Chapter Thirteen - Chloe
The morning sun streams through the narrow streets of Barcelona, casting warm, golden light over the cobblestones. I sip my coffee at a tiny café tucked into the corner of a lively square, the aroma mingling with the scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery. It’s the kind of idyllic start to the day I’ve dreamed about for weeks.
After finishing my coffee, I head out for a walk, weaving through the vibrant streets. The city feels alive, its rhythm intoxicating. Street performers play cheerful tunes, and vendors call out in melodic Spanish, offering their wares.
For a moment, it’s easy to forget everything I left behind—the chaos, the fear, the suffocating grip of a life I never wanted.
As I wander further, an unsettling feeling begins to creep in, prickling at the back of my neck.
I glance over my shoulder, half expecting to see someone lurking nearby, but the street is filled with the usual bustle of tourists and locals. No one seems out of place. Still, the sensation lingers, a faint hum of unease that refuses to fade.
I’m imagining things, I tell myself firmly. Erik can’t possibly have found me. Not this quickly.
Shaking off the thought, I force myself to focus on the present. I duck into a small boutique, running my fingers over racks of breezy dresses and scarves. The soft music playing in the background and the cheerful chatter of the shopkeeper ease some of my tension.
Just as I step outside, my phone buzzes.
I glance down, the burner phone’s screen lighting up with a message from an unknown number. I hesitate for a moment before opening it.
The message is blank.
A chill runs down my spine, and my hand tightens around the phone. A blank message—it’s meaningless, yet the timing is too perfect to ignore.
My heart races as I stare at the screen, waiting for something else to follow. Another message, a call, anything. But the phone remains silent.
It’s nothing, I tell myself, slipping it back into my bag. Probably a wrong number. Or a glitch. Anything but what I fear it might be.
I continue my walk, but the unease follows me, coiling tightly in my chest. Every footstep feels amplified, my senses on high alert.
By the time I return to the hotel, the tension has worn me down. My muscles ache from being so tightly wound, and all I want is to lock myself in my room and convince myself I’m overreacting.
The room is quiet, the sunlight streaming in through the curtains offering a comforting warmth. I kick off my shoes and head to the closet, intent on changing into something more comfortable.
When I open the door, my breath catches in my throat.
There, hanging neatly among my clothes, is a black suit jacket.
It wasn’t there this morning.
My pulse spikes, and I stumble back, a sharp gasp escaping my lips. Panic crashes over me like a wave, my mind racing to make sense of what I’m seeing.
How?
The jacket is unmistakably his. Tailored, expensive, and carrying a presence even without him wearing it.
My hands tremble as I press them to my lips, my eyes darting around the room. Had I missed something earlier? Was someone here while I was out?
Before I can move, the sound of the door unlocking freezes me in place.
The handle turns, the soft click of the lock echoing in the silence.
Then he steps in.
Erik fucking Sharov.
He closes the door behind him, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator who’s cornered his prey. His expression is calm, but his eyes burn with fury, the intensity of his gaze pinning me where I stand.
“You’ve had your little game,” he says, his voice low and controlled, each word deliberate. “Now, it’s over.”
I take a step back, my legs trembling beneath me. “How did you—”
“Find you?” he finishes for me, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “You should know by now, Chloe. You can’t outrun me.”
My chest tightens as the realization sinks in. He’s here. After all my careful planning, after every precaution I took, he found me.
“This is… insane,” I manage, my voice shaking. “You can’t just—”
“I can,” he cuts in smoothly, taking a step closer. “I did.”
I force myself to hold his gaze, my fear giving way to anger. “You have no right to do this. To hunt me down like I’m some—some object you own.”
His expression hardens, the smirk fading. “You are mine , Chloe,” he says, his voice dipping lower. “And you knew that the moment you ran. Did you think I’d let you go? That I’d forget the way you humiliated me?”
The words hit like a blow, but I don’t back down. “I ran because I don’t want this,” I snap, my voice rising. “I don’t want you.”
He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. “No?” he says softly, tilting his head. “You ran because you thought you could beat me. Because you thought you could win.”
I swallow hard, my resolve wavering under the weight of his gaze.
“You can’t,” he continues, his tone unwavering. “Deep down, you knew that too.”
My chest heaves as I struggle to steady my breath, the walls of the room feeling too close. “You can’t force me,” I whisper, though the defiance in my voice falters.
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong.”
***
The church is cloaked in shadow, dimly lit by flickering candles and the faint glow of moonlight streaming through the stained-glass windows. The silence is deafening, broken only by the muffled shuffle of feet and the faint murmur of the officiant preparing his notes.
