Chapter 2: One Tragedy and A Bet

The City Hall was almost empty. Sunlight filtered through tall glass panes, making the terrazzo floor gleam too brightly. It smelled faintly of polish and stale paper.

To me, it was the scent of signatures and quiet tragedies, like the one in which I was now the unwilling main character.

A woman stood by a wooden counter, holding a folder. Beside her, an officiant in a dark suit adjusted his spectacles, looking faintly uneasy.

Brad guided me forward with a hand on my back, the gesture mockingly gentle. My arm still tingled where he’d gripped it earlier.

My father followed a few steps behind.

I stood there, in my white dress, that suddenly felt like a curse. My hair fell loose over my shoulders - the way Mom liked. The thought of her seeing me like this broke my heart all over again.

“Let’s get this over with,” Brad said, his tone light and almost cheerful.

The officiant hesitated, glancing briefly at me, then at my father. “Is this… an arranged marriage?”

Brad's smile didn’t reach his eyes. “What we got is a mutual understanding.”

I wanted to scream that it wasn’t, that this was wrong, that I was being forced to be here. But my voice was gone. My pulse filled my ears.

Brad took my hand. His skin was warm but inhuman.

The officiant began.

“We are gathered here to witness the union of Bradley Hawkins and Elena Ava Nolan...”

My mind blurred. The officiant’s voice stretched, breaking apart into a garble of sounds until Brad's thumb slowly brushed over my knuckles, dragging me cruelly back to the present.

“Do you, Elena Ava Nolan, take Bradley Hawkins to be your lawfully wedded husband…”

I glanced at my father. His eyes met mine. They were pleading. Brad’s grip tightened.

The officiant waited.

My lips parted, but no sound came. Just a trembling breath.

Brad leaned in, his voice a low whisper meant only for me.

“Say yes, Elena. Or your father won't live to see tomorrow.”

A broken exhale escaped me.

“I… do,” I blurted.

The words felt like gall on my tongue.

The officiant blinked once, hesitated again, then nodded. “By the authority vested in me by the State of Massachusetts, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Brad slid a ring on my finger and dropped another in my palm. I inhaled deeply and wore it on his finger with a tremor in my fingers.

A cruel, slow smile formed on Brad's lips, and before I could even draw another breath, he kissed me.

It wasn’t gentle like a regular love-kiss should be.

It was ownership.

I struggled to catch some air.

My father looked away. The officiant pretended not to see.

In a matter of minutes, I'd stopped being Elena Nolan, the girl who was going to Paris to train to become a professional chef.

I'd become Brad's property.

The moment he pulled away, I inhaled sharply, wiping my mouth quietly. Almost too roughly.

He chuckled, low and amused. “You’ll get used to it, Mrs. Hawkins,” he said softly.

Deep inside, beneath the anger and humiliation, something small and fierce began to burn.

I may be property now, but my life was still mine.

One day, I’d find a way out of this… this marriage and away from this stranger my father had become.

And when I did, I would run and never look back.

Outside, the sun shone bright and mercilessly. And while the world moved on, my finger bore a ring like a lock closing shut.

~~~~~

The ride to my new home was silent at first.

The town blurred past the tinted windows. Every turn of the wheels felt like another door closing behind me. I should be onboard my flight. Instead, I sat beside Brad in the front seat of his car.

His presence was unbearable.

My father had left in his truck and never looked back.

Now that I thought about it, he never showed me any document to prove he booked my flight to Paris. He'd used my trust against me. All the time I expressed excitement and gratitude, he knew I'd end up here.

I pressed my palms against my knees to stop them from shaking. The ring felt foreign and cold on my finger.

I’d tried twisting it off when Brad wasn’t looking, but it wouldn’t budge.

The silence stretched until he finally spoke.

“That went well,” he said softly. “Didn’t think you’d manage to get the words out.”

Before I could stop myself, I responded sharply.

“And I didn't think you were the kind of man to force marriage on a girl who barely knows you.”

He chuckled. “You may find it hard to believe,” he said. “I really do like you. The sooner you stop fighting what’s already done, the easier it’ll be for both of us.”

I stared out the window. The rest of the drive went on in silence, safe for the hum of the engine. I counted the trees as they blurred into endless green.

By the time we pulled into his neighborhood, it was early evening.

When the car finally slowed, my pulse quickened, and we came to a stop in front of a modest, one-storey house tucked at the edge of a quiet street.

A trimmed lawn, a short porch, and peeling paint on the shutters.

But inside was another story.

The moment he pushed the door open, the faint scent of expensive whiskey and polished leather hit me. The lights flicked on, flooding the room with a warm, artificial glow that clashed with my expectations.

The furniture, the lighting, even the drapes - everything looked too expensive for a small-town cop.

I froze in the doorway.

Brad noticed my hesitation, his smirk faintly amused. “Come on in.”

I stepped into the living room.

He set his keys on the table, loosened his tie, and walked past me toward the kitchen. “This is your home now,” he said.

The words made my throat tighten.

I followed him slowly, my eyes tracing every detail. The counter was smooth marble, and a security camera hummed above. Expensive looking wines were neatly arranged in a wine rack.

I wanted to ask how a cop could afford any of this. Not to mention clearing my father's debts.

But the answer was already there, in the arrogance of his stride and the quiet menace that clung to him.

He wasn’t just a cop.

He was something else.

He turned to face me, leaning against the counter. “Hungry?”

I shook my head. My stomach was a knot.

He shrugged, picked up a glass, and poured himself a drink. “Suit yourself.”

He took a slow sip, watching me over the rim. “Listen, I don’t expect much - just respect and obedience. In return, you’ll have everything you need.”

My fingers curled into my palms. “Everything I need?” I repeated softly. “Except freedom, I guess.”

His eyes narrowed, though his voice stayed even. “Freedom’s overrated, sweetheart.”

“Why me?” I asked genuinely. “You saved me once, but that doesn't mean I’ve to be bound to you. I definitely don't like you. How's this supposed to work?”

He set his drink down and walked toward me until he was close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath.

“I know you don't like me,” he said smugly. “Just cook and keep the house clean.”

“Great. You paid off my father's debts to marry a maid.” I muttered.

His smirk deepened. “You’re here because I won a bet.”

My pulse quickened.

For a second, I thought I misheard him.

“What?” The word felt wrong in my mouth. “What’s that supposed to mean, Brad?”

The same cruel smile from the City Hall returned.

“You were a bet, Elena,” he said, almost fondly, like I was some long-desired trophy.

“A bet?” I repeated.

His smile lingered, a shadow curling at the corner of his mouth as he closed the remaining gap between us.

“You don't remember meeting me and my friends before the night I saved you, do you?”

I stepped back instinctively.

And just like that, the day in which my life got ruined found another way to get even worse.