Page 30

" D on't be shy now. Repeat what you said." My mind drew a blank. My lips parted uselessly, silence strangling me as my dad barged into my apartment, slamming the door behind him.

V stood motionless. He didn't even glance at me, his attention locked entirely on my father, heavy and oppressive. The memory of his threat echoed relentlessly inside me.

The image of my father lying lifeless, V's bat dripping with blood, sent a shiver through me. My father was getting angrier by the second, my silence going on far too long. Dad rarely got mad, but when he did? He was scary.

He lashed out, snatching my wrist, his hold bruising. “What the fuck's on your finger?"

Pressure crushed my ribs the second he saw the ring. "Oakley—" Dad's voice shook with rage, composure shattering completely. "Tell me this is some sick fuckin’ prank."

"Watch yourself," V warned calmly.

Dad's grip tightened painfully as he whipped toward V, grabbing his wrist too, forcing both our hands into view. His breath hissed out, chest heaving. "What the fuck is this?"

"Our wedding rings," V said flatly, no emotion in his voice. He looked irritated at Dad's grip, but his stance was unbothered.

Dad threw down V's wrist with disgust, spinning fully toward me, fingers crushing mine harder. "Oakley, tell me I'm fucking dreaming," he demanded, voice frayed between rage and desperation.

I shrank under his stare, shame suffocating me. I dipped my head, unable to answer, unable to lie.

Dad released his grip, making me bring my wrist to my chest to soothe the ache he left behind. Scarlet already blooming across my skin. He dragged a heavy hand down his face, turning away slowly, shoulders rising and falling with each tense breath. V didn't move. Just watched.

For a split second, Dad's eyes softened—not with forgiveness, but with something that almost looked like fear. Not of V. Of me. Like he didn't recognize the girl standing in front of him. The daughter he raised. His shoulders slumped just a fraction, a momentary surrender that made me think he might just pull me into his arms like when I was little.

But that didn't happen. His arm jerked behind his back, under his jacket. I froze, muscles caught in a vice I couldn't fight, shaking as Dad pushed the barrel into V's forehead. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't pull the trigger, you sick fuck. My brother or not, I'll blow your goddamn brains across my daughter's walls."

"My wife doesn't like blood."

"Don't call her that!" Dad's words were thrown furiously at V, who didn't even flinch, "No one would marry someone like you."

"Your daughter did."

"What the fuck did you do to her?" My father's voice was barely recognizable, strangled with rage and disgust.

"I didn't do anything," V replied, his voice chillingly calm. "She chose me."

V turned his head, looking at me. Eyes telling me unspoken words. Tell him or I'll kill him.

Mercy had no home in his heart. He built it for me—and me alone.

My next words were life or death—literally. I hesitated still, not wanting to say anything to cement our forced marriage as real. I looked at my father—begging. I'm doing this for you.

"I-It's true," I whispered, voice breaking, tears burning like acid behind my eyes.

"I don't believe you. I know when you're lying." He shook his head, looking from V back to me, his hand still gripping the gun, knuckles white with strain. "He forced you, didn't he? You've been dreaming of your wedding since you were a little girl."

I've always dreamed of a big, luscious wedding. I had it all planned out—a forest in the fall with falling leaves with a variety of colors contrasting with the monotone colors of the wedding party as my dad walked me down the aisle to the man who made me feel anything but the ugly duckling I felt I was.

But my dreams were now nightmares. I wanted to sleep and never wake up again.

I'm not strong enough for this.

V's hand tightened on my shoulder, slightly painful due to him not knowing his own strength. His fingers dug into the muscle hard enough to bruise. "N-No. I did it willingly."

To prove it, I stretched up on my tiptoes, grabbing V's face covering and pulling him down to my level. The scent of his blood made my stomach heave, but I forced myself forward. My eyes squeezed shut, tears trapped behind clenched lids, trying to keep this charade up.

They gave me the world, the least I could do was save theirs.

