Nobela ni Grace Kingsley

I sat across from Brayden at the long dining table, my hands folded in my lap, my collar pressing against my throat. He drank his coffee slowly, eyes fixed on the paper in front of him. For once, he was quiet, almost… normal. For one foolish heartbeat, I thought this morning might feel like a real marriage. Husband and wife having Breakfast in a mansion. Then the doors crashed open. “Brayden!” His mother’s voice. I flinched as an elegant woman walked into the room. Behind her trailed his younger brother, his mouth curled into a smile that made my stomach turn. Brayden didn’t rise. He didn’t even look surprised. He set his coffee cup down with a deliberate click. “Mother,” he said flatly. “Don’t you ‘Mother’ me!” she snapped. Her gaze turned to me with undisguised disgust. “You had a wedding. A wedding. And you didn’t think to invite me? Your own blood?” I stiffened. My fork slipped in my hand. His brother, Leonardo, I remembered, pulled out a chair, his eyes never leaving m

The courthouse looked gray and unwelcoming. I clutched the thin shawl Brayden had put over my shoulders, though it did nothing to calm the tremor running through me.People watched. They always did when Brayden Gatsby walked into a room. Men stiffened, women stared, and whispers rippled through the air like fire spreading across dry grass.But today was different. Today, I wasn’t just his pet. I was about to be his wife.His hand clamped around my waist, firm and unyielding.“Head up,” he murmured against my ear. My stomach twisted. “Brayden…”“Mr. Gatsby,” he corrected. His thumb pressed against my side, a warning. “Remember your place.”I swallowed hard and nodded.Inside, the courtroom was hushed. The judge sat at the front, brows furrowed as we approached. Brayden pulled me to the front.“Mr. Gatsby,” the judge began slowly, “I was told you requested an expedited civil marriage. This is… unusual.” His eyes flicked toward me. “Particularly with this arrangement.”Brayden’s smirk

Weeks passed. Days blurred into nights inside Brayden’s mansion. He worked. He ruled. He fucked me. And I obeyed his commands. And then one Sunday afternoon, the storm broke. A black car pulled up the drive, I was polishing glasses in the kitchen when Brayden appeared, his jaw set. “They’re here,” he muttered. “Who sir?” I asked. He didn’t answer, just fixed his cufflinks. I followed when he called me, though every step knotted my stomach. In the living room, His mother and brother waited. I stayed back in the corner, clutching the tray like a shield. “Brayden,” his mother said smoothly, “You’ve ignored our calls long enough.” “I’ve been busy,” he replied flatly, pouring himself whiskey. His brother leaned forward. “Busy playing house with your… pet?” His eyes flicked toward me. I froze. Brayden didn’t blink. “Say what you came to say.” His mother’s patience snapped. “You will marry Alessia. The mafia expects it. The deal was made before your father died

I woke up to the sound of voices. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. My body still ached from the night before. The voices grew louder. I slid off the bed, wincing at the soreness between my thighs, and tiptoed to the door. It wasn’t locked this time. “You think the mafia will wait forever?” the stranger growled. “You’re supposed to marry his daughter!.” My stomach twisted. Mafia? Marry? Brayden’s voice was calm, “I don’t take orders. Not from him. Not from anyone.” the stranger snapped back, “You owe him, Gatsby. Your father promised him that before he died.” Brayden’s tone was ice. “My father’s promises died with him. I won’t chain myself to that spoiled girl.” The man’s voice hardened. “You realize her father holds a major stake in your empire.” Brayden leaned back, unbothered. “I have businesses spread across the world. I don’t need him.” The man snapped. “If you refuse to marry her, then you’d better find someone else, someone the mafia can accept. Othe

When I woke, my body screamed. Every muscle ached reminding me of what he’d done. My thighs burned, the belt marks across my skin throbbed with dull pain. The door opened. Brayden Gatsby stepped inside, He held a folder in his hand. “Sit up.” I did. Because what choice did I have? He came to the bed, placed the folder in my lap, and opened it. “Your life, Zoe, no longer belongs to you. You will follow my rules. If you dare to break them, you will regret it.” His tone was clipped and businesslike. He flipped the first page. “Rule number one: You speak only when spoken to. Ever. Anywhere.” My throat tightened. He waited. “Yes, Mr. Gatsby.” “Rule number two: Your body is mine. That means no refusal, no hesitation, no boundaries unless you’re on your period and I choose to set them.” My stomach dropped. “Rule number three: You will kneel whenever I enter the room unless ordered otherwise.” The words stung like a slap. “Rule number four: There is no privacy. C

When my mother died I was left in the hands of the man she should never have married, my stepfather. He was a drunk who worked as a construction worker but loved to gamble and soon he put us in a lot of debt. Every time he lost, he came home angrier and promised he’d change, but he never did. Then one night, I heard him on the phone. “I’ll pay you back. I’ve got something more valuable than money.” Something. Not someone. Me. By the time I realized what he’d done, it was too late. Men in black suits came for me, their hands cold on my arms as they shoved me into the back of a car. I screamed, fought, begged, but no one listened. The last glimpse I had of my stepfather was him slouched in the doorway, smoking a cigarette. He didn’t even say goodbye. And then the car doors locked. My fate sealed. The air inside the auction hall felt heavy, sweet with perfume and expensive cigars. The chandeliers above glittered brightly, throwing light across the stage where I stood li