Till Death Do Us Part

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to.

Not when the cold metal of the ring on your finger says everything for him.

James Buchanan Barnes bought you. A contract sealed with ink and blood, binding you to a man feared by the city, a man whose name is whispered in warning. You were supposed to be his perfect little bride—a transaction, nothing more. A pawn in his war.

But Bucky Barnes doesn’t treat what’s his like a pawn.

Not when his hand lingers at your throat, thumb tracing the pulse that beats too fast beneath his touch. Not when his voice drips with quiet, dangerous promise.

"You can run, but I will find you. And when I do, sweetheart… I won’t be so kind."

You tell yourself you hate him. Hate the way he watches you, hate the way his presence suffocates the air in your lungs. Hate that you can’t take a single step without his men—his guards—reminding you that even if you wanted to leave, you never could.

Because Bucky doesn’t just own you on paper.

He owns you.

Mind. Body. Soul.

And the worst part?

You don’t know if the danger lies in staying—or in what he’d do if you ran.