"I-I married him because..." My words were unbelievable, I felt like I wasn't in my own body as I spoke, like some puppet being controlled by invisible strings. My throat was dry, my words coming out gravely as I lied, each syllable feeling like sandpaper against my tongue. "I love him."

Dad's eyes grew wide as the hard lines around V's eyes eased, his dark gaze losing its sharp edges. Did he believe that an empty coerced confession meant love? That forced words whispered under duress could somehow mean genuine affection?

Of course, he did. He didn't understand social cues and took words for their literal meaning. That was what made him even more dangerous—his inability to see the terror behind my declaration of love.

I just made this situation worse for myself—big time.

Dad stood there, shell-shocked, arm dropping limp to his side. I'll never forget the look on his face, those jade eyes—the same shade as mine—filled with horror.

His expression shattered into disbelief, betrayal carved deeply into every line.

He wanted to keep me his dirty little secret from the club, but now I was married to the most dangerous member. The ring burned, but it was phantom heat—just stress wearing flesh thin. It felt wrong, alien, like a parasite attached to my skin.

I dragged in a breath, willing the tears back.

My eyes looked at him, silently pleading. I'm doing this for you.

His eyes shot from V to me. He walked over, grabbed my wrist, yanked at me, but V didn't let go. "You're getting annulled. Right now."

V didn't budge.

"Can't get annulled if I fucked her."

I sucked in a breath. Oh no.

Dad's jaw clenched, tendons standing sharply beneath flushed skin, eyes bulging like they might burst. His entire body went rigid, every muscle coiled tight with rage. His jade eyes—so much like my own—widened in horror.

My father, always so composed in his lawyer suits, now stood undone, gray streaking through his dark brown hair as if this moment had aged him years.

"You fucking—" Dad's leveled the gun at V's head, finger twitching on the trigger.

V leaned harder into the gun, pressing his forehead directly into the barrel, eyes never wavering from my father's face, daring him to end it all right here.

My heart stalled, my father's hand trembling violently, his finger quivering dangerously against the trigger.

"Please," I whispered, but the word barely left my mouth before the gun exploded.

The gunshot split the air, a brutal crack reverberating through my bones. A cry tore from me, shredding my throat.

A dark stream traced a slow path down V's temple, tracing a stark red line along his jaw. He reached up, calmly wiping at his temple with two fingers, inspecting the red smear without urgency. His eyes stayed locked on my father. He rolled his shoulders back and tilted his head slightly, as if stretching out a minor inconvenience.

My father looked like the one shot—face bloodless, eyes vacant, gun seething in his grip. The man who'd taught me to ride a bike stood frozen, staring at the smoking barrel, realizing exactly what he'd become.

Because of me.

V lowered his hand, then slowly extended it toward me, outstretched, his hand was stained and waiting. The red gleamed slick beneath harsh apartment lights, stark against his tan skin. He stood utterly unbothered, casually expectant, his gaze still fixed on my father.

"Show him how much you love me." His voice was flat and detached, but the words struck like blades.

My breath stuck painfully, throat constricting until air was agony. Don't throw up. Don't cry. Keep Dad alive.

"Oakley–" Dad's voice splintered—command fracturing into a desperate plea, his gaze wild and anguished as it darted between V's hand and my face.

Frozen, I couldn't move, caught in a nightmare. Refusal meant consequences I couldn't bear. Acceptance meant losing everything that mattered. Please, please don't make me do this.

Before I could react, V closed the distance, pressing his blood-coated fingertips roughly to my mouth. His thumb swept low, smearing across my lip, smearing blood over the trembling skin. The taste of copper coating my tongue.

I recoiled instinctively, but he clamped down on my face, fingers forcing my lips apart. He pushed his stained fingertips inside, invading, lingering as I choked down the urge to gag. My eyes flew wide, my heart hammering violently, pulse roaring through my skull. I found Dad's face again, eyes begging desperately for him to see this violation for what it was—forced, coerced, not me.

