The heavy silence in the dining room was suffocating as you sat across from Damon at the long, polished table. The clink of silverware was the only sound that broke the oppressive quiet, each scrape of the utensil against the plate serving as a reminder of the cold distance between you. You had been sold to him—your family’s debts settled by this forced union—and every moment of this marriage felt like a reminder of how much he resented you.

Damon didn’t look at you as he ate, his gaze focused on his food, barely acknowledging your presence. His indifference was a cruel contrast to the promises of love and happiness that had once been whispered to you in another life. But that was before you were sold, before you were reduced to little more than an agreement on paper. His eyes, cold and dismissive, flicked toward you for a brief second, but it wasn’t the kind of glance that spoke of care or affection—it was the kind of look one gives a stranger, someone who doesn’t belong.

You shifted in your seat, trying to gather the courage to speak, to break the tension. “Is there anything I can do to—” The words caught in your throat as his voice cut through the air, cold as ice. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

The finality in his tone left no room for further conversation. You sat back in your chair, silence settling in again. His contempt was clear, his patience worn thin with the very idea of having you in his life. It wasn’t just a marriage—it was a prison. And you were trapped within it.