Chapter 1

Gabriella 's POV

I observed my mother as she prepared me for a marriage to a man she deemed suitable. The fact that they considered this normal repulsed me, but I had come to accept that I had no control over the situation. They desired it, and I was compelled to comply. Whether or not I liked it, they believed it was appropriate for me to marry the man of their choosing.

"He is a good man, Gabriella . He has agreed to assist our family, and you must understand that nothing comes without a price," she remarked, causing me to chuckle involuntarily. I couldn't help it. The man was demanding compensation for his help. It wasn't as though he was doing it out of pure benevolence.

"Mother, he is marrying me," I replied, meeting her gaze squarely. "And he is not doing it for free." Does that mean, I'm the price for his actions?

"Marrying him doesn't mean you are paying a price for anything. If anything, it will elevate us from a financially struggling family to one that is wealthy and has rescued us from poverty," my mother stated, smiling at me. I took a deep breath and nodded, realizing there was no point in arguing with them about it.

No matter how hard I tried to express my concerns, they paid no attention to my words. It felt futile, really. What's the point, right? Besides, the man they were partnering with had no clue about our impending bankruptcy. They had deceived him outright to secure this partnership. While I knew he wasn't naive, their lack of transparency was evident.

"You will make a suitable wife, Gabriella . We cannot afford to let go of what your father has built. If you're marrying him, it's not without advantages for both parties. If he desires you in his bed, you will comply and satisfy him," she uttered, causing a pang in my chest. I had to restrain the frown that nearly crept onto my face upon hearing her repulsive words. The way she gazed at me, the tone of her voice, her hands resting on my shoulders—everything about her demeanor conveyed her indifference to my feelings. As long as it benefited THEM, who on earth cared about my emotions?

"I refuse to be subservient to him or serve as his mere object of desire. If he expects me to fulfill the role of a wife, then he must also assume the responsibilities of a husband," I calmly stated, maintaining utmost composure. The last thing I desired was to provoke her anger, especially knowing her propensity for aggression.

"You will do whatever it takes to satisfy him, regardless of how you perceive it or what label you choose for yourself. He is your husband, and you must fulfill the duties expected of a wife. Therefore, if he expresses any dissatisfaction with your behavior, I believe you understand the consequences you will face." Her words dripped with threat as she glared at me through the mirror. Without waiting for my response, she strode towards the door. I frowned, my reflection mirroring the turmoil within me, resisting the urge to react to her cruel demeanor. It was particularly painful coming from my own mother, but I knew I had to swallow my pride and endure. "Fix your makeup and wipe that expression off your face. I will not have you walking around with a miserable look, do you understand?"

"I understand, mother," I replied softly, my gaze fixed upon the dresser before me. I scoured its surface, desperately seeking my blusher and mascara. She exited the dressing room without uttering a single word, leaving me to grapple with my own thoughts. The internal struggle raged on as I weighed the consequences of leaving at this moment. The trouble it would bring seemed insurmountable, but could I truly endure a marriage such as this? Diego and I both knew it was a union we vehemently opposed, and were it not for our parents' insistence, it would have been the furthest thing from our minds.

A gentle knock resonated on the dressing room door, interrupting my mascara application. Placing the wand down, I rose from the chair, already anticipating that it was my father. With the aisle drawing nearer by the minute, and the realization sinking in that retreat was no longer an option, I made my way towards the door where he patiently awaited.

I was taken aback by the frigidness in his eyes as they briefly met mine, followed by a nod, and the placement of the veil over my face. It was my wedding day, and yet, as the only daughter, I couldn't help but be surprised by the lack of warmth from my father. It became increasingly evident that his primary concern lay in the benefits he would reap from this union, with little regard for the consequences it might bring.

His arm intertwined with mine, but as his hand gripped my forearm, I winced, anticipating the pain that would surely follow—a bruise serving as a reminder of his presence. His piercing gaze met mine, filled with animosity, causing my heart to race in trepidation. I stood there, silently waiting for his words to unfold, mindful not to reveal my discomfort to the onlookers, who remained oblivious to my suffering.

"I've heard rumors from your mother about your rebellious nature," he finally spoke, his tone laced with a threat. "Do you require a vivid reminder of the consequences should you continue to disrupt things?"

His question shattered my heart, and I shook my head in response. He stood near the aisle's door, shooting daggers at me as he unveiled the veil. His scrutinizing gaze traveled up and down my body, while I averted my eyes and stared at my feet. The scar on my lower back still hadn't healed from his previous punishment, and the last thing I wanted or needed at this moment was to endure another one.

Summoning all my strength, I forced a smile onto my face. It didn't matter if it was genuine or not; I simply couldn't afford to care. I had to pretend, no matter what. I had to constantly remind myself of the consequences that awaited me for every action I took. His gaze never wavered as he interrogated me, his eyes fixed on mine. Afraid to provoke him with even a single word, I nodded silently. He acknowledged my compliance, turning towards the door. Surprisingly, this time he linked his arm with mine, his grip somewhat gentler than before.

As the doors swung open, my husband appeared at the far end of the aisle, gazing in my direction. Our eyes locked, his silver-blue eyes meeting my green eyes, and my heart leaped with anticipation. I knew what awaited me, yet uncertainty clouded my thoughts. What lay ahead in this marriage was unknown, but I fervently hoped I wouldn't bear the burden for something I had no hand in. It wasn't my wrongdoing that compelled me to endure this, yet I found myself shouldering the consequences of THEIR mistakes.

"Shall we proceed?" my father asked, casting a glance my way, accompanied by a smile. His smile, though forced, somehow reached his eyes. Despite the pain and fear welling up within me, I mustered a nod and forced a smile.

"Of course, Dad…"