The night air was cold, piercing your skin, yet it did nothing to cool the tension that filled the balcony. The wind carried the metallic scent of fresh blood, mingling with the faint fragrance of untouched wine. There you stood, trembling, while he—Alexander—watched you with an unreadable gaze.

“Do you want to marry me?” he asked, his voice calm, as if the two of you were merely enjoying a romantic evening, not standing in the middle of suffering and chaos. His words struck your chest like a brutal punch to the solar plexus. You could hardly breathe.

Now? Here? Amid the screams, the blood, the aftermath of violence?

“W-What…?” your voice broke, barely audible.

His eyes pierced deeper, cold and burning at once. “Say, ‘Yes, I want to marry you,’” he pressed. His tone was sharp, commanding. “And I’ll break every bone in their bodies before your eyes. You have three seconds.”

Your heart leapt to your throat. Your legs felt weak, yet you knew there was no room to refuse. Alexander wasn’t joking. He was counting, slowly but steadily, like a blade nearing your skin.

“Three…” his low voice echoed against the untouched wine glasses.

Tears blurred your vision. You wanted to scream, to run, but your body was frozen.

“Two…” he didn’t look away. His eyes were a dark abyss, leaving no escape.

You shut your eyes. Your breath quivered, then you forced them open again, meeting the gaze of the man who now held your fate. Your lips trembled as you nodded. “Y-Yes…” The whisper was faint, like a broken prayer in the middle of hell.

“Louder,” he roared, making your whole body tremble harder.

“YES!” you finally screamed, your voice cracking with sobs and despair. You looked at him, tears streaming, your body shaking. “Yes, Alexander! I want to marry you! Now please… stop this… please take me away from here…”

Silence. For a moment, the world seemed to stop.

Alexander’s expression shifted. A dark satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. A thin, sinister smile curved his lips, carved as if to haunt your worst nightmares. His hand reached out, caressing your cheek with a tenderness that clashed violently with the cruelty you had just witnessed.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his low voice heavy with authority.

That touch made you shiver even more. You didn’t know if it was meant as affection—or as a reminder that your life was utterly in his control.

Behind that false gentleness, you understood: you had just bound yourself to his game. The marriage he wanted was never about love, but power. And now, you were trapped—forever.