The Savage Bride

Walls Closing In

The words hit me like a physical blow, even though I wasn’t in the room to hear them firsthand. I only learned about the proposal much later, but when I imagined the scene, the emotions felt as raw as if I’d been there. My father’s reaction must have mirrored my own—a volatile mix of shock, fury, and disbelief that left no room for composure.

I pictured him shooting to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, his fists clenching at his sides as though sheer force of will could rewrite the situation. His face, likely flushed with anger, must have betrayed the storm of emotions brewing within him.

“That’s not possible,” he’d said, his voice louder now, angrier, vibrating with a barely restrained rage. “Azalea is an innocent girl. She knows nothing of this world and wouldn’t survive in it.”

Carlos, ever the calculating opponent, hadn’t even flinched. His voice, steady and composed, grew colder, sharper, each word slicing through the air like the edge of a blade.

“You have no choice,” Carlos replied, the menace in his tone unmistakable. “Either you agree, or we go back to war. And this time, it won’t just be you who suffers. Your family will be caught in the crossfire.”

I could imagine my father staring him down, his thoughts racing through every possibility, searching desperately for a way out of the trap that Carlos had so expertly laid. After what must have felt like an eternity, he had left the room, his silence heavier than any words could have been. The weight of an impossible decision bore down on him, the lines of worry deepening on his face as he exited.

The drive back to the hotel was a study in unbearable tension. The silence in the car pressed against my chest, making it hard to breathe. My father sat in the front seat, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles in his neck twitched. His hands gripped the steering wheel as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. My mom, seated beside him, cast worried glances in his direction, each look betraying the anxiety she was trying so hard to contain.

In the backseat, Ethan and I exchanged confused looks, the unease swirling around us like a suffocating fog. My stomach churned, the gnawing sense of dread growing with each passing second. I wanted to speak, to ask what was wrong, but the oppressive atmosphere swallowed the words before they could form.

Finally, my father broke the silence. His voice was so firm, so startling, that it made me jump in my seat.

“Ethan, Azalea,” he said, his tone leaving no room for questions or arguments, “you’re getting married in three days.”

For a moment, his words didn’t register. My mind stumbled over them, trying and failing to make sense of what he’d just said.

“What?” I blurted out, my voice cracking as the shock hit me full force. “Dad, what are you talking about? What about Ethan’s family? They don’t even know—”

Ethan, sitting stiffly beside me, was just as blindsided as I was. He stammered, his voice unsteady, “Mr. Moretti, my parents don’t even know about this. How can—”

“It’s decided,” my father interrupted, cutting him off with a finality that sent a shiver down my spine. There was no room for discussion, no space for protest. His words landed like the slam of a gavel, echoing in the silence of the car.

His eyes, shadowed with an emotion I couldn’t quite place—fear, guilt, maybe both—met my mom’s in the rearview mirror. She looked away quickly, her lips pressed into a thin, pale line. It was the kind of look that told me she knew more than she was letting on, that she had a part in this decision but couldn’t bring herself to speak of it. I wanted to demand answers, to ask what the hell was happening, but my throat felt tight, and the words refused to come.

I turned to Ethan, searching his face for some kind of reassurance, but he looked just as lost as I felt. His expression was a mixture of disbelief and apprehension, his usual calm demeanor nowhere to be found.

My heart pounded in my chest, the rhythm erratic and frantic, as the weight of my father’s words began to settle over me. Married? In three days? To Ethan? The very idea seemed impossible, absurd even, and yet my father’s tone left no room for doubt.

Something wasn’t adding up. I could feel it in the way my dad’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel, in the way my mom avoided my gaze, in the way no one dared to explain the sudden and inexplicable announcement. The surrounding silence was thick with unspoken truths, with secrets that felt too heavy to bear.

Whatever was going on, one thing was clear: something was very, very wrong.

*********

( Present Day)

The sound of my own scream startled me, my chest heaving as I gasped for air, each breath ragged and uneven. My heart slammed against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that echoed in my ears, and my skin was slick with cold sweat that clung to me like a second skin. It took a moment for my surroundings to sink in, for the familiar sight of my room to pull me out of the suffocating grip of panic.

I was back in my room, not in the nightmare that had felt so real, so vivid it could have been happening right in front of me. But even as reality settled around me like a heavy blanket, the haunting images lingered like stubborn ghosts, refusing to leave me in peace.

Now I am sitting on the bed, my legs drawn tightly to my chest as though I could shield myself from the memories clawing at my mind.

My arms wrapped around my knees in a desperate attempt to hold myself together as if the physical act of gripping tightly enough could stop the unraveling inside me. Tears streamed down my face without pause, carving burning trails along my pale cheeks. My face felt swollen and tender, each brush of the salty tears stinging as they flowed. My bloodshot eyes stared ahead, unseeing yet filled with the shattered pieces of my soul, a reflection of the pain consuming me.

Every time I blinked, the images came rushing back, vivid and cruel. The blood splattered across the walls, the agonizing screams echoed endlessly in my ears, and the lifeless, empty bodies of my parents and Ethan. The scenes played on a loop, like a cruel, inescapable film, each frame sharper and more unbearable than the last. Each time I thought I might get a moment of peace, the memories would stab at my heart again, twisting the blade deeper with every flash of red, every echo of anguish.

The silence in the room felt fragile, heavy with the weight of my despair. I flinched at the sudden creak of the door, the sound slicing through the oppressive quiet. My head snapped up instinctively, my body tensing as my breath caught in my throat. My heart, already racing, seemed to double its pace, hammering painfully against my chest as if trying to escape.

When Rafael stepped inside, his tall, commanding presence seemed to fill the entire space, making the walls feel closer and the air harder to breathe. His every step seemed deliberate and heavy, as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Panic surged through me in an unrelenting wave, drowning out reason. Without a second thought, I dragged myself back to bed, scrambling as far away from him as possible. My fingers gripped the bedspread, the fabric bunching beneath my trembling hands as I pressed my back against the headboard.

My heart pounded so fiercely that it felt like it might tear through my ribcage. Every fiber of my being screamed to flee, but I was trapped, pinned in place by fear and the suffocating memory of everything that had happened.