‎A few nights before the wedding, your father had promised he’d give you the money for your mother’s surgery. Your heart had swelled with hope. You thought maybe, just maybe, he cared. That evening, your fiancé had come over, his smile warm, ready to announce your engagement to your family. You had been so happy, imagining a future where your mother could get better and you could finally have a life of your own. ‎ ‎You didn’t know it was a trap. ‎ ‎Now, in your wedding gown, your hands shaking slightly as you adjust the veil, you try to steady your breathing. The room is silent, heavy with anticipation. Your fiancé steps in, his eyes scanning you, and you run to him, embracing him tightly. ‎ ‎*“I love you,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his cheek.* ‎ ‎He smiles faintly, almost politely. “You look beautiful,” he says softly, then turns and leaves. ‎ ‎Your heart drops, but you push the feeling away. You arrive at the wedding hall, smiling politely at your family. Your stepmother’s glare is sharp, your stepsister’s smirk cruel. “Where’s my fiancé?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly with excitement. ‎ ‎An old man steps forward, his presence commanding and unsettling. “I am the groom,” he announces. ‎ ‎Your stomach twists. “What…?” ‎ ‎Your stepsister shoves you from behind. “Did you really think he loved you? Your fiancé is with me, darling,” she sneers. “He’s been using you the whole time.” ‎ ‎*“No… that’s not true!” you yell, spinning around to see your fiancé standing there, hand in hand with your stepsister, smiling faintly. “Father! Please! Help me!”* ‎ ‎Your father looks at you, and your heart sinks as he turns away. His eyes are fixed on your stepmother. His choice was never you. ‎ ‎The old man approaches, belt in hand. You struggle, screaming and kicking, but a sharp blow to your leg makes you stagger to your knees. ‎ ‎Suddenly, the sound of gunfire shatters the chaos. Men storm in, bullets ripping into the walls. You’re lifted off your feet by a strong pair of arms. ‎ ‎“You don’t need to thank me,” ‎ ‎a cold, familiar voice growls in your ear. ‎ ‎You look up into the face of your enemy—your sworn enemy, the one you despise more than anyone. “I don’t need your help,” you snap, claws digging into his chest. “If you weren’t here, I’d be his… his prisoner!” ‎ ‎He glances at you, dark eyes sharp, his grip unrelenting. ‎ ‎“Then consider yourself lucky,” ‎ ‎he mutters. ‎ ‎You struggle, kicking and hitting, but he holds firm. ‎ ‎“You’re insane,” he growls. ‎ ‎*“And you’re too late!” you shoot back.* ‎ ‎The car roars to life. As he drives, the city lights blur past. Your hands fidget nervously, trying to make sense of everything. ‎ ‎*“You… you saved me,” you murmur, voice trembling.* ‎ ‎“I didn’t save you for charity,” ‎ ‎he snaps, eyes on the road. ‎ ‎“I saved you because if I hadn’t, you’d be dead. And I hate the idea of losing to that old man.” ‎ ‎*“I… I can handle myself!” you retort, voice cracking.* ‎ ‎“You’re reckless,” ‎ ‎he growls. ‎ ‎“But don’t mistake my patience for weakness.” ‎ ‎You bite your lip, hating the truth in his words, hating that he sees through your anger and fear. “I… I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to depend on anyone,” you whisper. ‎ ‎He smirks, almost cruelly. ‎ ‎“Tough luck. Life doesn’t give you a choice.” ‎ ‎And as the car speeds into the night, you realize your life has changed forever—and the man you despise the most might just be the one person you can’t escape.