Chapter three: wedding contract

Fiona's POV

It wasn’t the dress that made me feel trapped, though. It was the man beside me, his presence colder than the walls surrounding us.

Logan stood at my side, his posture very stiff and his expression unreadable. I could feel the space between us, very big and large as an ocean. His eyes, dull and uninterested, looked over my face as if he was preparing me for something far less personal than what we were about to do. His eyes met mine for only a little moment, a quick glance that lasted no longer than the flicker of a candle before it shifted away. He didn’t care what I thought. He didn’t care what I felt.

I wasn’t his wife-to-be in his eyes. I was a tool, a means to an end. The union wasn’t for love or affection. It was for power and as much as I hated it ,, there was nothing I could do to escape it now.

"Fiona," logan's voice sliced through the silence like a blade, smooth and detached but carrying a faint hint of impatience. "Hold still. You’re fidgeting."

I didn't respond, I couldn't. The words stuck in my throat, a bitter lump of resentment, anger, and helplessness. How could he stand there, looking so calm, so indifferent? I wanted to scream at him, to demand some kind of acknowledgment of the pain I was feeling, but I knew it would be pointless.

Magnus, my Uncle , stood at the front, a wicked smile curling the corners of his lips as he watched us. His satisfaction at forcing me into this marriage was limitless. Every moment of this ceremony, every step of this charade, was part of a game he’d been playing for years, a game where I was the pawn.

The priest’s voice was a low murmur as he recited the vows. The words were lost on me. I couldn’t hear them. I couldn’t focus on anything but the coldness of the room, the coldness of Logan's presence, the coldness of my uncle’s manipulation. Every breath felt like it burned my lungs, every movement I made heavy and forced.

I held my jaw, swallowing the rising tide of emotion that threatened to break through my carefully constructed walls. Logan barely moved. He stood like a statue, his face unreadable but I knew him well enough now to know he didn’t care about this moment. He didn’t care about me.

His hands didn’t shake when they reached for mine. They were firm, cold and dispassionate. His fingers brushed against my skin with the same coldness he treated everything else. 

The connection between us felt like a void, an endless one.. There was nothing in him that acknowledged the weight of what we were about to do. To him, it was just another transaction, another piece in his rise to power.

I could feel the anger building inside me, hot and sharp. It bubbled up from the pit of my stomach, clawing its way up my chest but I held it in check. If I allowed it to spill over, if I allowed myself to show any sign of weakness, Magnus would see it, Logan would see it. They would both take pleasure in it.

I was no longer Fiona Thornwood,I was nothing more than a piece of property to be exchanged, a pawn to solidify logan’s claim to power and they all knew it.

"I, logan of House blackridge , take you, Elara of House Thornwood to be my wife," logan pronounced, his voice so flat it could have been a recording. The words felt hollow, empty. They didn’t mean anything coming from him.

His gaze looked down to me as I struggled to hold back the surge of disgust that moved in my stomach. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be married to him. I wanted to scream, to run, to burn everything to the ground and escape from the suffocating control that gripped me. But there was no escape. Not now.

The priest’s words continued, his voice echoing on in the background. "Do you, Fiona of House Thornwood , take Logan of House Blackridge to be your husband?"

I had no choice, none at all. The words stuck in my throat for a moment, the weight of them suffocating me. But in the end, I managed to force them out.

"I do."

I couldn’t bring myself to look at logan as I spoke those two words. They felt like a betrayal of everything I had ever been but I had no other choice. I had no other options.

Logan’s lips curled into a small, mischievous smile, though it was more of a smirk than anything resembling warmth or affection. He squeezed my hand tighter, almost painfully as if to remind me of his dominance over this union, over me.

The priest continued with the ceremony, the words meaningless to me. Everything felt like it was happening to someone else, not me. The vows, the rings and the promises, none of it mattered. It was all a show, a performance for the sake of power and politics.

As the ceremony dragged on, I couldn’t help but feel the crushing weight of  logan’s indifference. His lack of care wasn’t a surprise, but it still stung. How could he stand there, so unmoved by the fact that he was taking away everything from me? How could he stand there, so willing to discard the truth of who I was in favor of his own ambition?

When the priest finally declared us husband and wife, it felt like a knife in my chest. The finality of it hit me back to my reality..

