Page 29

S tirring, my body weighed heavier—like gravity had doubled overnight. Grogginess clouded my head, thoughts swimming through molasses, finding it hard to open my eyes as the morning sunlight flitted through the lone window in my room—harsh, invasive beams that pierced like needles against my eyelids.

Why did I feel like this?

Glancing at the clock on my nightstand, I shifted at seeing the time—ten AM. Searching my brain for any memory of yesterday, I paused. The last thing I remembered was V and I going to the club, then doing our usual routine. Then nothing.

My hands rose to rub the sleep away—but I stopped cold. An icy pressure, foreign and heavy, pressed against me where there should be nothing. Opening my eyes, they nearly fell out of my head when I saw the gold circle on my left ring finger. The sight of it made my stomach drop to my feet, a sudden vertigo washing over me.

A ring.

Not just any ring.

A wedding ring.

The shackle with three diamonds set perfectly on the front, catching the light like frozen tears. It fit perfectly, as if it was made just for me—or as if someone had measured my finger while I slept.

My hand spasmed helplessly beneath my skin. Why was there a wedding ring on my finger? The hard, cold pressure tightened around me like a manacle, growing heavier by the second. Before I got the chance to jump out of bed to find him, V entered the room holding a tray.

Holding up my hand, forcing the words past a constricted throat. "V-V?"

He kicked the door closed with his foot. His dark eyes pinned on me—black holes that seemed to devour all light in the room. "Good morning, wife."

Wife?

Did he just say, wife?

Nausea pooled in my gut, acid burning up my throat as sweat slicked my palms. The world tilted, reality skewing at an impossible angle. "What do you mean wife?"

He held his left hand up, a black silicone ring resting on his ring finger. "Why is there a wedding ring on your finger?"

"We're husband and wife."

My jaw worked uselessly as I tried to summon words to get some sort of explanation, but my tongue swelled thick and clumsy in my mouth.

"We're not married." I sputtered. Was this some kind of delusional nightmare I was in? A psychotic break? Digging my nails into my arms, I pinched my arm, desperate to wake up.

The sharp pain told me what I didn't want to know—this was real.

All of it.

My gaze snapped back to V, who was still standing there with the breakfast tray in his hands, watching my panic. The room around me started to dissolve, the edges smearing like watercolors bleeding into each other as my mouth dried to sandpaper. "H-How?"

"Last night after you fell asleep." He stalked toward the bed. "You were a beautiful bride."

Something twisted beneath my ribs as I got out of bed, the sudden movement making my surroundings spin. I stumbled, caught myself in the jagged mirror, frozen at my reflection. Raccoon circles of smeared makeup surrounded my eyes. My hair stood out in wild tangles. But worst was what I wore—I'd never seen before. "W-What am I wearing?" The words fractured in my mouth, mind spiraling into panic with horrific possibilities.

He placed the tray down on the bed. His reflection joined mine in the mirror as he stood behind me. His arms wrapped around my shoulders, making me flinch. He ignored it, burying his masked face in the side of my neck, inhaling deeply.

"Did you…dress me?" V stayed in the nook of my neck, his covered lips against my pulse point—feeling it race with fear. Horror bloomed sharply in my chest.

"A husband always takes care of his wife."

My knees felt as if they were about to buckle, carpet turning to water beneath me.

"Why don't I remember anything?" The room bled into watercolor smears, overstimulation prickling my nerves like thousands of tiny needles before I hoarsely whispered, "We're not married."

His left hand trailed down my left arm, fingers skimming my scarred surface like ice, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He intertwined our fingers together before lifting our joined hands, forcing me to look at our reflection—a grotesque parody of a loving couple.

"Yes, we are." The finality in his voice allowed no argument.

My gaze fixed on our reflection, V's arms encircling me like a straitjacket. A white shirt that was supposed to represent purity made me feel contaminated.

V's arms slid away from me, letting me go, the sudden absence of his weight almost making me stagger. The vice on my lungs lifted, but not for long. A scream ripped from my throat, shredding my vocal cords as V whipped me up into his arms, one under my knees and the other supporting my back. I was weightless, helpless as a child—or a corpse.

"E-Even if you claim we're married, it takes more than putting a shackle and a cheap white shirt on me to make us married!" Air trapped painfully in my chest, hysteria clawing its way up from within.

He laid me beside the tray—tea and cinnamon buns from my favorite store before standing at full height—six-foot-four of solid muscle and an unstable obsession. "There were two witnesses and an ordained minister."

The room spun around me, faster and faster. People had helped him do this? Who on earth would think this was okay? What kind of monsters had helped him? My mind was racing, still foggy like it was when I took my sleeping medication. Neurons fired too rapidly, making connections that led to a horrifying conclusion. I gasped, shock widening my stare as I looked at him, the truth crystallizing in my mind.