I stand at the altar, my hands trembling, my wrists still tender from Erik’s unrelenting grip. The bruises are faint but there, a cruel reminder of the power he holds. The power I underestimated.
My breath is shallow, my chest tight as I keep my gaze fixed on the floor. The cold stone beneath my feet feels more like an anchor than a refuge.
Beside me, Erik is the picture of calm control. His tailored suit fits him perfectly, the crisp lines unmarred by the storm that led us here. His presence is suffocating, yet he wears his composure like armor.
“You’ll thank me one day,” he had said earlier, his tone soft but unyielding as he tightened his grip on my arm. That same grip had left the marks I now hide beneath long lace sleeves.
The officiant clears his throat, signaling the start of the vows. My stomach churns violently, bile rising in my throat as I force myself to focus.
Erik turns slightly, his piercing blue eyes locking on to mine. There’s no warmth in them, only a calculated satisfaction that makes my skin crawl. His gaze pins me in place, daring me to defy him.
I can’t.
He’s made that abundantly clear. The threats against my family, against their livelihood, are seared into my mind. Erik had peeled back the curtain of his world just enough to show me what he was capable of, and it was more than enough to break me.
The pastor’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I have to suppress a shiver.
“Do you, Chloe Hart, take Erik Sharov to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
I freeze, the words hitting me like a physical blow. Time slows, the world narrowing to the heavy weight of expectation pressing down on my chest.
“Answer,” Erik murmurs, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
The sound of his voice snaps me out of my haze, my breath catching as I realize everyone is waiting. I part my lips, but no sound comes.
“Chloe,” Erik says again, his tone sharper, a warning laced beneath the calm.
I swallow hard, my throat dry and aching. “I….” My voice wavers, the single syllable barely audible.
The officiant’s eyes flick between us, a hint of discomfort in his expression, but he says nothing.
Say it, I tell myself, my fists clenching at my sides. Get it over with. Protect them.
“I… do,” I finally manage, my voice trembling.
Erik’s lips curl into a faint smirk, his victory clear in the glint of his eyes.
The officiant nods, his relief palpable as he moves on to the next vow.
“Do you vow to love, honor, and obey him?”
The word obey hangs in the air like a noose tightening around my throat. My hands tremble, my nails digging into my palms as I fight the urge to run, to scream, to do anything but stand here like a puppet.
Erik leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Say it,” he murmurs, his tone calm but insistent.
I clench my jaw, my vision blurring as hot tears threaten to spill. I won’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him.
With a deep breath, I force the words out, each one tearing something from me. “I vow… to obey,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
The officiant nods again, moving swiftly to Erik’s vows, as if sensing the tension in the room and wanting to avoid any confrontation.
Erik’s voice is steady, unshaken, as he speaks his part of the vows. His words are practiced, almost formal, but the way he looks at me tells a different story.
This isn’t just a wedding to him. It’s a victory.
When the officiant finishes, Erik reaches for my hand. I hesitate for a split second before placing mine in his, the warmth of his skin almost burning against my icy fingers. His grip is firm, unyielding, as if to remind me who holds the power now.
“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant announces.
My stomach twists, my body stiffening as Erik tilts his head down toward me.
His lips brush mine briefly, the contact soft but possessive. It’s over in a moment, but it leaves a mark deeper than any bruise.
The ceremony concludes with a smattering of polite applause from the handful of witnesses—close associates of Erik’s who stand like sentinels in the shadows of the church.
I glance around, the walls of the cathedral feeling more like a cage than ever. The ornate decor, the golden chandeliers, the faint scent of incense—it all feels like an elaborate stage set for my entrapment.
Erik turns to me, his expression unreadable. “It’s done,” he says simply.
I stare at him, my voice caught in my throat. My wrists ache beneath the lace, a painful reminder of the cost of defiance.
He steps closer, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “You’ve surrendered, Chloe. And now, you’re mine.”
The words send a chill down my spine.
As Erik leads me down the aisle, my steps falter, but his grip tightens, steady and unrelenting. The faint applause fades into an oppressive silence, the heavy cathedral doors looming ahead like the final barrier sealing my fate.
Each step feels like a surrender, a small piece of myself slipping further away. The ornate details of the church blur around me, the golden arches and flickering candlelight doing nothing to lift the weight pressing on my chest.
Erik’s hand remains wrapped around mine, his touch possessive, almost triumphant. I dare a glance up at him, but his expression is unreadable, his sharp features set in that maddening calm I’ve come to resent.
Outside, the night air is cool against my skin, but it does nothing to soothe the fire burning in my chest. Erik pauses, his gaze cutting down to me.
“Chin up,” he says smoothly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
I meet his eyes, my defiance flickering despite the fear gripping me. His smirk deepens, as though he relishes the challenge.