Logan leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, "You belong to me now, Fiona."

The coldness of his breath sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn’t a promise and a threat.

I wanted to push him away. I wanted to scream at him, to slap him across the face and tell him that he didn’t own me but I didn’t. I couldn’t, not here and not now.

Magnus’s voice rang out, loud and happy as he stepped forward, clapping his hands in mock joy. "Congratulations, my daughter. And to you, logan, my new son-in-law. The future of both our houses is secure."

His smile was wide, like a mad man as he looked at the two of us but I knew it wasn’t joy he felt. It was a triumph. Magnus had won. He had succeeded in forcing me into this union, and now logan would have the power he sought. I was nothing more than a pawn in their game.

As the applause echoed through the hall, I stood frozen, my face a mask of composure, but inside, I was screaming. I wanted to tear this all down. I wanted to break free of this marriage, of this life, of these chains that held me prisoner.

But there was nothing I could do and not yet.

Not until the time was right.

*************************************

Logan’s POV

Fiona sat beside me, stiff and quiet, her hands tightly holding on to her lap. Her face didn’t show much, but I could feel her anger in the air between us. It was so obvious, it almost made me smile.

She hated me. That was plain to see.

Good. Hatred was simple and it made things clear. She wasn’t here because of love and I wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.

When we arrived at my territory , I stepped out first and turned to offer her my hand. She looked at it for a moment, her lips pressed in a straight, hard line, before she finally placed her hand in mine. Her touch was cold and stiff, but steady. I noticed the look of rebellion in her eyes, but I didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, I led her up the stairs and through the heavy double doors.

The silence came with us, broken only by the sound of her heels tapping on the marble floor. She walked tall, her head held high, her shoulders straight. It was like she was trying to convince herself this wasn’t a prison. I didn’t say a word. What was there to say? The wedding was done. The documents were signed. She belonged to me now, no matter how much she hated it.

When we stopped outside my chambers, I turned to her.

“This is where I’ll sleep,” I said evenly. “Find somewhere else for yourself.”

Her head turned toward me, her eyes wide and filled with anger. “What?” she demanded, her voice sharp.

“You heard me,” I said, keeping my tone cold. Without waiting for her response, I opened the door, stepped inside, and shut it firmly behind me. I locked it with a loud click.

For a moment, everything was quiet. Then, a soft knock broke the silence. It sounded hesitant, almost unsure.

“logan,” she called through the door, her voice echoed “Open the door.”

I ignored her. Removing my jacket, I walked to the fireplace and put it on,letting the warmth spread through the room.

The knock came again, harder this time. “logan! Open this door right now!”

Still, I didn’t answer. I poured myself a drink, the clink of glass on glass the only sound in the room. I sat down in my chair, letting the fire’s heat soak into my skin.

Then the pounding began. “You bastard!” she yelled, her voice filled with fury. “You think you can treat me like this? Open the door!”

Her fists pounding against the wood, the sound echoing in the room. “You coward! You arrogant, spineless, open this door or I swear I’ll....”

The anger that had been bubbling in me snapped. I stood quickly, the chair scraping against the floor as I crossed the room in a few steps. I unlocked the door and threw it open so fast, she almost lost her balance.

She stumbled back a step but held her ground, her fists still raised as if ready to pound on the door again. Her face was flushed, her chest rising and falling with every furious breath. Her eyes, burning with defiance, met mine without looking away.

“You do not bang on my door like a servant throwing a tantrum,” I said, my voice low and sharp. “Do you understand?”

“Or what?” she shot back, lifting her chin. “You’ll throw me out? You’ll hit me? Go ahead, Logan Show me exactly what kind of monster you are.”

I took a step closer, and so did she, refusing to back down. My hand moved at my side, the urge to shut her up overwhelming. My fingers curled into a fist, but I stopped myself, forcing the anger back.

Instead, I slammed the door shut in her face again and locked it. Her shouting started up immediately, a stream of curses and insults that pounded against the door like her fists had moments before but I let it wash over me like noise. She could scream all night if she wanted. It wouldn’t change a thing.

Eventually, her voice faded. The silence that followed was heavier than before. I didn’t bother checking to see where she’d gone. Let her find her place. Let her hate me. That hatred would keep things simple.

This was my house, my rules and she would learn them soon enough.