Force Marriage

“What did you give me?” Briella choked, clutching her throat.

She knew something was wrong. Her fingers twitched around the cup, her stomach twisting.

Then the world tilted.

She reached for the edge of the marble table, but her hands were numb, sluggish, like they were sinking through water.

Across from her, Penny Sawyer smiled—too sweetly.

“You should lie down,” Penny said, standing gracefully. “You look pale.”

There was no concern in her voice. Only amusement.

Briella’s knees buckled before she could speak. The cup shattered as it slipped from her hand. She collapsed onto the cold floor, breath caught in her throat as her vision swam.

The last thing she saw was Paige—standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, lips curved in cruel satisfaction.

Darkness closed in.

...

Clang! Clang!

She didn’t know how long it had been.

When Briella opened her eyes, the air was stale. Damp. Cold.

Chains rattled as she tried to move.

Her wrists were shackled—actual iron chains, biting into her skin. She panicked, instinctively pulling, only to cry out from the burning pain tearing through her wrists and ankles.

Red marks. Bruised skin. Blood.

She was trapped.

In a cage.

She scrambled backward, pressing herself against the bars, heart pounding like a war drum.

Then she heard the voice.

“Well, well…”

It was Paige.

Smug. Unbothered. Dressed in silk and cruelty.

She knelt just outside the bars, resting her chin in her palm, as if admiring a painting.

“I must say, chains really do suit you, Briella. They highlight your helplessness beautifully.”

Briella glared at her, teeth clenched despite the pain radiating from her wrists. “You… Paige, let me out!”

But Paige only smiled.

“Oh, I don't think you’re in any position to make demands.” She stood slowly, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve. “Let me be clear—this isn’t just about you anymore.”

Her voice dropped, colder than iron.

“Marry Diego Elsher.” The words sliced through the air like a knife.

She continued, her tone mocking. “You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”

Briella blinked, unsure she’d heard correctly.

Paige’s eyes sparkled with sadistic delight. “Yes. You’re going to be his lovely, obedient wife.”

“You’re insane,” Briella rasped. “Why would he ever—?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Paige cut in. “We’ve already made sure you match his taste.”

Her smile widened.

“You’ve changed quite a bit since that tea, haven’t you?”

Briella’s blood ran cold.

Her hands trembled, not from the chains—but from the dawning horror.

“What… did you do to me?”

Paige leaned closer to the bars, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Gave you a face someone powerful won’t be able to resist.”

Then her tone sharpened like a dagger.

“But if you don’t play along, well… accidents happen.”

She pulled out a photograph.

It was grainy. Slightly blurred.

But the boy in it—tied to a chair, bruised and bloodied—was unmistakable.

Kai.

Briella’s little brother.

Her world.

“No…” Her voice cracked. “No, no—why me—?”

Paige shrugged, tucking the photo back into her coat.

“Because you were just a foster child in our family. Poor. Powerless. And most importantly—he doesn’t know you.” She smiled coldly. “I’d gladly take your place as his wife, believe me. But… he won’t let me.”

She scoffed, brushing her hair behind one ear.

“Diego would recognize my ambition from a mile away. I’m too visible. Too known in Avenlith’s society. And he doesn’t want powerful, scheming women.”

“He wants someone quiet. Submissive. Unassuming… someone like you, Briella.”

Briella collapsed to her knees, her whole body shaking.

And Paige’s twisted logic played out like poison:

If she couldn’t have Diego…

She’d control him.

Through the woman in his bed.

And the Sawyer family would rise beyond challenge.

Paige straightened, smoothing her silk coat.

“Make your choice, Briella. Become Diego Elsher’s perfect little bride… or mourn the last family you have.”

And with that, she turned and walked away.

Chains clinked softly in the silence that followed.

...

Briella sat quietly in front of the mirror, dressed in white.

The wedding gown was flawless—its silk layers draped elegantly over her frame, embroidered with tiny, shimmering pearls. But all she could see was the stranger staring back at her.

She touched her face.

It felt smooth. Unchanged beneath her fingertips.

But the reflection…

That wasn’t her.

The woman in the mirror had sharper features. Larger eyes. A more defined nose. Her lips curved in a way Briella didn’t recognize.

Her breath caught.

She had become someone else.

Someone Diego Elsher would want.

She’d heard the stories. A man who operated from the shadows, who held more power than the government itself. Cold. Ruthless. Untouchable. And yet—obsessed with a woman who vanished long ago.

And the Sawyers?

They’d found a sketch. A photograph. Something. And they used it like a blueprint.

They turned her into a ghost.

Her fists clenched in her lap.

Knock! Knock!

The door creaked open on its own.

And then he stepped inside.

Diego Elsher.

Tall. Composed. Dressed in a tailored black suit, his presence sucked the air from the room. Power clung to him like a second skin—clean-cut jawline, dark eyes sharp enough to slice through steel. His black hair was swept back, not a strand out of place.

But it was his gaze that pinned her in place.

Unblinking. Controlled.

He moved slowly, each step measured, stopping just behind her as she sat frozen in front of the mirror. The scent of expensive cologne lingered in the air—clean, cold, masculine.

His eyes met hers in the reflection.

He lifted a hand and brushed her hair aside gently, baring her neck. Her skin tingled under his touch, heat crawling up her spine.

“You look beautiful,” he said, voice deep and low.

Her chest tightened.

Her hands gripped the vanity’s edge, knuckles white.

Then his lips brushed her ear. “Stand up.”

She did.

Her body obeyed before her mind could catch up.

Her brother was still in the Sawyers’ hands.

They said they’d let him go—if she did what they wanted.

Diego turned her to face him.

“I’ve waited a long time,” he murmured. “Too long.”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

He didn’t let her speak.

His lips pressed to hers—firm, commanding. And she hated herself for not pulling away.

Because some part of her—the one that had been isolated, broken, starved for touch—responded.

His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her against him. He was solid. Warm. Dangerous.

She wanted to scream.

But her body betrayed her.

He lifted her easily, carried her to the bed without hesitation. Her veil slid to the floor like snow. Pearls scattered.

The sheets were cool.

His mouth was fire.

The room was filled with wet sounds and heavy breathing.

Skin slapped against skin.

Her moans slipped out with every hard thrust.

Diego held her tightly, moving deep, fast, like he couldn’t get enough of her.

She gripped the sheets, trying to stay quiet—but her body gave her away.

It was too much. Too good.

His touch made her dizzy.

She didn’t even realize it—her hips moved with his.

Soft gasps left her lips. One after another.

Diego grabbed her chin, kissed her again, deeper this time.

“You feel good,” he growled.

***