The Wedding Night

The wedding night was supposed to be romantic, so they say. It was supposed to be full of love, chemistry and desire.

But I felt nothing apart from dread. It chewed at me, clawed at the pit of my stomach as I sat on the edge of the bed—still in my wedding dress.

I watched silently as Lugard consumed sticks of wrapped tobacco, with a glass of whiskey in his free hand.

He hadn't said a word to me since we returned to his mansion–his room. In the same room he once tried to stab me to death, because I wanted to leave him.

My head spun and pounded. I wanted to cry. I wished I was invisible. I wished he was different.

I kept stealing glances at him, praying in my heart that he would just die. But it was the most unrealistic thing. My thoughts reeled, each one horrible and worse than the last.

Finally, he lifted his gaze and they fell on me.

My pulse accelerated, my heart thudding so loud and hard it could jump out of my chest. I swallowed hard, immediately dropping my gaze, looking away from his face. My body was trembling.

He chuckled, dark and humourless. The bastard knew the kind of effects he had on me. He knew the kind of fear he evoked in me. He fed off it. He loved it.

Fucking Bastard.

“Did you enjoy the wedding so much you don't want to change out of your dress?” he suddenly asked, his predatory gaze raking through my body, his voice – emotion stripped and clouded.

I looked down at myself, my trembling hands resting on the rough surface of the white sequin fabric.

Did I enjoy the wedding? God forbid. Why didn't I want to change? No idea.

I hated him. I loathed him. He knew it, and the way he always acted oblivious despite the knowledge of it scares the shit out of me.

I had no idea what was going through his mind. I had no idea what he wanted to do with me. Why was he so intent on having me by his side?

How could you want someone who hated you with every artery and vein in their body?

I assumed I knew the answer to that question, but I realized that my head was blank.

Changing into a nightwear in my husband's abode after marriage was supposed to be the most intimate and natural thing. But none of this felt natural.

I felt like a captive—his captive. And he reeled in the pride and ego of finally capturing me, legally.

“Darling, are you ignoring me?” His voice interrupted my thoughts. It was calm – like the calm before a storm.

I couldn't tell if he was teasing or mocking me.

Under the dim lights, he stared at me. There was something… animalistic and raw in his stare. Predatory even, but I was his prey already.

As if I hadn't cried enough, I felt tears stinging my eyes, blurring my vision.

He suddenly stood up. “I'm guessing you need my help to get it off. I'm willing to help. It's part of my job as your husband after all, isn't it?”

He flashed me a wide grin, making his way towards me. My breath caught and cold shivers coursed down my spine.

I didn't want his hands on me. I didn't want him anywhere close. But I couldn't move. I knew better than that.

He was almost close when I suddenly stood up, my entire body trembling with fright. “I… I… I can help myself.” My lips quivered as I stammered.

The amusement and excitement in his face immediately vanished.

No, not now. Please, not now.

“Why?” He paused, goading me with his now unreadable gaze. “You don't want your husband to touch you?”

I quickly shook my head. I was trying so hard to say something. My mouth opened and closed but nothing came out.

I was a trembling mess.

Truth be told, I couldn't help myself out of the dress. The zipper had a deep V–cut. I looked at Lugard who seemed to notice my turmoil and he shook his head slightly.

I really didn’t know what was going through his mind. He seemed eerily calm. Unreadable. Not even angry or happy. Oh God.

“Are you shy, Darling?” His voice was syrupy sweet, yet laced with danger. His piercing gaze was overly keen on me.

I couldn't meet his gaze. It scared me. I was afraid I'd break into a sob if I did. This man knew me, knew I was afraid of him, yet he was intentionally torturing me.

“Come on, you don't have to be shy. We've done it several times already. You've seen me and I've seen you,” he smiled. Irritation and shame washed over me.

“And you're gorgeous.” He continued, taking a step forward.

I took two steps back, as if it could protect me from him. He paused, his expression hard. He was pissed.

“Lugard, why are you doing this?” I finally found my voice, but regretted it the moment it left my lips, because his brows had now narrowed into visible creases.

