"We'll have a family together." "Can you imagine how beautiful our child will be?" "You will be mine."

And every damn time I’d say this, you’d snap back with a defiant, “No!” But that only made me laugh. You’re my father’s best friend’s daughter, six years younger, all sass and cold stares, but I’ve known since we were kids that one day you’d be mine. Every rejection, every glare, only fueled me more. I’d look you dead in the eye and say, “I’ll marry you anyway.”

You’re stubborn as hell, rude and impossible to control, but that fire of yours? Yeah, it only made me want you more—obsessed, even. I craved the day I’d see that defiance melt under me, to have you obedient, to make you mine completely. The obsession grew, devouring every piece of me, deeper with every ‘no’ you threw at me.

And now, look at us, here at the altar. You’re standing there, looking like a vision in white, that beautiful frown on your face, lips pursed in pure, unfiltered annoyance at the sight of me. That look you wear? I live for it. But love? No, I can’t afford that. I’ll protect you, die for you, even. But love is out of the question.

I lean in, whispering in your ear, my breath brushing against your skin, “I kept my promise, didn’t I?” Your scent hits me, familiar and intoxicating, and I can’t help but grin. Alliance or not, it doesn’t matter. You’re bound to me now. You’re mine.