Ch 6

Rue’s POV

“What?”

I practically yelled the word, my heart plummeting into my stomach like I had swallowed a lead weight. My voice echoed inside the luxury car, but it didn’t seem to faze either of the men in front of me.

“What do you mean, we are getting married in an hour?!” I urged again, my voice getting louder, more frantic. My breath came in shallow bursts, my fists clenched as I turned sharply to Alessandro, seated just inches from me in the rear seat. His eyes remained fixed unyieldingly ahead.

He didn’t blink. His cold, impenetrable mask remained carved in stone as he drawled evenly, “We’re getting married in an hour.”

I stared at him, eyes bulging. “You’re crazy. No. . . No, you are definitely crazy”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t even glance at me. Not once. Not even when Luka, seated in the front, ended his call and shifted in his seat.

“It’s booked,” Luka said. “Priest and venue are arranged. They’ll be ready for us in an hour.”

I wanted to scream at both of them. I needed someone to acknowledge how utterly absurd this was. “You can’t be serious,” I moaned, my voice trembling. “This isn’t normal! You don’t plan a wedding like it’s a goddamn business meeting!”

Again, he says nothing. Absolutely nothing, Alessandro just sat there like I didn’t exist.

“This is some kind of joke,” I muttered, collapsing backward into the plush leather seat with a defeated sigh.

Still, his face stayed blank. He continued staring straight ahead, arms resting on his thighs, hands loosely clasped. I could almost hear the machinery of his brain whirring, cold, precise, and very much calculating. There wasn’t a single flicker of emotion on his face.

“Tell me, damn it!” I snapped. “You can’t make me do this.”

Finally, he turned to me, slowly, and deliberately. His dark eyes locked onto mine, sharp enough to cut through bone. He didn’t blink. “I can do whatever I want, Rue,” he said softly. “Until your father’s debt is paid in full, you will do as I say.”

I wanted to punch him.

I wanted to scream, to claw at his perfect, arrogant face, to shake the sense back into him. To tell him this is absolutely unnecessary.

Instead, I just sat there, heart racing, and declared “You’re treating me like property. Like some kind of… commodity.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know what this was,” he said, his voice low and tight with restraint. “You signed the contract, didn’t you?”

“A contract that I was going to pay in full in a month! Not blackmailed into marriage!”

Heather leaned back in her seat, a faint curl on her lips that wasn’t quite a smile. “Well, plans changed. See this as collateral damage”

I glared out the window, my fists trembling in my lap. Every bone in my body was screaming at me to run, but there was no way I could run to that Allesandro Vanilli would not find me.

Suddenly, the car slowed and turned sharply into the private lot of a high-end boutique. The windows gleamed with white dresses, glittering shoes, and designer accessories. My chest tightened. Realization slammed into me like a freight train.

“No. No way.”

“Come on,” Alessandro said, already opening his door.

I stayed frozen in place, arms crossed tight over my chest.

“I’m not your property, Mr. Vanilli,” I snapped, digging my heels in. “I said, I’ll pay the debt. I just need more time.”

His jaw clenched. In a swift, controlled motion, he leaned in and grabbed my wrist, so hard it hurt, and firm enough to make it clear I wasn’t going anywhere.

He dipped his head close to mine, voice like iron. “Until you pay off that debt, Rue, whatever I want, you will do.”

“Will you give me my life back, even after I pay the debt? “

He didn't reply me and I had no time to react as he dragged me from the car and led me toward the glass doors of the boutique. My legs moved mechanically, my breath shallow, and my brain barely keeping up with my body.

I wasn’t strong enough to fight him, not here, not like this. Not when Luka is following us like a leech! I know I can not pull the stunt I pulled on my first day by pulling out his gun to make a point. He would kill me. He has warned me.

The receptionist’s head snapped up, startled at first, then immediately straightened and bowed gracefully when she saw who had entered.

“She must be dressed and ready in forty-five minutes,” Alessandro said flatly. “Make her presentable.”

The receptionist didn’t even blink. “Right away, Mr. Vanilli.”

Make me presentable as if I were some kind of object, something to be polished and placed on a shelf.

Two attendants, both tall, slender women in matching black dresses, approached and took me gently by the arms.

“This way, dear.”

“Let’s get you ready.”

I was floating, but not in the dreamy, romantic way. This was a nightmare, and someone had snapped off the escape button. I was moving, but inside…

Inside, my mind was screaming.

They led me into a private dressing room, and for a fleeting second, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were red-rimmed with anger, cheeks flushed, lips trembling under the crushing weight of everything spiraling out of control.

My life was a mess.

They sat me down in the center of a glowing vanity, surrounded by lights and mirrors. The stylists moved like a pit crew, tearing off my clothes, wrestling me into a white gown so elaborate it felt more like a cage than a dress. One began working on my makeup while the other rolled sections of my hair into stiff, perfect curls.

I didn’t fight.

I just sat there. Hollow and defeated. Staring at the unfamiliar girl in the mirror. Tears began to slide down my cheeks, quietly, without resistance.

This wasn’t what I imagined my wedding day would be like, not even close.

“You should be happy, dear,” one of the stylists cooed as she brushed a coat of mascara over my lashes.

I met her gaze in the mirror, cold and sharp.

“Happy?” I echoed, voice laced with venom. “Save it, grandma.”

She blinked, clearly taken aback. But what did she expect? Joy? Excitement? I hadn’t even chosen this man. I hadn’t gotten a proposal, hadn’t said yes, hadn’t picked my own dress. I hadn’t even called my mom.

Mom.

God, I missed her.

If she were still alive, none of this would be happening. She would’ve put a stop to all of it, my father’s gambling, the debt, the contract. She would’ve kept me safe.

Instead, she was six feet under. And I was being measured for a wedding I didn’t ask for.

“I don’t want this,” I whispered to myself.

“I know, darling,” the other stylist said quietly, tucking a jeweled comb into my hair. “But sometimes life makes the choice for us.”

No. Life didn’t make this choice, the devil, Alessandro did.

And my pathetic excuse for a father handed me over like I was one of his goddamn poker chips.

As if summoned by the fury in my chest, the dressing room door opened, and Alessandro stepped inside. He looked calm. Too calm. He wore a black tailored tuxedo that screamed power and control. Every movement was calculated.

His gaze swept over me once. And that was it, not a compliment, no smile, just a nod, then he checked his watch.

“Fifteen minutes.”

I clenched my fists in my lap, nails digging into my palms.

That motherfucker!