Oh my God. The tea.

Realization coursed through me. "You drugged me."

His silence was a confession that echoed through the room.

I grabbed the cold band, ready to tear it free, the icy constraint suddenly burning against my flesh like a brand. My muscles tensed, ready to fling the hateful object across the room when V's deadly calm voice sliced through the air: "I wouldn't take that off unless you want me to burn it to your finger."

Each syllable dripped with such cold certainty that my fingers stopped working. Ice bloomed in my limbs, freezing me from the inside out at his terrifying words. V did not give idle threats. I could almost feel the heat piercing my skin, metal threading through flesh, the ring becoming part of me whether I wanted it or not.

"I don't want to be married to you." My voice broke like brittle glass, tears scalding tracks down my cheeks. "Why did you do this?"

He stepped closer, towering over me, his shadow falling across my body like night itself. "Because we're happy together." I blanched at his twisted reality. “Happy couples get married.”

"Does it look like I'm happy?" Air scraped painfully from my lungs. "You don't force someone into mockery vows, V! This can't be legitimate." The words tumbled out, desperate and pleading.

He turned to the dresser, a piece of paper appeared in his hand before handing it to me.

My grip convulsed so violently that I nearly dropped it. It was real, official-looking, embossed, with signatures at the bottom. This wasn't some sick play-acting. He had actually done this.

I didn't recognize the first two names, Zayn Xavier and Tatum Gray. But then I swallowed hard, my throat clicking audibly as I recognized exactly who the third was.

Mitchell Walker.

My body went numb, piece by agonizing piece. The paper trembled from how tight I held onto it, my knuckles bleached white, nails cutting half-moons into my palms. He was here? He was one of the people who allowed this to happen? My best friend’s husband? The betrayal was a knife between my ribs, twisting deeper with each labored breath. My eyes scanned more of the paper, vision tunneling until they saw the lines on the bottom, the names that made this nightmare legal.

V Anson.

He'd stolen my name.

"My Dad's a lawyer. I can get him to annul us." The words tumbled out before I could stop them, a desperate grasp at some escape route. V ripped the paper from my hands. His hand shot out, fingers digging into my chin with bruising force, pulling my face to look up at him. I could feel my bones shifting under the pressure, jaw creaking in its socket.

"We fucked." V's voice dropped to a whisper, eyes darkening as he leaned closer. "You told me it was your fantasy. You just didn’t wake up." His fingers traced my collarbone. Before I could speak, his next words sliced through me, freezing my breath for a completely different reason. "If you get your parents involved, I'll kill them."

"Y-You wouldn't." But even as the denial left my lips, I knew it for the lie it was.

His fingers pulled at my chin. Bending slightly so our faces were closer. "My bat loves blood, wife. Your parents are no exception."

Tears distorted everything into shapeless colors, tracking down my cheeks to collect at the corner of my mouth. It wasn't just a threat—it was a promise.

This wasn't the V that I was learning to love.

This was a monster.

He cocked his head to the side. His finger brushed over my bottom lip, the pad of his thumb rough against the sensitive skin, pressing down until I tasted blood. "You said your dream was to get married." At that moment, I saw two futures with perfect clarity: one where my parents lived and I remained trapped in this nightmare, and one where I escaped but carried their deaths on my conscience forever. There was no third option. No rescue coming. No way out that didn't end in someone dying.

So I'd stay. I'd wear the ring. I'd smile if I had to. Because their lives were worth more than my freedom.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Shaking breaths followed closely after, my lungs struggling against the vise of panic squeezing my chest.

His hand cupped my face, thumb brushing away a tear. "I made your dreams come true."

His gaze held, truly believing we shared something. He pressed his forehead against mine. "I couldn't risk losing you," he murmured. "People always leave, but you won’t."

His voice made my stomach clench—this wasn't an act. In his fractured mind, this was love.

"Answer me." His voice vibrated against my cheek, the demand soft but unmistakable.

Opening my eyes, I shook my head. I broke free from him, scrambling back on the bed, trying to put distance between us, but he moved so fast it was almost a blur. Grabbing my bare ankles, his grip shackled me like iron restraints. He dragged me to him, lying his heavy body on top of mine, crushing the air from my lungs.

V's massive hands grabbed my wrists, pinning both of my hands above my head with one of his fingers easily encircling both my wrists. His free hand moved to my neck, placing it there with a little pressure, just enough to remind me how fragile the trachea is.

