THE ENEMY’S BRIDE

Chapter 11

Katherine’s POV

My eyes twitched as I slowly opened them, only to find Andrew standing beside the bed, holding a tray of food, a smile plastered across his face. I quickly sat up, glancing around the room—it was morning already.

“Finally, you’re awake,” he said casually, like he hadn’t been watching me sleep all night.

A strange feeling settled in my stomach. What happened last night? And what was that noise? The way he told me to run upstairs—it had to be serious.

“What happened last night?” I asked, not caring if it would make him angry. I deserved to know what the hell was going on.

His smile faltered. “What do you mean, darling?” he replied, his tone still calm but his eyes watching me closely.

I shifted my gaze to the tray in his hands. A new wave of suspicion crept in—did he put something in the food last night? Is that why I passed out?

I took the tray from his hands slowly, and for a moment, his smile returned.

But without saying a word, I turned and flung the tray across the room, the contents crashing loudly against the wall.

Andrew’s eyes widened at my sudden action. “Are you crazy?” he yelled, standing up from the bed, glaring at me like he wanted to murder me.

“Yes, I am crazy!” I shouted back. “Who do you think you are, treating me like I’m nothing—like I’m just some toy you can control!”

I didn’t even fully know what I was saying—I was just so pissed off. He had drugged me last night. I was sure of it. And then he had the nerve to bring me breakfast, smiling like nothing happened?

“What are you talking about?” he asked, raising an eyebrow like I’d lost my mind.

“What did you put in my dinner last night?” I demanded.

His eyes flickered, widening just a bit, but then he quickly recovered. That cocky, unreadable expression returned—the same one he wore the first day I saw him in the hospital.

“So that’s why you threw the tray?” His voice was annoyingly calm, like he was humoring a child throwing a tantrum.

“Did you drug my dinner?” I asked again, my voice sharper, my fists clenched at my sides as I tried to keep it together.

“Yes, I did,” he said casually—so nonchalant it made my blood boil.

I stared at him, speechless. I can’t believe I let this man kiss me. He’s worse than my ex-husband. Way worse.

“My goodness,” I whispered, trying to hold back the tears burning behind my eyes. I had never felt this much anger—not like this. Not for anyone. And here he was, this cold, tattooed man standing in front of me like he did nothing wrong.

I tried to stand from the bed, but my legs felt numb. Panic started to rise in my chest. I turned to look at him, my voice trembling. “What did you do to me?”

“Will you relax?” he scoffed. “I didn’t take advantage of you. Not like you’re even my type.”

His words hit harder than I expected. Something in me cracked a little deeper.

I keep forgetting this is all supposed to be fake—a contract, an arrangement, nothing more. So why the hell does it hurt so much?

“Why did you drug me then?” I asked, my voice hoarse, thick with the weight of the tears I was fighting back.

Sometimes, I really wondered why I accepted this contract in the first place—because honestly, there’s no difference between this and death.

I was tired. Mentally, physically—just drained. All I ever wanted was a little peace, a little happiness. But maybe that was too much to ask.

“Well, because I had to,” he said flatly, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

My hands curled into fists. “So you’re saying you’ll just drug me whenever you feel like it?” I scoffed, the disbelief in my tone cutting sharper than I intended.

He shrugged. “Well, you’re my wife. You belong to me, okay? You signed the contract, and it clearly states you belong to me.”

There it was again—that damn contract. That stupid piece of paper I’d signed in my lowest moment.

“Where is it?” I snapped. “I want to see exactly what I signed up for when my life was falling apart.”

He rolled his eyes like I was being dramatic, then walked out of the room. Moments later, he returned with a folded document and handed it to me.

I snatched it from his hand, my fingers trembling as I unfolded the pages and began to read.

And there it was—bold and clear. You shall belong to Andrew Montell for two years and be his wife, then get rewarded with whatever you want.

That was it. Just like that. No emotions. No loopholes. Just a cold, hard truth staring back at me. It felt like being sold—but this time, I wasn’t forced into it. I sold myself. I belonged to a stranger for two years, and I didn’t even blink when I signed the damn thing.

I freaking signed it.

