MARRYING A RUTHLESS MAN

Jane

I stared down at the ring on my finger and took a deep breath. My lips were sore from biting them continuously. This is it. I have to do this. Marrying into a wealthy family was my only option.

Call me a gold digger if you want, but you wouldn’t understand even if I tried to explain. Marrying a man with money is my only way out—my family's only way out.

When I was a little girl, I dreamed of the perfect wedding with the man of my dreams. I never thought I would end up like this—marrying a man for his money. It's something I’ve always been against, yet here I am, doing exactly that.

No one wants to marry a beast. But what choice did I have? As I said, I had none.

I looked over at my husband. He took another sip of wine and clenched his fist into a tight ball. He barely looked at me. When we kissed at the church, it was simple and quick.

This is the worst—and yet the best—decision I’ve ever made. I kept staring at his brown hair, light brown eyes, and slightly pink lips. He was about 6’3” and slightly muscular.

I looked over at my mother and her boyfriend. They kept staring, a small smirk spreading across their faces. They got what they always wanted—one of her children marrying into wealth so they would never have to work again.

My brother, on the other hand, is furious at me for taking such a drastic step—marrying a man I don’t love, just to please our mother. I guess he’s the only one who truly cares. But what can I do?

Everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves. Many wealthy people are here. I guess we’re the only low-ranking ones in the room. From top models to businessmen—even the freaking Prime Minister! I can hear their whispers. How can he marry that gold digger? Eww... look at her. All that jewelry can’t hide her poor damsel figure.

He leaned over, cupped my face, and kissed me. I could feel the tension when our lips touched. I wanted all this to be over—but at the same time, I didn’t. Because when it ends... it means I’ll have to submit myself to this stranger. And that... that’s terrifying.

Even though we’re not going on a honeymoon, I know his intentions. He just wants to get between my legs. Typical. I’ve never felt this much pain—until now. Everything I dreamed of is shattered. I’ll never become a fashion designer. Now, I’m just a housewife. I should have run away!

Two hours later

I followed Prince to the master bedroom. Rose petals covered the floor and bed. I swallowed hard, knowing what I was supposed to do next. I walked toward him and began to undress.

He gave me a surprised look and stepped back.

“What are you doing, woman?!”

“I... I’m submitting myself to you,” I said, clearing my throat and walking toward him again. “As... as your wife.”

He let out an evil laugh. Then, in a split second, his expression turned serious. He stepped toward me, grabbed my cheeks, and stared down at me.

“You are nothing but a low-ranking gold digger—and a whore. Being with you is like being with a dog. And I don’t do dogs.” He chuckled and released his grip. “I’m sick of women like you. All you do is chase after men with money so you can sleep with them. I curse this day! My room, this room—you will never step foot in here again. Ever! Each night I’ll bring a different woman here, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

He lifted his index finger and pressed it to my forehead.

“I dare you to bring a man into my house. I dare you! When I’m on the left, take the right. I don’t want you anywhere near me. When my friends visit, go to your room and mind your business like the child you are. You made a mistake marrying me, because I’m a dragon—and I’ll breathe fire down your neck! I’m a lion—I will tear you apart. I plan on ruining your life... Cheiska.”

He shoved me out of the way and opened the door.

“It’s Cheska,” I muttered.

“Hannah! Hannah!” he barked.

She must be one of his women. In less than a minute, a woman who looked to be in her late forties entered, dressed in a maid uniform with her hair neatly tied in a ponytail.

“Hello, Mrs. Criv—”

Prince cut her off sharply.

“Don’t call her that!” he said sternly. “Take this woman to the guest room.”

“But sir, sh—”

“Unless you want to be fired. Do as I say! It’s not hard to find another maid!”

She quickly nodded and signaled for me to follow her.

I followed her down the hallway to another enormous room—slightly smaller than his.

“Just let me know if you need anything, Mrs. Crivelli.”

“Just call me Cheska,” I replied.

She gave a small nod, then left. I closed the door and sank to the floor. My life has always been a mess. Marrying someone who actually loves me is off the table now. I’m stuck with this beast.

Once the first tear broke free, the rest followed. They poured down like rain. My life. My dreams. Everything is ruined. Because of that... I sniffed and forced the thought from my head.

Axel

I felt bad for how I spoke to Hannah. She’s been working for me for seven years and has always done her job well—but right now, I’m pissed.

I grabbed ten bottles of wine from the kitchen and headed to my room. I’m going to drink this woman away.

Marriage was never an option for me. I hate the very thought of commitment. Spending my life with someone forever? Stupid. I never planned on doing that.

I don’t have feelings for her, and I never will. Beyond putting on a show for the public, I want nothing to do with her—especially not sexually. She’s not my type, and she never will be.

I should have never agreed to marry her, but my mother threatened me. Like she always does. Then she told me how much she loves me and how it’s “for the best”—how I need to stop being a manwhore.

So she preferred I marry a gold digger?

I slammed the door shut and dived into bed. I turned on the TV. Our wedding was already making headlines, and they were already speculating how long it would last.

If I had refused to marry her, my mother would have ruined me. She says she loves me, but she cares more about what people think. All she talks about is how embarrassed she is that every week I’m seen with a different woman.

It’s my life!

If that... thing hadn’t happened years ago, she wouldn’t have anything on me. And I can’t even deny it—because she has proof.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket, ready to call one of my women—but decided against it.

The paparazzi are probably swarming outside the house anyway.

I’m tormented. I’m frustrated.