Episode 3
1036 Words
The Reluctant Bride
Emma had never dreamed of a wedding, but even if she had, it wouldn’t have looked like this.
No flowers. No friends, no laughter.
Only cold marble floors, a judge who barely looked up from the paper and Damian Blackwood, her husband, signing the marriage certificate with a flourish that sounded more like a deal closing than a vow spoken.
“Your turn.” The judge said.
Emma’s hand trembled so badly she could hardly hold the pen. Her name looked foreign beside his, fragile ink beside a bold stroke.
And just like, Emma Hayes was gone.
She was Emma Blackwood now.
A name that felt like a chain around her throat.
“Congratulations”, the judge said, sliding the paper back to Damian’s waiting hands. “You’re legally married”
Damian slipped them into her folder without a glance. No kiss. No smile. No hug.
“Follow me” he ordered her, already moving towards the exist.
Emma hurried after him, her heels clicking on marble, her heart sinking lower with every step.
The ride back home to his penthouse was silent. Damian worked on his phone, issuing clipped instruction, his expression was carved in stone.
Emma stared out the tinted window, watching the city blur. She felt very invisible beside him.
When the car stopped, Damian finally spoke. “From this moment, you will live by my rules”
He turned his gaze on her, cold and sharp.
“Rule one, you will not embarrass me in the public. You will smile when expected, speak only when spoken to. Rule two, your past life is over. No more waitressing, no more struggling in the gutter. You belong to me now. In my world. Rule three, you do not question me. Ever.”
Emma swallowed hard, her hands twisting in her lap. “And if I fail?”
He leaned closer, his voice low and lethal. “Then you’ll regret it”
The penthouse was as intimidating as before, shining glass walls, polished steel, and the city sprawling endlessly beyond. Everything screamed wealth and power, yet Emma felt smaller than ever
Damian lead her inside with a hand at her back, the touch was interpersonal, as though she were merchandise being delivered.
“This is your room” he said, opening a door.
Her eyes widened, beholding the beautiful room. It was bigger than her entire apartment had been, with a king-sized bed dressed in a silk sheets, tall windows spilling golden light onto the plush red carpets. It should have been a dream come true but it felt like a gilded cage.
Emma set her small bag down, painfully aware of her pitiful it looked in the lavish space.
“Lunch is at two” Damien continued. “You’ll be dressed appropriately. I don’t tolerate lateness”.
Her throat tightened. “Yes… sir”.
He arched a brow. “Damian”, he corrected smoothly. “But I like that way ‘sir’ sounds in your mouth”.
Heat flushed her cheeks. And she looked down quickly.
He left without another word, the door closing firmly behind him.
Emma sank into the bed, her cheat heaving “I’m married, trapped and alone in a palace that isn’t mine”
And yet, deep down, a dangerous part of her still remembered the night that started it all. His hands, his kiss, the fire that had consumed her. How could a man who burned her alive one night, now freeze her with his cruelty?
Lunch was set.
Damian sat at the head of the long dining table, elegant in his black shirt, sipping his wine like a king.
Emma sat across, the silverware was gleaming too bright, and the food was too rich for her nervous stomach.
“You’re quiet”. He said finally, settling down his glass.
She fumbled with her fork. “I…don’t know what to say”
“Then say nothing. Better, than something foolish”
Her cheeks burned. She lowered her gaze, focusing on her plate.
Damian’s voice cut silence again,
“You’ll need a new wardrobe. Those rags you wear won’t do. I’ll have a stylist sent. You’ll learn how to walk, how to dress, how to act. The wife of Damian Blackwood is not allowed to look weak”
The words stabbed her deep. Weak. He saw her exactly as she appeared… Pitiful and inadequate.
But before she could respond, his gaze caught hers across the table, sharp and unyielding. “Do you understand?”
Her voice was soft and fragile “Yes”
“Good”
He returned to his wine, dismissing her as though she was nothing more than another acquisition.
Emma sat in silence, fighting tears. She felt like ghost in her own life.
That night, she lay awake in the massive bed, staring at the ceiling. The city lights bled through the curtains, painting the room in gold and silver.
On the bedside table lay a thick envelope. Inside were credit cards, ID documents, and a note in Damian’s handwriting with no discussion “You’ll accompany me tonight, Play your part. Do not fail me”
“To where!” She asked herself holding the note
With frustration she dropped the note but something again caught her eyes “Try not to look pathetic”
Across the hall, Damian’s footsteps echoed faintly as he moved about his own suite. Powerful and untouchable.
Emma curled into herself, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. He didn’t know yet. About the baby, about the life growing inside of her.
Would Damian Blackwood claim the child as ruthlessly as he had claimed her?
Or would he cast them both aside?
Emma closed her eyes, her heart aching with the weight of the unknown.
One thing was certain, this was no fairy tale.
She had sold her freedom. She shackled herself to a man who wielded power like a weapon. She was the reluctant bride of a man who didn’t believe in love.
But maybe, just maybe, someday she could teach him what love really means.
Although she didn’t know it yet, others were waiting in the shadows, already sharpening their knives.
- Writer
