Prologue #3
Papa takes my hand and guides me to the door of the Bridal suite, giving my knuckles a brief kiss. He does not let go of my hand from the time we link together in the suite, all the way to the end of the aisle.
The church is beautiful. It is all white and tan, most of the tans coming from wooden beams and pews. The ground is a smooth cobblestone, worn with age. It was probably once red, but now a gentle brown, but still looks clean.
We get to the altar, and the first thing I see is Gavin.
He is not looking at me like I hoped he would.
He is smiling, yes, but there is something in his eyes.
Cold, unreadable, like a shadow under the light.
I look at my father, who is glaring at Gavin.
He then gives Gavin a look that I can’t discern.
Instead all I can focus on is the priest as he begins to speak, announcing why we are here and who is giving away the bride.
I then shift my eyes toward Gavin who has still not looked into my eyes yet.
Gavin gives a curt nod and takes my arm, a little forcefully, from my father. Once my hand is in Gavin’s, his eyes soften just a touch. We turn to listen to the priest as he continues on with the ceremony.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and these witnesses to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. It is a sacred bond, not to be entered into lightly, but with reverence and devotion.”
Gavin squeezes my hand tightly, almost too tightly. I manage a small smile, though my nerves flicker under the weight of his grip.
The priest’s words fade into the background, his blessing echoing through the church as Gavin’s grip tightens around my hand. He looks at me then, his eyes almost soft, though the iron beneath never wavers.
When it’s time for the vows, Gavin doesn’t repeat the priest’s words. Instead, his voice carries through the silence, steady and commanding:
“From this day forward, you’ll be where I say, when I say. You’ll not speak unless given leave, and you’ll follow my rules without question. Nod if you understand, and accept me as your husband.”
The room doesn’t flinch–not here, not among these men and women who know what power looks like. To them, it sounds like devotion, strength, tradition.
My throat tightens, but I nod. The priest accepts it as though it were holy. Gavin’s mouth tilts in satisfaction before he slides the ring onto my finger.
My eyes have gone wide, but the priest doesn’t seem to notice, or at least he doesn’t care. A shiver runs down my spine and just when I am about to turn to look at my father, Gavin squeezes my hand so hard I am shocked I don’t hear my bones crack. I give a small nod as tears run down my face.
“Good, now act like you are the happiest bride in the world, marrying the love of your life. Because that is what I am still, am I not?”
I turn to look at him, really look at him. I give a flat smile, and another nod. I always thought your wedding day was supposed to be the happiest day of your life. Why did mine feel like the beginning of a nightmare? I then begin to repeat the vows the priest has asked me to.
12 years ago
“Gavin! Stop! It hurts, please stop!” I scream, and I scream, and I scream. The hits he gives to my stomach, my legs, my back. They are all I feel anymore.
“You will listen, you will shut up, and you will do as you’re told. Now, are you going to give me the child I need to solidify this union with your family, or must I force it?”
I don’t understand. I am not preventing any pregnancy.
I have never been on birth control. I track my cycle with several apps and test strips, even taking my temperature every morning.
I eat as though I am pregnant already to ensure that I never mess it up if I do get pregnant.
The supplements I take are expensive and endless.
“I am doing my best, I don’t know what you want! ”
At that, he rips my arm up, pulling me to a sort of stand where my legs are not supporting me, only my arm in his grip is.
He spins me around, takes his hand, and places it on the back of my head.
He forces my face into the bed, and with the other hand, pulls down my pants and underwear.
When I feel him thrust into me, I cry out.
He grunts into my ear, “You will give me a son, and you will take it every day until you do so. This is how I expect to find you when I get home from now on. Naked, face down, and bared open to me. Do you understand?”
But I can’t breathe. I can’t answer. He grips my hair with his fist and yanks my head backwards, all the while still ramming into me with force that is unnecessary. I am half his size. What does he think I am going to do?
“I understand,” I answer in a whisper so quiet, even I can barely hear it, because I know that is what he is looking for.
He shoves my head back down and nearly suffocates me until he empties himself inside me. He lets me fall to the ground, tucks himself back inside his pants, and kicks me in the side.
