Chapter 8

As we left the church, the difference between Marco and me was crystal clear. I felt like a pawn in some twisted game, while Marco had that smug look, like he'd just won a prize. The reception hall was huge and filled with people celebrating a marriage that felt more like a hostile takeover to me.

Marco's hand stayed glued to my waist, his grip firm and unyielding. Every touch was a reminder that I was now his, whether I liked it or not. I walked beside him, my posture stiff, my face a mask of cold indifference. Guests swarmed around us, congratulating us on our union.

“Congratulations, Marco. You’ve outdone yourself with this one,” one man said, clapping Marco on the back.

“Thank you, Lorenzo,” Marco replied smoothly, his charm never faltering. “We’re very happy.”

I forced a tight smile, nodding politely. My eyes scanned the room, looking for an escape, but there was none. Marco's grip tightened slightly, as if sensing my thoughts.

“Sarah, you look stunning,” a woman gushed, her eye