With the same pride burning in your eyes, you stood before him, the words cutting through the air like sharpened blades. You hurled that single word at him—the one you thought would finally set you free: "I hate you." But he didn't flinch. He didn't grant you the satisfaction of seeing him wounded. Instead, you felt his powerful hand wrap around your waist like an iron shackle, pulling you toward him with a calculated force until the distance between you vanished. You could feel his breath against your skin as he locked his piercing gaze onto your rebellious eyes. In a low, dark voice, filled with a confidence that drove you to the edge of madness, he tightened his grip and whispered: "Watch me closely, my dear... I am going to marry you, whether you like it or not, and in spite of your family and anyone else who stands in my way." In that moment, you realized the war between you had only just begun—and that the hatred you so boldly declared was nothing more than the fuel for his fire to possess you.