"Answer. Me." The words were a growl, each syllable punctuated by a slight increase in pressure. Small dots entered my vision, black fireflies dancing at the edges of my sight. A cry left me.

The sound made him pause. His eyes searched my face, head tilting to the side. Without warning, he released my throat and pulled away, his weight lifting from my chest. I gasped, dragging air into my starved lungs as he rose from the bed, watching me with that hollow stare.

V turned toward my closet and stood, throwing all my dark clothes into a pile on the floor, methodically dismantling my identity piece by piece. Each garment he removed was another boundary erased.

"W-What are you doing?"

He pulled another black top off its hanger, the fabric making a soft tearing as he tore it in half, dropping it to the floor like garbage. "Bright colors only."

Almost everything I owned was some shade of dark that I'd found in thrift stores. Black shirts were slimming, and my outfit of choice was a black undershirt paired with an oversized button-up.

He looked back at me, his eyes traveling the length of my body. "You've been wearing bright colors lately."

"Because I was happy." I don't ever see myself being happy again, not with him, not with the weight of this marriage certificate.

"We're happy together."

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I would never be happy with him again, that he had destroyed any chance of that when he drugged me and forced me into this mockery of a marriage, but I held it in. Survival instinct finally kicking in. "Ruining my clothes doesn't make me happy."

Despite that, he carried on ripping my clothes out of the closet, fabric tearing as he yanked items from hangers.

Bending with a wince from the soreness between my legs, I swiped a dark crew neck with sweatpants to match from the pile on the floor. Standing back up, I slipped them on quickly, a pathetic attempt at reclaiming some control over my body. Making my way quickly to the front room, my heart pounded as he rushed behind me, footsteps heavy. My hand was on the doorknob, ready to open it, desperate for fresh air, for any escape from the suffocating presence behind me, when he put his hand over mine, pushing me back from the door.

"Please leave." The words were barely audible, a broken plea from a place of desperation.

"We're married. We're not allowed to be apart." The declaration was absurd, disconnected from any reality I recognized. As if marriage meant ownership, as if the certificate tattooed on his back gave him the right to my every breath.

I scoffed, flinging my arms wide in disbelief. "This isn't a marriage," I cried, the words tearing from my throat. "You drugged me and forced me to be your wife!"

His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. I couldn't bring myself to look at him, afraid of what I'd see in those black eyes—or worse, afraid he'd see the hatred burning in mine and retaliate against my parents.

"That’s my ring." He spun the ring on my finger, the metal band cutting into my skin as he twisted it. "You. Are. My. Wife."

I fought back the tears, asking for the umpteenth time. "Why did you do this to me?" His brows furrowed, looking genuinely confused, as if my question made no sense—the reaction of a man so divorced from normal human understanding that he couldn't comprehend why I wouldn't want to be kidnapped and bound to him forever. "People in love get married."

That's right, they did.

But we weren't in love.

I felt my earlier descent into something like affection for V. But this betrayal had yanked me back from the edge of that abyss. My temper flared, heat rising in my cheeks.

"I. Don't. Love. You." I seethed through clenched teeth, each word a knife I hoped would cut him as deeply as he'd cut me.

"You said you were starting to love me."

Fingers clenched at my hairline, I pulled in frustration, the pain a welcome distraction. "You drugged me!" His confused look stared back at me, utterly unable to comprehend the concept of consent and free will. "Not so long ago, maybe I thought I could, but after this..." My throat burned with the intensity of my words, raw from his earlier grip. "I'll never love you, V."

Something sparked in his expression, a dangerous light igniting in those black depths. If eyes were windows to the soul, his showed nothing but an endless void, a black hole where humanity should be.

I might've well just put a bullet through his heart.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white with restraint.

"I don't want to be your wife." There is nothing I wanted less than to be stuck with him forever, chained to this monster who saw me as property to be owned and controlled. I cared about my parents more than myself. They've spent their whole lives protecting me, and now I would protect them from the Devil.

V's expression darkened as he stepped back, his hands going to the hem of his shirt. "You don't want to be my wife?" The look in his eyes shifted—pupils dilating until the black nearly swallowed the iris as he pulled his shirt over his head. "Then take it back."

"Take what back?" My voice trembled, barely audible even to my own ears.

"The marriage." He turned, showing me his back.

My knees threatened to buckle, and I had to grab the wall to keep from collapsing. Across his muscled back, spanning from shoulder to shoulder, was our marriage certificate—etched in excruciating detail, a grotesque devotion carved into flesh. Every word, every signature, permanently etched into his skin.

The ink rose off his back in welted strips, angry and red around the edges. Blood crusted in jagged trails, fresh streaks glistening wetly. Near the bottom, where our names were written, the skin was so raw it looked flayed. V Anson was written in letters so deep I could see the muscle tissue beneath, pulsing with each beat of his heart.

