Married To My Bully

MARCH 26TH, 2025 Aliyah's POV I didn’t care about the storm. Let it pour. The icy rain pelted my skin as I stormed down the sidewalk barefoot, my drenched hoodie clinging to my body like a second skin. I could barely see, tears mixing with the rain, soaking my lashes, blurring the streetlights. But that was fine. It made the world match how I felt inside. I’d run. Again. This time not because I was dramatic, but because if I stayed in that house one more second, I would’ve screamed loud enough to shatter glass. I needed to breathe. Even if it meant freezing. Even if it meant getting sick. Anything was better than sitting at that marble dining table while my parents handed me over like some business deal. They didn’t even ask me. They just decided. So when I heard a car screech to a stop beside me, I almost didn’t bother looking. Until I heard his voice. “Aliyah?! What the hell get in the car!” Marcus. My childhood friend. One of the few people who still felt real in this plastic life. I blinked through the rain and saw his panicked face behind the windshield. The door flew open. “Are you crazy?! You’ll get pneumonia out here!” I hesitated. Only for a second. Then I got in, slamming the door behind me. He cranked the heat up and peeled his soaked hoodie off, tossing it onto my lap. “Here. Use this.” I didn’t say anything, still shaking. The cold had sunk deep into my bones. He glanced at me, concerned. “You’re literally dripping. What happened?” “I just needed air,” I muttered, curling into myself. “Air?” he scoffed. “At night? In a storm? Without your phone or shoes? Liyah, come on talk to me.” “I’m fine.” He gave me a sharp look but didn’t push. We drove in silence, only the sound of rain tapping against the windshield. When we pulled into my family’s estate, I noticed something strange. Three sleek black cars were parked outside. High-end. Expensive. There had only been two before I left. My stomach twisted. I forced a smile. “Thanks for the ride, Marcus.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re not going to tell me what this is about?” “No. Not yet.” A beat passed. “Text me. Please. Just so I know you’re okay.” I nodded. “I will.” He didn’t drive off until I was safely inside the gates. As I stepped into the grand entryway, the warmth hit me like a slap but it didn’t chase away the dread pooling in my gut. Then I saw them. My father and Mr. Bruce Saint’s father deep in discussion on the velvet sofas. Two glasses of expensive scotch sat untouched on the side table. My mother paced nearby, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Their eyes all turned to me. “There you are,” my mother snapped, storming toward me. “Do you realize how irresponsible that was? Running off in the rain like a lunatic? Your future in-laws are here!” I froze. “Future what?” “Aliyah , don’t make a scene,” she hissed, gripping my arm tightly. “You knew this was coming. Your father and I have decided. You’re marrying Saint Bruce. And you will behave yourself in front of his family.” “I never agreed to that!” I pulled back, voice rising. “I’m not marrying him! I’d rather die-” “Enough!” she snapped. “This is not a negotiation. We’ve already arranged everything. For our legacy. For your security. And frankly, you owe us that much.” I shook my head in disbelief. “You’re selling me off like cattle.” “You’ll thank us one day. Now go upstairs, freshen up, and come down looking like someone worthy of being a Bruce.” I was too stunned to fight back. Her heels clicked away before I could form another protest. I turned to run upstairs, my fists clenched, heart pounding. But halfway down the hall, a voice stopped me cold. “Well, well, well. Look who’s finally home.” That voice. I knew that voice. I turned and there he was, leaning against the wall like he owned it. Saint Bruce. The boy who’d made my life a living hell. Taller now. Sharper. A walking contradiction in an all-black suit, eyes as cold as I remembered. “Saint,” I spat his name like poison. He smirked. “Still dramatic, I see. I thought you’d run all the way to another country this time. What’s the matter? Daddy didn’t let you pick your own husband?” “You arrogant piece of__” “Relax,” he said smoothly, his tone almost mocking. “You’re not my type either. But now? We’re stuck. How poetic.” My throat tightened. “You ruined my life.” He tilted his head. “Then you should be used to me by now.” I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. The fury burned too deep. I turned and walked away, shoving my door open as soon as I reached my room. I collapsed onto the bed, still in my soaked clothes, tears falling silently this time. I stared at the ceiling, one thought clawing at my mind: I was going to marry the boy who broke me. Not just broke me He shattered everything I once was. My pride. My peace. My youth. And if you're wondering how the hell we got here… You’ll have to go back to the very beginning. Back before the secrets, the betrayal, the shame. Back when I was just a girl who fell for the wrong boy. Fourteen years ago. Where everything started. Where everything fell apart.