I hunch over and cry into my arms, hoping he will just leave.
The beatings started a few months after the wedding.
So did whatever this sex was called. I know it wasn’t love.
He only needed me for a broodmare. I hear the door click shut, and I stay huddled in my little ball for a while, hoping that I will wake up from this never-ending nightmare.
11 Years Ago
Another year later, and still this has not ended. Morning and night, he came. Morning and night, I lay there and took it. A room stripped of everything—bed, dresser, mirror, bathroom—nothing else. My world shrank to four walls and a door that only opened for him.
For the first few months after we were married, we stayed in the same bedroom, as a normal married couple would do.
But after failing several times to get or stay pregnant, I was removed from his room as he decided I wasn’t good enough to stay with him.
Now I stay in an empty room, it is even more depressing.
Morning and night, I stay in this room, being used as he sees fit.
Outside of that, I don’t see him anymore.
Today had been a good day. Bleach on my hands from scrubbing the oven, the quiet hum of the fridge, the smell of soap.
Alone. For a moment, I felt almost human.
I had already prepped meals to feed us for the week, deep-cleaned the kitchen and living room, ensuring the entire house was spotless.
Outside of bearing children, that is my only other job, according to Gavin.
So when he barges into the kitchen in the middle of the day with some of his goons, I am shocked by the intrusion into what is normally my alone time.
They had walked in on me cleaning the oven on my hands and knees with a scrub brush and some soap. I remained sitting on the floor, lowering my eyes and being as submissive as possible.
“I have had enough of you, you fucking cunt. You won’t give me an heir, so I am done playing games and waiting on you.”
“No—please, Gavin, don’t say that. I’m trying, I swear I am.
I can go back to the doctor, I’ll do whatever they say.
Just… don’t leave me.” The words spill out before I can stop them, fear flooding me, because I know when he says he’s done, it never ends well.
“No, you stupid bitch. I am not giving you up. How do you think I will take over the entire Western region if I don’t stay married to you?
Your father will never give it to me if you aren’t my wife.
” I am in shock, completely appalled by what he is saying to me. He never really loved me, did he?
“Instead, I am going to have you filled with cock all day and night to ensure that you don’t forget your most important job.”
I slowly stand and begin backing away, around the island and toward the back door.
I don’t know what he means by this. But before I am able to grab the door handle and escape, his goons grab me and throw me onto the floor.
Gavin walks up and kneels behind me, removing his knife slowly from his pocket and unfolding it.
The creak of the metal raking down my already frayed nerves.
He places the knife between my skin and pants, slicing down.
The knife is sharp, and the side that touches my skin burns as he cuts into my skin.
I begin to scream, thrash, and pull my arms away from them, but no matter how hard I do, they don’t let go.
He shoves me onto the floor and straddles me from behind and I hear the belt he was wearing slip through the loops and the zipper of his jeans come down before he is entering me swiftly and painfully.
It is made worse by his men holding me down, arms and legs, watching me suffer.
When he finally grunts his finish and gets off, I am thankful it is over.
Thinking that he wanted to make a point that he is in charge and always will be.
I feel two hands pull me up by my upper arms, and I am sagging between them.
My feet and shins drag across the floor and my head hangs heavy down toward my chest as they move me over to the living room.
“Wha-t are you doing?” I ask, but no one answers me. “Gavin, please stop. Please. I can do better next time!” My voice turns into a shrill scream toward the end and I begin to sob.
“Okay, Neil, your turn.” I freeze. My breath halts on my lips. I second-guess that’s what was said until Gavin is grabbing my arm, shoving it behind my back and up toward my shoulder, nearly breaking my arm. Then I feel someone behind me.
When Neil enters my body, my soul leaves me just as suddenly.
No. Not now. If I can just… his hand—knife—burning my skin.
I can’t breathe. I cannot believe this is what I was meant to do.
I cannot believe this is what being in the family business was supposed to mean.
I cannot believe this was what my life’s purpose is, to be raped by my husband’s men.