Chapter 3

...Wedding night. ...

The bedroom feels like a trap.

The walls are too tall, the air too thick, the silence too heavy. My gown lies in a heap at my feet, silk and lace abandoned like shed skin. I stand there in nothing but my veil and trembling resolve, staring at the man I have just married.

Arsen.

He doesn’t smile now. That charming mask he wore for the world has fallen away, leaving only steel and shadows. His presence swallows the room, and I feel like I am shrinking under his gaze.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his voice low and smooth. “Are you afraid of me?”

I don’t answer. My silence betrays me.

My father’s voice echoes in my head be the

perfect bride, do your duty but inside I want to scream.

His fingers trail slowly along my jawline, tilting my face upward until I have no choice but to meet his eyes. They are unreadable, cold one

moment, smoldering the next. I feel like prey caught in the stare of a predator.

“You’re trembling,” he says softly, almost amused. “Are you afraid of me?”

I swallow hard, my voice trapped in my throat. I don’t answer. His lips curl slightly, as if my silence is the answer he wanted.

Arsen steps back, loosening his tie, removing his jacket with deliberate ease. Every movement is calculated, controlled, as though even undressing is part of the performance. His presence fills the room, making the walls close in.

I stand frozen, the weight of my gown

suffocating. My mind screams to run, to fight, but my body refuses to move. Instead, I hear my

father’s voice in my head you will do your duty.

Arsen stops in front of me again, his gaze

sweeping down, studying me like a prize he’s just claimed. Then, with one swift motion, he reaches behind me and begins to undo the endless row of buttons on my gown.

“Such a beautiful dress,” he murmurs.

The words sting because they are true.

As the gown slips from my shoulders, pooling like spilled moonlight at my feet, I feel exposed, stripped of the only shield I had left. His hand brushes lightly across my collarbone, then down to my wrist, where he holds me firmly not

painfully, but enough to remind me of his control.

“You think you’re a doll,” he whispers, leaning close, his breath warm against my ear.

“Something to be displayed. But you’re not. You’re mine now. And I don’t collect dolls. I break them… and remake them.”

A shiver runs through me something I can’t yet name.

His lips brush mine slow, deliberate, testing. Not tender, not gentle, but claiming. The kiss deepens, rougher, hungrier, until I feel the ground tilt beneath me. My body betrays me, torn between resistance and the pull of something darker, something I was never prepared for.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes lock onto mine with dangerous intensity.

“Tonight isn’t about peace,” he says. “It’s about war. And it starts here, in this room.”

He pushes me gently but firmly onto the bed, the silk sheets cold against my skin. And for the first time, I realize this marriage is not the end of my freedom.

It is the beginning of my captivity.

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