“Now that you’ve seen it,” Andrew said with a smug look, “I hope you’ll stop misbehaving and start acting like a wife.”

I didn’t even know what to say. My throat was tight, my head spinning.

Suddenly, an older woman in a maid’s uniform stepped into the room. Without looking at her, Andrew pointed toward the mess. “Get this cleaned up,” he ordered.

She nodded and quietly began her work as he turned and walked out of the room.

I followed him, unable to hold back the storm building inside me.

“So because I belong to you, that gives you the right to do anything to me? Including drugging me?” I shouted, my voice echoing through the hallway.

He stopped, turned halfway toward me, and flashed a smile. “Yes.”

Then he kept walking like it was nothing.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” I yelled, frustration boiling over as I chased after him.

He stopped again—this time fully.

“By the way, we have a party to go to tonight. Be ready by 7 p.m.,” he said casually before walking off—leaving me standing there, completely stunned.

“I’m not going to any party!” I yelled after him, my voice echoing down the hallway. No way in hell was I going to some stupid party. Who the hell does he think he is?

——

7:30 p.m.

And there I was—sitting in his car dressed in a silver dress paired with black heels, my hair let down in soft waves. Against my will. I glanced sideways at Andrew, who, unsurprisingly, was dressed in all black: black shirt, black jeans, and black boots. Did this man even own another color?

“I still can’t believe you forced me to go to a party with you,” I snapped, glaring at him.

He smirked, his tone annoyingly smug. “Well, I am your husband. I can do whatever I want.”

God, he was pressing all my buttons.

He had the nerve to throw that damn contract in my face like I was some object. “f**k you,” I muttered under my breath.

“Soon,” he replied without missing a beat, his voice low and suggestive.

I gulped, turning quickly to look out the window. Nope. Not going there.

I didn’t say another word. I didn’t want to.

After what felt like forever, we finally arrived. The place looked more like a club than a party. Flashing lights. Loud music.

Andrew reached for my hand and held it firmly, pulling me inside with him.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked as Andrew dragged me along behind him.

We stepped inside, and my mouth fell open in shock. The room was filled with men—and women—most of the girls dressed in nothing but bras and panties. Tattoos inked across skin, piercings everywhere. Every single person in here looked like trouble.

What the hell is this place?

And what’s worse—how does Andrew even know a place like this? His family practically oozes class and power. This didn’t match anything I thought I knew about him.

“Where are we?” I asked, turning to him, my face clearly full of confusion.

“We’re at a party,” he said casually, like it was no big deal.

“I know we’re at a f*****g party,” I hissed through clenched teeth, fists balling at my sides.

“I didn’t know you knew, darling,” he said, smirking.

I was about to fire back when a man approached us—his body covered in tattoos, piercings decorating almost every inch of his face. He wasn’t alone. A group of people, just as dangerous-looking as him, followed closely behind.

“Yo, De—”

He stopped mid-sentence when his eyes landed on me.

“Who’s the new chick?” he asked, licking his lips as his gaze roamed over my body. Disgust flooded through me. I wanted to leave. Immediately.

“Probably a new slut,” one of the girls in the group sneered, popping her gum and chewing it like a cow. Her words made the others burst into laughter.

The way she looked at me—and chewed that damn gum—made my blood boil.

“She’s my wife,” Andrew said, his voice calm but laced with authority.

Everyone froze.

The guy with the tattoos raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. The smirk fell from his face as his eyes flicked between me and Andrew.

“Wife?” the gum-chewing girl repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. Her eyes narrowed as she looked me over again, this time with even more judgment.

I didn’t say a word. I just stood there, holding Andrew’s hand, trying to act like I belonged even though everything in me was screaming to run.

“No way,” one of the other guys muttered. “Didn’t peg you as the marrying type, Andrew.”

“Well,” Andrew said coolly, glancing at me, “surprises keep things interesting.”

The group stared at us a little longer before finally moving on, though the gum girl didn’t stop glaring.

“What is this place, Andrew?” I asked under my breath, leaning in toward him.

He leaned closer too, lips brushing my ear as he whispered, “A place where secrets don’t leave the walls.”

A chill ran down my spine.