Chapter 5 – Raelyn
I stand in the guest room, heart pounding, staring at the wedding dress laid out on the bed.
Ivory satin. Sleeveless. Minimalist. Elegant in a quiet, deliberate way—like it was chosen to offend no one and impress everyone.
It makes my throat tighten.
This is the opposite of everything I ever imagined.
I always wanted a statement wedding. Music. Laughter. Light spilling through open windows. My father standing beside me, steady and proud, holding my arm as he walked me down the aisle toward a man who was smiling—who loved me. A man whose eyes held warmth and love, not calculation.
Instead, my father is missing.
And the man waiting at the altar is a demon wearing human skin.
A man who despised my father long before he ever looked at me. A man who won’t be waiting with vows and devotion, but with a cage disguised as protection. With resentment sharpened into possession.
My chest tightens until it hurts.
I want to scream. I want to run.
I spin toward the window and shove at it. It doesn’t budge. Not an inch. I try again, harder, panic lending strength to my arms—but the glass might as well be part of the wall.
“No,” I whisper.
I rush to the door and yank it open. More like attempt, because it doesn’t budge as well. It’s locked from the outside.
Something inside me fractures.
I scream—raw and furious—and stomp my foot against the floor like a child having a tantrum, like rage might crack marble and steel if I push hard enough.
Nothing happens.
Of course, nothing happens.
The mansion swallows my voice whole.
This isn’t real.
It can’t be.
But the dress is still there. Waiting.
And no matter how hard I fight it, this nightmare isn’t ending.
I hear the soft click of the door unlocking, and I freeze, heart slamming violently against my ribs. For one wild, irrational second, I hope it’s not him.
Ever since he told me we’re getting married this evening, I haven’t seen Konstantin. And I’m painfully, desperately grateful for that. If I never see him again for the rest of my life, it’ll still be too soon.
The door swings open.
Two Rusnak guards step inside, broad shoulders filling the doorway. My breath catches—until I see who they’re ushering in between them.
Honey-blonde hair.
Brown eyes already glassy with tears.
That familiar soft, loving expression I’ve known for years.
“Ellie.”
The word breaks out of me like a sob.
She says my name at the same time, and then we’re moving—colliding—clutching each other so tightly it almost hurts. I bury my face in her shoulder and cry like I haven’t cried since I was a child, my body shaking as if it finally understands how close I came to vanishing completely.
The guards retreat without a word, closing the door behind them.
Ellie pulls back just enough to look at me, her hands gripping my arms like she needs to be sure I’m real. “I’ve never been so scared in my life,” she says, her voice breaking. “You didn’t come back last night. You never don’t come back.”
My throat tightens.
“I went outside to look for you,” she continues, words tumbling over each other. “The trash was everywhere—on the ground, torn open. Your phone was still inside. Your laptop was on. I knew something was wrong.”
She swipes angrily at her tears. “I went straight to the police. I filed a report. I walked the neighborhood. I didn’t sleep. I thought—” Her voice cracks completely. “I thought you were dead.”
My chest aches so badly I can barely breathe.
“And then,” she says, letting out a shaky laugh that sounds hysterical, “a few hours ago, two men knocked on my door and told me they’re here to take me to your wedding.”
I pull back, staring at her. “Oh, Ellie.”
She throws her hands up. “Yes! I asked them what the hell that meant, and they just—” Her jaw tightens. “They told me I could come with them willingly…or they’d take me anyway.”
The room feels like it tilts.
Ellie looks around, really looks this time—the locked windows, the elegant prison, the dress on the bed. Her eyes widen slowly with horror as understanding sinks in.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “Raelyn…what did they do to you?”
I swallow hard, my arms tightening around her again.
“They took my life,” I say quietly. Then I lift my hand and point to the gown on the bed. “It’s really my wedding, Ellie.”
Her head snaps toward it, then back to me. “What?” Her voice spikes. “No. No, no, no. What is going on? We need to get out of here. We need to escape.”
I let out a shaky breath.
She already knows about my father’s disappearance. That makes it easier. Or maybe harder. Either way, I don’t have the strength to lie.
So I tell her everything.
The kidnapping.
The SUV.
The mansion.
Konstantin Rusnak.
The threats.
The truth about my father.
The way this marriage isn’t a choice—it’s a sentence.
By the time I finish, Ellie looks like she might be sick. Her hands are clenched into fists, her face pale, eyes burning with fury and fear all at once.
“This is a nightmare,” she whispers. “This has to be a nightmare. Ray, please—we can call the police. We can find a way. There has to be cameras, guards, something—”
I shake my head slowly.
“No,” I say, the word heavy and final. “There isn’t.”
She stares at me. “You can’t just accept this.”
“I don’t want to,” I whisper. “But if what Konstantin is saying is true…then marrying him might be the only thing keeping me alive.”
Her face crumples. “How can you be sure he’s telling the truth?”
I hesitate only a second before answering.
“Because there’s no reason for him to lie,” I say softly. “If he wanted me dead, I’d already be gone.”
Ellie lets out a broken sound and pulls me into her arms again, squeezing me like she can physically hold me here—hold me safe.
“Oh, Ray,” she sobs. “Oh my—no!”
I close my eyes, pressing my face into her shoulder, wishing—desperately—that this were a nightmare I could wake up from.
But it isn’t.
And tonight, I marry my captor.
A few hours later, the lock clicks. The door opens, and Nik stands there, composed as ever. “It’s time.”
My stomach drops.
I nod, because I don’t trust my voice not to break, and follow him out with Ellie glued to my side like she can anchor me to something human.
They take us to a library.
