Chapter 5 Bound by Chains
1308 Words
"Secretly?" Dexter asked, an eyebrow raised in puzzlement. "Do I need your permission to find out what skeletons you’re hiding?”
Hayley scoffed in disgust, her voice rising. “Don’t you dare judge me! You don’t know anything about what I’ve been through or why I made the choices I made.”
Dexter chuckled darkly. “You think I care how you about what you've been through?” he said coldly as he stalked toward her. “Let me be clear. This marriage is built on one thing: ownership. You are my wife. Which means your past, your secrets, your body… are mine.”
“You’re disgusting,” Hayley said with disdain. "I'm not something to be owned,"
“Yes you are,” he said coldly, pausing inches from her. “Your name is now Domenico. Your fortune, your future, your body… all mine.”
“I never agreed to”
“You didn’t have to,” he cut in sharply. “The moment you signed that contract, you ceased to be Hayley Darnell. You’re no one now. You are just an apology gift given to a man you can’t even look in the eye without trembling.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she lied, her voice trembling.
“Good,” he said with cold amusement. “Fear is tiring. Submission is easier.”
“I will submit to no one,” she said in defiance as her heart thundered. "I will never be your property,"
“You’ll be whatever I want you to be,” Dexter whispered darkly as his gaze burned into hers. “Obey my rules, respect my name, smile when I say, speak when allowed, or I'll make your life very small,"
He stepped even closer, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek, his touch cold, possessive.
“Tonight, you will lie in my bed and remember that you carry my name now. And if I decide it’s time for an heir, you won’t refuse.”
She slapped his hand away. “I hate you.”
Dexter smiled. “You should. It makes it sweeter because you’ll still wear my ring.”
He turned for the door, then stopped. “Stay in white. My guests enjoy the illusion of purity.”
Her voice cracked as she whispered, “Why are you doing this?”
He looked over his shoulder, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes - pain, loneliness, anger.
But then it vanished.
“Because I can.” He murmured, his voice, cold as steel.
Then he left, the heavy door slamming behind him like the final nail in her coffin.
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The soft hum of the Paris night barely penetrated the silence in the lavish penthouse suite. Crystal chandeliers threw golden light across the room, reflecting off mirrors, marble, and Hayley’s pale skin. The rose petals scattered across the enormous bed mocked her, as did the champagne chilling on silver trays.
This was supposed to be a fairytale.
It felt more like a trap.
Hayley sat in the velvet armchair near the window, robe wrapped tightly around her. Her hands trembled against the cool porcelain cup of untouched tea, heart pounding with dread. The man she’d married hours ago was in the bathroom and every second he stayed there gave her space to breathe.
But then the door clicked.
She tensed.
Dexter stepped out, a dark force against the soft lights. His robe hung open just enough to reveal the taut strength of his body. For a moment, Hayley was transfixed. He was breathtakingly handsome, like some Greek god brought to life, and it infuriated her how easily her body responded to him. Her pulse quickened, and a heat that had nothing to do with anger or fear rose in her cheeks.
'Get a grip, Hayley,' she thought fiercely.
His eyes found her instantly - cold, sharp, and unreadable.
She tore her gaze away, willing herself to focus on something else: the rose petals, the champagne chilling on the side table, the way the city lights twinkled through the floor-to-ceiling window.
“I assume you're not planning to sleep in that chair all night?” His voice was cool, stripped of all emotion.
“I don’t owe you an explanation,” Hayley said, trying to sound braver than she felt.
Dexter chuckled darkly. “No, you don’t. But you do owe me obedience.”
She flinched. “Excuse me?”
He poured himself a glass of whiskey, then turned to face her with a detached calm that chilled her to the bone. “Get into bed now," he commanded.
“It’s... that time of the month,” Hayley lied.
“Is it?” Dexter asked, walking slowly towards her. His every movement was deliberate, his presence magnetic. The robe shifted as he moved, offering tantalizing glimpses of the body beneath it.
“It’s the truth,” she snapped, folding her arms across her chest.
Dexter scoffed slightly, looking her over like how someone would do a product.
"Do you think s*x can make me love you?" Hayley asked, daring to look into his eyes.
"Love?" Dexter’s eyes narrowed. "Let me make this clear, Hayley. Love is a disease and I don't want your love. I want your submission,"
He turned to leave.
Hayley gritted her teeth. “You’ll never have me. Not truly.”
Dexter paused at the door. He turned his head slightly, the glint in his eyes cold and distant.
“I don’t need all of you, Hayley,” he said. “Just enough to ruin the Darnells.”
And then he was gone.
The silence that followed was deafening. Hayley sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers trembling as they toyed with the edge of the silk sheets. The soft floral scent of the rose petals filled the air, but the room felt colder than ever.
She grabbed her phone.
Jacqueline answered on the second ring, her voice concerned. “Hayley? What’s wrong?”
“I shouldn’t have done this,” Hayley whispered. “I think I made a mistake.”
“What happened?” Jacqueline asked, her voice urgent.
Hayley looked around the room, at the bed, at her reflection in the gilded mirror. “He doesn’t want a wife. He wants... control. Revenge. I think I walked right into a war.”
“You didn’t tell him about the kids, did you?” Jacqueline’s voice dropped.
“No. And I won’t. Not yet. He doesn’t deserve them. He he doesn’t even believe in love.”
“I’m coming to you,” Jacqueline said.
“No. Stay with Dylan and Isabella. They’re the only good thing I’ve ever done. I have to protect them... even from him.”
“Hayley... just be careful.”
“I will.”
She hung up and stared at her reflection. Her eyes were tired. Her body tense. But her spirit, though bruised, wasn't broken.
He could control the world.
But not her soul.
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The heavy velvet curtains muted the pulse of Las Vegas nightlife as Dexter sat behind his massive mahogany desk. The room smelled of cigars, old leather, and calculated silence. A decanter of whiskey stood untouched at his elbow, the amber liquid glinting under the low lamplight.
He didn’t look up as Alfred placed the thick manila folder on the desk.
“Hayley’s kids,” Alfred reported, his tone clipped. “Confirmed. Dylan and Isabella. No father listed on their birth certificates.”
Dexter flipped the folder open slowly, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the two school portraits clipped inside. One boy. One girl.
Dylan looked hauntingly familiar - sharp jawline, piercing eyes, unruly hair.
Dexter said nothing at first, then leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “No father listed,” he muttered. “Why?”
- Writer
