CHAPTER 2— VOWS THAT FELT LIKE CHAINS
1514 Words
"Do you take this man..."
The officiant's voice faded into something distant, like sound heard from underwater. I couldn't feel my fingers anymore. Not because of fear, though fear was certainly there. Because of him.
Adrian Voss stood before me, calm and composed, as if he hadn't just quietly demolished the ground beneath my feet moments ago.
You're not her.
The words echoed again, louder this time, circling without mercy.
He knew. From the very beginning, he had known. And yet he had looked me in the eye and said it anyway: You're still going to marry me.
My throat tightened around a single question that had no room to breathe.
Why?
Why would a man like him, powerful, controlled, dangerous, willingly marry a stranger pretending to be someone else? Unless this was never a mistake. Unless this had always been a choice. His choice.
"Answer."
The officiant's voice cut sharply through my thoughts.
Every eye in the room shifted to me. I felt it before I saw it, the collective weight of their expectations, their curiosity, their barely concealed suspicion pressing down on my shoulders. One wrong move and everything unraveled.
My lips parted.
"I..."
A hand closed around mine.
Firm. Warm. Unyielding.
I flinched, the reaction too small for anyone else to catch. But not him. Adrian noticed everything. His thumb moved slowly across my knuckles, a deliberate stroke that carried no comfort in it whatsoever. It was a warning dressed in gentleness, and somehow that made it worse.
I turned my head just enough to look at him.
His expression hadn't changed. Still calm. Still unreadable. But his eyes held something new now, something darker, something that communicated with perfect quiet clarity: Careful.
"Say it," he murmured, low enough that the words belonged only to me.
My pulse stumbled. "What happens if I don't?" I whispered back before I could think better of it.
For just one second, something moved across his gaze. Not irritation. Not threat. Something far more dangerous.
Interest.
It vanished as quickly as it came. His grip tightened.
"You don't want to find out."
No anger behind it. No bluster. Just certainty, the kind that needed no raised voice to land. I looked away from him, back to the officiant, back to the crowd, back to the life I had never intended to live.
This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to disappear. Not stand here. Not marry him. Not become...
"Mrs. Voss."
The name hit me like a physical blow.
Think. The word fired sharp and desperate through my mind. Think.
If I refused, I exposed myself. If I ran, I died. If I stayed, I might survive.
Might.
My fingers tightened around the bouquet until the stems bit into my palm. Every path led somewhere dangerous, but only one kept me alive long enough to find another way out.
I lifted my chin.
And said the one word that sealed everything.
"I do."
The room erupted. Applause, smiles, whispers, the warm flood of celebration filling every corner of the hall. None of it felt real.
Because the moment those words left my mouth, Adrian leaned in again, closer this time, close enough that I felt the warmth of his breath against my temple.
"You made the right choice," he said softly.
A pause, measured and deliberate.
"Now let's see if you survive it."
A chill moved through me, deep and slow.
The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. Words. Rings. More applause. I barely registered any of it, my mind working furiously behind the composed face I was fighting to hold in place.
Until the officiant's voice cut through again.
"You may kiss the bride."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I turned my head slightly, instinctively, but his hand rose to cup my jaw. Not rough. Not gentle. Simply controlled, holding me in place with the ease of someone utterly accustomed to being obeyed.
"This is part of the act," he murmured, his lips barely an inch from mine. "Act better."
Before I could form a response, his mouth brushed mine.
Soft. Brief. Calculated.
And yet something about it refused to feel like nothing. That was the part I couldn't account for. That was the part that frightened me more than everything else combined.
When he pulled back, his gaze didn't lift to my eyes immediately. It stayed on my lips, lingering there with an expression I couldn't name, as though he was trying to place something just beyond his reach. A flicker of what looked almost like confusion crossed his face and vanished in an instant.
"Interesting," he muttered, more to himself than to me.
My stomach twisted. What did that mean? What had he felt? What had he remembered?
Before I could find the words, he had already straightened and turned toward the crowd, composed and unhurried, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't just left me standing there quietly unravelling in front of everyone.
Applause rose again. Cameras flashed. People stood.
And just like that, we were no longer strangers bound together by a lie. We were husband and wife, bound publicly, permanently, and in ways I was only beginning to understand.
The moment we stepped away from the altar, his hand settled at the small of my back.
Guiding. Controlling. Claiming.
I stiffened without meaning to.
"Relax," he said under his breath, still wearing his composure like armour. "You're too tense."
"I think I've earned that," I replied quietly.
His hand didn't move. "If you look nervous, people start asking questions."
"I'm already asking questions," I muttered.
"Good."
That stopped me. I turned my head slightly, caught off guard.
"The more you ask," he continued, his voice perfectly smooth, his smile perfectly constructed for the guests around us, "the more mistakes you'll make."
My pulse spiked. "That's what you want? Me making mistakes?"
The smile deepened but never reached his eyes. "I want to see how long you last."
A chill settled somewhere behind my ribs and stayed there.
This wasn't a marriage. It was a test. And I had just agreed to sit the exam.
We reached the doors. Freedom was right there, the open air, the outside world, space to breathe and think and run. For one reckless, desperate second the thought flashed through my mind with startling clarity.
Now. Before he tightens the cage.
His fingers pressed gently into my back.
"I wouldn't," he said quietly, without so much as glancing at me.
"I didn't..."
"Think it?"
He turned then, his eyes meeting mine with an expression that was sharp, knowing, and utterly terrifying in its calm.
"You did."
Silence fell between us, heavy with everything neither of us was saying. Then, just as smoothly, the moment passed. He looked away and guided me forward as though nothing had happened. As though he hadn't just reached inside my mind and read what was written there.
There was no escape. Not anymore. Perhaps there never had been.
Outside, sunlight hit my face. It didn't feel warm. It felt exposing, as though the whole world could see me standing there in my borrowed identity, and not a single person in it could help me.
The car door opened.
He gestured for me to get in.
I hesitated. Just a breath, just a second. His gaze dropped to me, patient, waiting, utterly certain of how this would end.
I stepped inside.
Because I had no choice. Because I had already said yes. Because the decision had been made the moment I put on Elena Voss's dress and walked down that aisle.
He followed and settled beside me. The door closed with a sound that felt far too final.
We were alone for the first time. No audience. No performance. No careful distance between us.
Just him. And me. And the truth sitting between us like something loaded and waiting.
The car pulled away from the curb. Silence filled the interior, not empty silence, but the kind that presses and demands and refuses to be ignored.
I turned my head and met his gaze.
"Are you going to tell me," I said quietly, "why you married me anyway?"
He didn't answer immediately. He simply watched me the way he had been watching me since I first walked down that aisle, as though I were something he hadn't yet finished working out. Then he leaned back slightly, one arm resting at ease, his entire bearing radiating the infuriating calm of a man who had never once felt cornered in his life.
"Not yet."
My jaw tightened. "Then when?"
A pause, long enough to make my heartbeat stumble.
"When you give me your real name."
The bottom dropped out of my stomach.
The air in the car suddenly felt thinner, tighter, charged with something I couldn't name. Because the way he said it, it wasn't a question. It wasn't a guess or a bluff or a probe.
It was a promise.
And he wore the expression of a man who had never once failed to collect on one.
- Writer
