year debt. Why now?”
“Interest,” he said.
“Cool. Why me?”
“Because you’re the only Margason daughter.”
“Why not Javi? He’s the son. Tradition, right?”
“Because the contract says ‘daughter’,” he said. “Your grandfather was specific.”
I dropped my fork. “That old pervert.”
Rodrick’s mouth twitched. Almost. “He was a businessman.”
“He was a villain.”
Silence again.
“Do you hate me?” I asked. Blunt. Because I’m done playing.
He looked up. Finally. Really looked at me.
“I don’t know you,” he said. “Hate takes energy. I’m tired.”
That… wasn’t what I expected.
“Why did you say you don’t want this?” I asked.
“Because I don’t,” he said. “I didn’t ask to collect a debt. I asked to run the company. My father made me do this.”
Oh.
“So you’re also a prisoner,” I said.
“We’re both in a cage,” he said. “Yours is gilded. Mine is just steel.”
For the first time, I didn’t want to punch him.
*Scene 7: The First Night. Alone. Together.*
11PM. I was in bed, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito of rage, when there was a knock.
Rodrick. Shirt unbuttoned at the top. Hair messy. He looked… human.
“What?” I said.
“Can’t sleep,” he said.
“Join the club.”
He hesitated. Then stepped in. Closed the door.
“You’re safe here,” he said. “No one touches you. No one touches your family. That’s the deal.”
“I know,” I said.
“Good,” he said. He turned to leave. Stopped. “Mandy.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Then he left.
I stared at the door.
Thank you? For ruining my life?
But my chest felt weird. Not angry. Not scared.
Complicated.
- Writer