The date was yesterday—he must have gone straight from drugging me to getting this monstrosity etched into his skin. The thought made my stomach heave.

"You want a divorce?" His voice was deadly calm, the kind of calm that precedes mass destruction. "Cut it off."

He reached behind the couch and pulled out a knife, its serrated edge catching the light. It wasn't clean—dried blood and what looked like bits of flesh still clung to the handle and blade. Whose blood? His hand tightened on the blade, red leaking from where it made contact with his skin as he held it handle-first toward me, forcing my fingers to curl around it.

“I won't stop you." He turned his back to me again, spreading his arms wide in a crucifixion pose, offering himself for sacrifice. "Deep enough to reach muscle. You'll feel it when the blade snags."

The knife felt impossibly heavy in my hand. I saw exactly where I'd need to cut—shoulder to shoulder, deep enough to expose muscle. I'd have to peel it away from the flesh beneath, possibly scrape off remaining tissue to get it all. Blood would pour down his back in sheets, pooling on the floor around our feet.

One of the cuts on his back broke open as he stretched, sending a fresh trickle of blood snaking down his spine. The metallic smell hit my nostrils—copper and salt. A drop fell to the floor with an audible pat. He didn't flinch, didn't react to what would be excruciating pain for anyone else. I remembered then—V couldn't feel physical pain. This was nothing to him.

My gut twisted violently, bile rising. Black spots danced across my vision. He knew—he knew how much blood terrified me. How I'd fainted at sixteen when I'd cut my finger cooking. How I couldn't even look at a paper cut without feeling faint. How I'd thrown up when we'd watched a horror movie with a single bloody scene.

The knife slipped from my grasp, clattering to the floor between us. My hands were shaking so badly I couldn't control them. My stomach climbed into my chest, burning all the way up. The room spun around me as I stumbled backward.

V turned slowly, his eyes tracking me. He'd known I couldn't do it.

"I can't—" I backed away, my hip knocking into the side table, sending a lamp crashing to the floor. The shattering sound made me jump, but V didn't even blink.

He bent down in one fluid motion, fingers closing around the knife handle. As he straightened, he flipped the blade with practiced ease, never taking his eyes off me. I kept backing up until my spine hit the wall, trapping me.

His dark eyes watched me, the knife now pointing toward me. He closed the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps that made the floorboards groan. Without a word, he pressed the flat of the blade against my cheek. The metal was cold against my skin, and I could smell death on it, feel the sticky residue transferring to my face.

He dragged the blade down my cheek—not cutting, just applying enough pressure to leave a white line that quickly bloomed red. His eyes never left mine. His eyes were completely black now, consumed by the dilated pupils.

I shrank against the wall, understanding with horrifying clarity that this man would destroy himself to possess me—and he’d ruin me in the process. For him, there was no cost, no physical suffering. He couldn't feel pain. But he could inflict it and seemed to understand its power over those who could feel it.

He stepped closer, eliminating what little space remained between us, towering over me.

I didn't know if I hated him more for what he did—or for what he made me feel before he did it. The thought that part of me had started to care for him was more terrifying than anything.

My phone rang from somewhere in the room. The ringtone wasn't mine—it was V's voice, low and possessive:

"I vow to never let you go—not in life, not in death. If your body leaves, your soul will stay. If your soul flees, I'll find it and drag it back."

The room tilted as I searched for my phone, desperate to silence his voice. When I finally located it on the coffee table, the screen showed V's contact picture—a photo of me sleeping that I'd never seen before. V snatched my phone away from me.

"Stop the call," I begged, but it didn’t matter. He wanted me to hear it. Wanted me to remember I was his—even now.

V ignored my plea. Instead, his eyes never leaving mine, his recorded voice filling the room:

"I vow to turn you into someone who never existed before me. And I'll make sure she never leaves."

His eyes shone with dark satisfaction above his surgical mask as the second vow played, as if savoring each word:

"I vow to ruin you so gently you'll thank me for it. And when you cry, I'll hold you through it—because no one else gets to watch you fall apart."

My throat tightened, eyes burning as I looked away. "I would have chosen you, V. I would have said yes." My voice broke softly, bitterly. "But you didn't give me that choice. You didn't trust me enough to let me love you on my own."

V's eyes narrowed to slits.

"What the fuck did you just say?"

That familiar voice sent a shiver down my spine when I turned my head to the doorway, "D-Dad?"

His eyes pinned to V, his face turning purple as a vein in his neck pulsated. "Don't Dad me," he snapped his eyes to me. "What the fuck did you just say?"