Unholy Matrimony

Broken Arts.

(Sapphire’s POV)

But even as my husband and I waited for my father, my heart kept slamming against my ribs. Of all the people I didn’t want anywhere near this penthouse, it was him.

“Why would he come here?” I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended.

Damian’s eyes didn’t leave mine. “Why do you think?”

Before I could reply, the elevator chimed and the doors slid open. My father stepped out as if he owned the place, his tailored suit immaculate, his expression that familiar blend of charm and cruelty.

“Sapphire,” Viktor Montgomery drawled, spreading his arms as though we were some long-lost happy family. “My beautiful daughter.”

I stiffened and unconsciously pressed against Damian. He hadn’t even looked at me yesterday, not until he wanted to use me again. And now he was here?

“What are you doing here?” My voice trembled with barely restrained anger.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Can’t a father visit his daughter and her…husband?” His gaze flicked to Damian, measuring him like a rival rather than a son-in-law.

Damian didn’t flinch. He stood tall, one hand in his pocket, the other resting casually around me like a shield, but the tension rolling off him was enough to choke my father. “You were not invited,” he said coolly.

Viktor’s lips twitched. “I don’t need an invitation to see my daughter.”

I folded my arms. “Cut the act. Why are you here?”

For a moment, his mask slipped, his eyes narrowing. Then he sighed dramatically and walked further inside, his shoes clicking against the marble. He stopped in front of one of my paintings—the one of a fractured rose. His lips curled.

“You’re wasting your talent on silly pictures, Sapphire. You could be helping your family. Helping me.”

There it was. The real reason.

“I already am,” I snapped. “By being married to Damian.”

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. My father’s gaze shifted between me and Damian, to his arm around me, sharp as a blade. “Marriage is just the beginning. There are still debts, Sapphire. Debts that must be paid.”

Damian’s voice sliced through the air. “What debts?”

Viktor’s smile returned, slick and poisonous. “Family matters. Nothing for you to worry about, Mr. Blackwood. Unless you’d like to involve yourself?”

The sly bastard!

Something dangerous flickered in Damian’s eyes. “If it concerns my wife, it concerns me.”

That warmed my heart.

I looked between them, dread pooling in my stomach. My father thrived on control, on secrets, on pulling strings no one could see. But Damian? he was different. He didn’t bow to anyone. Which meant this would end badly.

“You’ll regret marrying her,” Viktor said suddenly, his smile dropping altogether. “She’s not strong enough for your world, Damian. She’ll only become a liability.”

My chest tightened. “Stop it…” I began to say.

“Quiet!” he snapped, his voice booming through the penthouse.

I flinched. My mother’s face flashed in my mind, timid, quiet, cowed by the man now standing in front of me. I wouldn’t be her. I wouldn’t.

“Don’t you dare talk to her like that,” Damian said, his voice low but lethal. He released me and walked until he was standing right in front of my father.

Jesus.

This man was intimidating.

My father’s head whipped toward him. “Or what? You’ll protect her?” His laugh was bitter, hollow. “You have no idea what she’s capable of. Or what I’m capable of.” He spat, but his voice was shaking.

Oh he was scared.

Terribly scared of my husband, and that made me feel so good.

The tension was unbearable. My fists clenched at my sides, every muscle in my body screaming to do something, say something, anything.

Else Damian might end up beating him to an inch of his life. And I didn’t want that.

Victor was not a good man. Father or not. But he was still family.

“Leave,” Damian ordered in a voice that was too calm.

The word hung in the air like a commandment.

For the first time, I saw something shift in my father’s eyes. Not just fear. Not respect. But recognition—that Damian Blackwood wasn’t someone he could bully.

This didn’t seat well with him, but he didn’t have a choice.

Viktor straightened his suit jacket slowly. He slowly turned to look at me.

“This isn’t over, Sapphire. Remember who owns you.” His gaze lingered on me, cold and final, before he strode back to the elevator.

But Damian pulled him back by the scruff of his shirt.

“My wife is not your property. You do not own her. And if you ever say those words again, you will lose your tongue, I do not care if you are her father or not. Do you understand me?” He hissed.

I could see the blatant shock on my father’s face as he tried to hide his trembling lips.

“Speak before I break your fingers.” Damian spat, eyes going dark.

“Ye…yes.” My father stuttered.”

“Good, now run along.”

Without sparing me another glance, he rushed out of the room, tail tucked between his legs like a scared dog.

The doors closed, and silence crashed over the penthouse.

I realized I was shaking. My breath came fast, shallow, my nails digging into my palms.

“Are you all right?” Damian asked, his voice gentler now.

I wanted to scream. Cry. Smash something. Instead, I whispered, “He’ll never stop.”

Damian’s hand brushed mine, a fleeting touch, but it grounded me. “Then I’ll make him.”

I looked up into his eyes, searching, questioning, but before I could speak or ask what he meant by that, a loud crash echoed from my studio.

The same studio we had just stepped out of not even up to ten minutes ago.

I froze.

“What was that?” I muttered.

Damian was already moving, striding toward the door. My stomach twisted as I followed, dread curling like smoke in my chest.

When we pushed the door open, my heart stopped.

The canvas I’d just painted—the one of Damian in chains—was slashed straight down the middle.

A knife lay on the floor beneath it.

And a single note pinned to the torn canvas with a blood-red tack.

“She will be your end.”