But what should be shelves of old books and cold intellect has been transformed into a ceremonial space—white flowers woven into dark wood, candles casting dim golden light that softens nothing, only disguises it.
A harp plays somewhere in the background, slow and haunting, the notes drifting through the room like a funeral song dressed up as romance.
I grip Ellie’s arm as we enter, my legs trembling beneath the simple satin dress. The fabric makes me feel too bare, too visible—innocent in a way that feels cruelly ironic.
At the threshold, guards step forward.
They separate us.
Ellie grabs for me instinctively, eyes wide with panic. “Raelyn—”
“It’s okay,” I whisper quickly, even though it isn’t. “I’m here. I am okay.”
They gently but firmly guide her back, and suddenly I’m alone.
Truly alone.
I walk down the aisle by myself.
I refuse to look at the people seated on either side—men in dark suits, faces sharp, eyes assessing.
Beautiful women in luxurious dresses, some smiling at me.
Why? They aren’t my people. They don’t matter.
The only person here who belongs to me is Ellie, and she’s seated at the back, hands clasped like she’s praying for a miracle she doesn’t believe in anymore.
So I don’t look at anyone else.
I look at him.
Konstantin stands at the end of the aisle, dressed in a tailored black suit that makes him look less like a groom and more like an executioner. He’s still, unreadable, carved from winter itself. Dangerous in a way that doesn’t need to move to be felt.
His gaze locks onto me instantly.
It’s too focused. Too intimate. Too possessive.
This isn’t the look of a man carrying out a strategy.
My heart stumbles as I force myself forward, one step at a time, the harp strings tightening around my nerves. I don’t stop until I reach him, until I step up onto the small platform beside him.
He takes my hand.
I almost yank it away on instinct—every nerve in me screaming—but I force myself to stay still. To breathe. To survive.
His grip is warm. Steady. Unyielding.
And I hate that my body registers it at all.
I lift my chin, meeting his eyes, and for one suspended moment, the entire room fades.
There’s only him.
The ceremony begins.
The room settles into a heavy, suffocating quiet—intimate in the worst way, like the walls themselves are leaning in to listen. The harp softens, fading into something distant, almost unreal.
I barely hear the words.
They wash over me in fragments, broken apart by the thunder of my heartbeat in my ears. Vows. Promises. Binding language meant to sanctify what feels like a theft.
At some point, I meet Konstantin’s eyes again.
The moment is charged, my fear slamming headfirst into something just as intense in him. I feel everything all at once: my father’s disappearance, the unanswered questions, the life I was building before it was ripped from my hands. My freedom. My future. All of it hovering just out of reach.
Konstantin speaks his vows when it’s his turn, his voice low and certain.
There’s no hesitation. No doubt.
It’s as if this ceremony isn’t changing anything—only formalizing a decision he made long before tonight.
Then it’s my turn.
My mouth goes dry. I whisper the words because I don’t trust myself to say them any louder, because saying them at all already feels like a betrayal—to myself, to my father, to the girl I was yesterday morning.
The officiant’s voice cuts through the haze.
“You may kiss the bride.”
My stomach drops.
I brace myself for something brief. Polite. Distant. A technicality to seal the cage around me.
Instead, Konstantin’s fingers lift my chin. The touch is gentle, so gentle it steals the breath from my lungs. And then his mouth lowers to mine. Slow. Controlled. Deliberate.
Shock ripples through me, sharp and disorienting. This isn’t affection. This isn’t ceremony.
It’s possession.
My body freezes, caught between panic and an unwanted, traitorous pull I don’t understand. For a heartbeat too long, the world tilts—his warmth, his restraint, the quiet dominance in the way he holds me like I am already his.
Then he steps back.
His eyes stay on mine, dark and unreadable, stripping me bare without touching me again.
The moment shatters.
Applause breaks out around us, polite and muted, echoing off the walls of the library as the ceremony concludes. Voices murmur. Chairs shift. Life moves on as if something sacred—or something horrific—hasn’t just taken place.
I stand there, newly married, newly caged, my lips still tingling. This is only the beginning.
Konstantin turns me toward the crowd with a firm hand at my back and lifts his chin in a subtle command. He raises his hand in acknowledgment.
I don’t.
I can’t.
My eyes don’t stray to the faces watching us like spectators at a ritual they’ll never speak of again. I don’t give them the satisfaction. My gaze locks onto the only person in the room who feels real.
Ellie.
She’s standing at the back now, her hands clasped tight in front of her, tears streaking down her face as two guards begin to escort her away. Not roughly. Not cruelly. Just…inevitably.
No.
My chest tightens. I want to scream her name. I want to run to her, to cling to her, to beg her not to leave me here. Panic claws up my throat as she’s guided toward the door, her head turning just once—just enough for our eyes to meet.
I shake my head at her, a silent apology. A silent promise. I don’t know which one hurts more.
The doors close behind her.
And just like that, I’m alone.
Konstantin’s hand tightens around mine, and he pulls me forward.
Down the path carved between clapping hands and lowered gazes.
The ring on my finger feels unbearably heavy, like a brand I can’t tear off.
Every step makes it more real. Every second stretches the distance between who I was and who I’ve just become.
We reach the stairs.
Without a word, Konstantin guides me upward—not forcefully, not roughly—but with the kind of quiet expectation that leaves no room for refusal. His palm at my lower back is steady, possessive, as if my body already knows where it belongs, even if my mind is screaming otherwise.
I climb the steps beside him, my heart pounding, my thoughts spiraling.
This mansion isn’t a home.
It’s a fortress.
And I understand, with chilling clarity, that my life hasn’t ended—it’s narrowed.
Into something beautiful.
Controlled.
And utterly inescapable.
A gilded prison I don’t yet fully comprehend.