His gaze raked me up and down and then he smiled. It sent chills, goosebumps appeared on my skin.

“Guess what? I'll help you take off the dress.” He smiled again, pretending not to hear what I had just asked him.

He was walking up to me again. My mind screamed and yelled – Run, Zayla, Run. But there was no opening.

My gaze darted to the door. If only I could unlock it before he came close, I might really escape.

Before I could make it to the door though, his large rough palm was on my arm—strong and firm. I almost cried.

The air around the room has shifted.

Oh no, Zayla, what have you done?

I had triggered him and now he was purely angry.

He dragged me towards the desk, where he'd sat, smoking before. His steps were slow and measured, like he was reining in a volcano just under his skin.

“You're avoiding me,” he said softly, despite the rage in his eyes. “You think I haven't noticed?”

I didn't respond.

My eyes stayed on the floor. Just like him, everything in his house was dark and cold.

His voice broke the silence again, rougher this time. “You think I don't see the way you look at me? Like I'm filth. Like you'd rather die than be here with me.”

My breath caught. My heart thundered.

I knew that voice. It knew it…

No. No. No.

I raised my gaze to look into his eyes but failed. I brought them down, my lips trembling.

The slap came fast. My cheek burned, sharp pain searing through me. I didn't see it coming. I felt it. But I couldn't dodge it.

My head snapped sideways. The taste of iron coated my tongue. I felt the warm trickle from my nose, down my lips.

“Fucking answer me!!” he roared, grabbing my arms so tight I felt my bone grind against itself.

He grabbed me by the throat, choking me. I couldn't move. Couldn't fight him. He was strong.

“Lugard… please… stop.”

“You ungrateful bitch!” He hissed. “I gave up part of my shares just to save your family's company. I married you with my money. And after everything, you're deciding to push me away!”

He was choking me harder. I was unable to breathe.Black dots danced in my face.

“Damn it!”

He threw me against the cold marble floor. My head hit the floor with a sick thud. The pain was immediate, but it was my helplessness that broke me.

This man was going to kill me. He was already killing me.

I curled in and tried to shield my ribs. My face.

But he was relentless. Each kick found a home. My back. My stomach. My lungs screamed for air. My ribs cracked, I felt it.

His boots were leather. Heavy. And every strike felt like he was trying to erase me.

“Please… stop.” I whispered, but it was subtle.

He was yelling, angry, desperate, wounded like a child who didn't get what he wanted. “Why did you make me like this? Why did you want to push me away? Why can't you just love me back? I promised you I was going to change.”

I shook my head. “You'll never change,”

The kick was harder. Excruciatingly painful.

I yelped, coughing out blood. My hands wouldn't move anymore. My body was limp. Useless.

“Please stop… I'm dying…” I felt my lips move, but it came out like a breath.

He dropped to his knees, straddling me. I could barely open my eyes now.

He wrapped his hands around my throat.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “You’ll always be mine.”

My nails weakly scraped at his arms. My vision was narrowing. The room tilted. The ceiling turned to the sky. Or maybe heaven. Or maybe nothing.

Was I really the main character in my story? Now, I'm certain I'm not.

I couldn't feel the floor anymore. Or my limbs. Just the sting of betrayal… and the pressure in my skull.

He let go. He was panting now. Sweating. Angry still—but then he looked at me. Really looked.

“Zayla?”

I didn’t move.

“Zayla?”

He touched my face. My lips. Shook me lightly. “Stop playing.”

“Zayla…?”

I didn’t blink.

My body was there, but I was floating. I could see him. Lugard Blade. His eyes wide, his hands trembling.

I wanted to scream, “You killed me,” but my mouth was silent.

And that was the moment it hit him.

“No… no, no, no. Baby—please…” He shook me. Pressed his face into mine. Tried to breathe for me. Called my name like it could drag me back from the edge.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to. Wake up, please…” he cradled me like porcelain.

And for once, Lugard Blade finally cried. But it was too late. I was already gone.