Chapter Nineteen - Zoe
The wedding is over.
I’m sitting in the back of the limousine, the long white fabric of my wedding dress bunched around me like a suffocating cloud.
The silence between us feels like a weight, pressing down on my chest. My fingers twitch at the hem, wanting to rip the damn thing off and run, but I stay still.
My body feels like it doesn’t belong to me anymore, like everything is happening to someone else.
Everything is moving too fast.
I look out the window, the city lights blurring past, but I’m not really seeing anything.
My mind is too busy, too chaotic, to focus on anything outside the car.
The ring on my finger feels like it’s burning into my skin, too tight, too real, and every time I glance at it, a wave of disgust washes over me.
I hate it.
I hate this—him. I hate that I’m here, in this car, with a man who forced me into this life, into this decision.
But worse than that, I hate the part of me that’s not scared anymore.
That part of me that’s learned to quiet the panic, that’s learned to just exist in this suffocating space.
That part that remembers the way he looked at me when I was crying this morning.
The way he held me, as if I belonged to him.
As if I always had.
I can still feel the ghost of his touch on my skin, the weight of his hands, the intensity in his gaze. I hate that it comforts me. I hate that, even now, a part of me craves that intensity.
I should be terrified. I should want to run. But the reality is… I’m trapped.
I don’t know how to get out. I don’t know how to undo this.
The sound of the tires on the road is the only thing breaking the silence, and I can feel the tension building between us like a storm waiting to break.
I glance at Lukin beside me, his profile sharp and unreadable, his eyes focused on the road ahead, but I can feel the weight of his presence next to me, heavy and suffocating.
This is real. This is happening.
The wedding was a quick one. Barely an hour. With only six people in attendance. Adrian, Arseny, the priest, and three bodyguards. Maria doesn’t know about this, neither does Jenni. My heart twists with pain. I feel like a fraud, a betrayer. I hate Lukin so much.
The limousine pulls up to the mansion, its grandeur towering over me, reminding me of how little control I have over anything anymore. The door opens, and I’m led inside, each step heavier than the last.
I can hear the sounds of the house, the quiet murmurs of servants, the muffled voices of the staff, but it all feels distant. Everything feels distant.
Lukin leads me to what’s now our bedroom.
I step inside, the air thick with an unfamiliar heaviness.
I should feel overwhelmed, but all I feel is numb.
It’s beautiful in a way that makes me feel even smaller, more out of place.
The bed is large, overwhelming, and everything in the room screams his.
His world. His control. I don’t belong here.
I turn to see Lukin standing at the door, as if gauging my reaction to the space. Without saying a word, I shut the door behind me, locking him out. He doesn’t try to knock, nor does he threaten or speak.
The quiet of the room is almost deafening, and I sink down into the corner, pressing my knees to my chest. My hand instinctively moves to rest over my stomach, the reality of the situation hitting me harder now.
The child.
I’m carrying his child. And part of me wonders—is it better now that the child will have everything? Or is it worse that it’s born into this?
I don’t have the answers. I don’t have any clarity. All I know is that I’m trapped in a life I never wanted.
I think about Maria. My best friend. The one person I’ve always been able to talk to, confide in.
I know I can’t tell her the truth. Not now.
Not when our friendship is already hanging by a thread.
She’s noticed the distance between us, I’m sure of it.
She knows something’s wrong, but she doesn’t know the truth.
Imagine what she’ll think when she finds out about this disgraceful wedding, I think bitterly. How can I even tell her? She’ll never understand. She can’t. She’ll never forgive me for this, and I’m too much of a coward to tell her anything.
I close my eyes, the weight of it all pressing on me. The fear, the regret, the crushing loneliness in this massive house. I drift off to sleep, the exhaustion of the day pulling me under, the thoughts of what’s to come swirling in the back of my mind.
Later that night, after I’ve showered and shut down for the night, I unlock the door and lay down on my bed, hoping Lukin doesn’t come.
The night stretches on in silence. I can hear the ticking of the clock, the hum of the air conditioning, and nothing else.
I’m alone in the room, wrapped in the cold stillness of the sheets.
The weight of the wedding, of the life I’ve been forced into, presses heavily on me, and I can’t push it away.
Then, the door creaks open.
I don’t look up immediately, but I know who it is before I even hear his footsteps. I’ve felt his presence from the second he entered the room, as though the air shifts when he walks into it.
He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t come any closer. He simply sits across from me in the large armchair by the window, the dim light from the lamp casting shadows on his face, making him look even more untouchable. His gaze is steady, unreadable, like he’s waiting for something.
He doesn’t say anything for a long time, but the silence between us feels thick, like we’re both unwilling to break it first. Finally, his voice breaks through, low and controlled.
“This marriage wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he says, his words deliberate. “But now that it has… you’ll be protected. Always.”
I stare at him, numb, unable to summon any more words, my body frozen in place. The weight of his words hits me harder than I expected. He’s speaking to me like I’m just another piece of his empire, something to be controlled, something to be kept safe. But I’m not just a possession, am I?
The thought sparks something cold inside me. I find my voice, sharp and low.
“And what about me?” I ask, my eyes locking with his. “Who protects me from you?”
He doesn’t answer at first. The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating, and I can feel the tension in the air.
His eyes narrow slightly, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s going to say something, if he’s going to explain himself.
But instead, he leans back slightly in the chair, his posture relaxed, like he already knows what comes next.
I feel a flicker of something—resentment, maybe, or something darker—and it pushes me forward, even though I know it’s not a good idea.
His gaze doesn’t leave me, but he doesn’t answer. Not directly.
He’s not letting me go, no matter what I do or say.
His silence, his indifference, is suffocating in its own way. I know he wants to control everything about me, my life, this marriage, and a part of me wants to fight back, wants to push him away.
He rises from his chair, walking to the bed like he has only one purpose in mind. I want to scream and tell him it’s never going to happen. I don’t want him touching me. Never.
But when he sits on the bed next to me, his arms wrapping around my waist and yanking me close, I don’t argue.
I go willingly. His breath fans my face, his mouth inching closer to mine, until I’m sure he’ll definitely kiss me.
But just when I feel his lips brush mine, he lets me go, stumbling out of bed like I scald him.
His expression is hard, unreadable. He doesn’t speak. But the tension between us is thick enough to make the air feel suffocating.
I try to steady my breath, but it’s like I can’t find control over anything anymore.
It’s strange—how much I crave this, this intimacy, this connection with him.
I hate it. I hate that he’s still in my head, that his presence makes my body respond in ways I can’t explain. I hate that part of me doesn’t want him to stop.
But he does. He backs off. He leaves the distance between us, his posture still rigid, like he’s trying to regain control over the situation, over himself.
He looks at me for a moment longer, and then, without saying a word, he stands and walks to the door. Before he leaves, he turns to me one last time.
“Get some rest,” he says, his voice rough but controlled. “Tomorrow, we’ll begin making this marriage real.”
And with that, he leaves. The door shuts behind him with a final click.