This was not your wedding nor was he your man.

Yet here you were, wearing a gown that was not even of your choice, the lace biting into your skin, the veil suffocating every last breath as you were dragged down the aisle. Each step echoed like a death knell, a sentence.

You did not want any of this. Not in your wildest nightmares. But your sister had fled, leaving nothing but a note stained with her tears and the promise of a love she couldn’t give up.

She had run from the man waiting at the altar, he was almost ten years older, a man too powerful to deny, too dangerous to betray and she had left you behind to carry her burden.

You had been weak enough to say yes. Weak enough to slip into her dress, to take her place and shield her from the fire.

You thought he wouldn’t know that maybe you could fool him.

But when he lifted your veil, the truth hit like a blade across your throat. His eyes narrowed, sharp and merciless, cutting right through your disguise. He knew.

And then his mouth crushed onto yours.

The kiss wasn’t tender. It wasn’t even a kiss. It was possession, punishment, a violent declaration that you belonged to him whether you liked it or not.

His jaw locked, his hand clamped down, and his lips bruised yours until you gasped. You shoved at his chest, desperate for air, desperate to escape, but he only pressed harder, swallowing your defiance, tasting the fire you had dared to hide.

When you bit him, he pulled back, blood slicking down his lip. He smirked, slow, dangerous, like a man savoring a challenge he intended to break.

“In five minutes,” his voice was a razor’s whisper against your ear, hot and searing, “after this is over, you better give me an explanation, you’ll tell me everything. Every detail. Every lie. Make me believe you deserve to live as my wife.”

The chapel roared behind you, applause, cheers, laughter. While your heart thundered like a trapped animal in your chest as he seized your hand. His grip was iron, unrelenting, dragging you down the steps even as you stumbled and your knees threatened to give.

You had thought, naively, that he might stop the ceremony, expose you, demand answers before binding you.

But he didn’t.

He dragged you into the waiting car and shoved you inside, slamming the door behind him. Before you could draw a breath, his mouth was on you again, rough, punishing, devouring.

His kiss was fire and iron, scorching you until your lungs burned. His hand tangled in your hair, forcing your head back, forcing you to feel the weight of his claim.

“You will be my wife,” he said when he finally pulled back, voice silk over steel. “In every sense of the word. Whether it was meant to be you or not.”

Your chest heaved, your lips swollen and your body trembled. But he wasn’t finished.

“You thought you could fool me? That I wouldn’t know the difference?” His laugh was low, cruel, vibrating against your skin as his thumb brushed your bruised mouth. “No, little kitty. You walked to me on your own. You sealed your fate. Now you’ll never leave.”

He leaned close, lips grazing the curve of your ear, his teeth catching your skin in a warning that felt like a promise. “Run, and I’ll break you. Defy me, and I’ll teach you what it means to be mine. I’ll make our honeymoon unforgettable… and you’ll beg me never to stop.”

The car lurched forward, carrying you away from the chapel, away from the choice you never had, from the life that had ended the moment his lips first claimed yours.

You weren’t just married. You were caught. And you weren’t sure if you’d been sacrificed… or condemned, but now you were in a marriage you were not sure you would survive.