V's other hand snapped to the back of my neck, closing tight and immovable, pressing bruises into my flesh. He drew near, the surgical mask brushing my ear like ice, his whisper devoid of humanity. "Good wife."

He faced me without blinking, disappointment welling in his eyes as mine began to burn with tears. "It is true." His voice cracked on the last word, the sound of a father watching his worst nightmare unfold before his eyes.

My chin wobbled as I turned from his stare. His laugh, so full of contempt, made my heart ache. I could barely meet his eyes, his lips pursed as he glared at me. "You disappoint me, Oakley."

A sob burst free.

A loud crack echoed in the room.

Dad's body hit the floor with a loud thud as I gasped. I moved toward him, but V blocked me—arm like iron.

Dad pressed a shaking hand to his split lip, a dark line spread between his trembling fingers as V stood over him, his knuckles white from clenching his bat so hard. A trickle of blood seeped between my father's fingers, dripping onto my apartment floor. V stepped over his body, feet on each side of Dad’s waist as he slammed the tip of his bat next to his head hard enough to leave a dent in the floor. "Don't you fuckin' talk to her like that."

He swung his leg up, V jumping out of the way before he could connect his foot. V raised his bat above his head, ready to bring it down on Dad's knee.

"Stop!" I lunged between them, "Please don't do it." He tilted his head, looking at me as I pleaded. "If this is going to work, you have to get along with him."

"Fuck that," Dad grumbled, standing slowly, wiping blood from his split lip. Dad went to the door, not looking at me. My chest ached, hollowed out, as if my heartbeat had simply vanished. I almost followed. Almost became the little girl again who ran to him when she was scared. He protected me from everything.

But he couldn't protect me from this.

Fingers found the doorknob slowly before he glanced back, just once, a story in his eyes that would break my already shattered heart.

"You're my daughter and I love you," he looked back, eyes glassy. "But I don't know who you are anymore."

My knees didn't buckle. My heart did. The Oakley he raised had died right there on that floor, between the blood and the lies. He closed the door and took my name with him.

I stood there, completely abandoned, as the only man who might've saved me gave up on me.

My hands curled, fingers brushing the stupid ring digging into my skin. It itched like a parasite, and I pulled at it until the skin broke, a thin line of blood appearing around the metal.

I ran to my room, threw the door shut, twisting the useless lock on the doorknob. V would come in here soon, I just needed half a second to collect myself as I lost the battle with my tears.

I listened to the still apartment for V. Half of me was scared about what was conjuring in that demonic brain of his, the other was thankful—if you could call it that—that I had a second by myself to breathe since discovering V's wedding ring on my finger this morning.

Standing before my mirror, my skin prickled with heat, resentment washing through me at the sticky notes glaring back at me. Something I looked to for strength was now something that sparked humiliation in me. I grabbed the first note he left for me, longing for it to mean something again.

But it didn't.

The note ripped in half, then in fourths, then again until the yellow paper was nothing but confetti on the ground. The other notes got the same treatment, I didn't want them mocking me daily. Just like V had ripped up my heart, I ripped up what I made him feel. The paper now resembled my life. Ripped to shreds…because of V. Braving looking in the mirror at the mess I had become overnight.

The red was still smeared across my lips, a grotesque parody of lipstick. My hand shook violently as I smeared the blood across the mirror, obscuring the shattered girl staring back. The bloody streaks distorted my image, turning me into something unrecognizable. A red smear where a girl used to be.

I don't know who you are anymore.

My long chestnut hair was tangled in ratty knots against my baggy clothes that hung from my plus-sized frame. A sob rattled up my chest. My lips clamped shut—but the sob still escaped. The sound left me as the reality of everything crashed into me. My reflection stared back, a stranger with hollow jade eyes—like my father's.

I twisted the ring on my finger until skin split beneath it—until gold bit through flesh and blood slicked the band. My breath stuttered, sharp and useless, loud in the hollow space where everything else had gone quiet.

Teaching him to feel was a mistake.

I offered him my heart.

He handed it back broken.