Unholy Matrimony

Vows Made In Shackles.

(Sapphire’s POV)

The day was finally here. Two weeks after my engagement party.

The morning of my wedding should have been filled with joy. Excitement. Butterflies. Pearls of laughter and sunlight trickling through the windows.

Instead, it felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting for the ground to give way.

The Montgomery estate was swarming with florists, caterers, stylists, and photographers. White roses filled every corner, golden ribbons draped down the grand staircase, and chandeliers gleamed like jewels overhead. It was the kind of wedding people dreamed of.

And I was the bride walking to my own execution.

“Smile,” my mother whispered as she adjusted the diamond necklace around my throat and touched my already beautifully made high contrast brunette hair. Her hands shook, betraying nerves she wouldn’t admit to. “Everyone is watching.”

Everyone was always watching.

My reflection stared back from the mirror: a vision in silk and lace, my average height but shapely body was so regal in this dress. A cathedral-length veil cascading down my back. I looked like a princess. But my eyes—my eyes were hollow.

The ceremony blurred around me. The grand cathedral, packed with New York’s elite. The music swelling. The murmurs of admiration as I walked down the aisle.

And then—him.

Damian Blackwood. Waiting at the altar in a black tuxedo tailored like a weapon, dark eyes locked on me.

I wondered what he was thinking, but then I scoffed at myself. Why does it matter what he was thinking?

For one impossible moment, my knees threatened to buckle.

Not because I wanted him. God, no.

But because he looked at me as though he’d already won. As though I was no longer Sapphire Montgomery—I was already Sapphire Blackwood.

The vows were exchanged. His voice was steady, commanding, as he repeated the words even as he stared directly into my eyes. Mine trembled, caught between fury and fear and unshed tears.

“I now pronounce you man and wife!” The priest said with too much enthusiasm. I wondered briefly if I could make him stand in my place and marry this man instead of me. Then I would see if he would still be so enthusiastic about the marriage.

The thought almost made me laugh out loud.

At least I was finding joy in chaos.

“Hello, wife.” Damian’s voice brought me back to earth.

“Hello, husband.” I answered with gritted teeth.

He chuckled knowingly as if he knew how much I didn’t want to be here.

And then, the kiss.

The priest cleared his throat and with that same annoying enthusiasm, he announced, “you may now kiss your bride, Mr Blackwoods.”

And my newly wedded husband wasted no time at all.

His mouth claimed mine, firm and unyielding. The crowd erupted in applause, flashes of cameras immortalizing the moment. From the outside, it must have looked perfect—storybook.

I even heard Luke’s whistle from the crowd which I was all too familiar with.

But to me, it was a cage snapping shut. The final nail on the coffin.

The reception blurred, champagne and laughter mixing with whispered gossip. Everyone toasted to the happy couple. My father beamed, as if this marriage had washed away years of debt and disgrace. And my mother? She couldn’t even look at me. She was too scared of my father to go against him. Simply sad.

But Damian never let me drift more than a step away. His hand was a constant weight at my back, his eyes tracking me like a hawk. I danced when he told me to dance, smiled when he demanded it.

By the time the night ended, my cheeks ached from forced joy.

I had been introduced to thousands of people whose faces and names I forgot as soon as they left our side.

I was not even in the least interested in knowing or familiarizing myself with any of them

They were from his world and I planned on keeping it like that.

And then came the moment I had dreaded most.

The wedding night.

The penthouse suite at the Plaza was drenched in candlelight, petals scattered across the bed in some twisted parody of romance. My heart pounded in my chest as Damian closed the door behind us with a soft click.

We were alone.

My hands clenched at my sides. “You got what you wanted,” I said, my voice low but steady. “Your empire, your leverage, your victory. Congratulations. You don’t need me anymore.”

He loosened his tie, his gaze dark and unreadable. “You really believe this is about leverage?”

“What else could it possibly be?” I asked in bewilderment.

He moved closer, his jacket sliding off, landing on the chair with deliberate precision. “It’s about you, Blue. It’s always been about you.”

My pulse skittered. I backed up a step. That nickname again. “You don’t even know me.”

His smirk was dangerous, infuriating. “I know enough. I know you’re fire wrapped in silk. I know you’d rather burn than bend. I know you think you hate me, but every time I touch you, your body betrays you.”

Heat flushed my skin, equal parts rage and something I refused to name. “You’re delusional.”

He took another step, closing the distance, until my back hit the edge of the bed. He leaned down, his mouth brushing my ear, his words silk and steel.

“Delusional?” His breath was hot against my skin. “No. I’m patient. And I always take what’s mine. No matter how long it takes.”

His hand lifted, tilting my chin up. My chest heaved as his dark gaze locked on mine.

“You can fight me all you want,” he whispered. “But tonight, Sapphire Blackwood… you’re mine. In every way.”

The words wrapped around me like chains, chilling and suffocating.

And as the door locked behind us, as his shadow loomed over mine, I realized this marriage wasn’t just a deal.

It was a sentence.