Chapter 5: Married to my Master

The courthouse looked gray and unwelcoming. I clutched the thin shawl Brayden had put over my shoulders, though it did nothing to calm the tremor running through me.

People watched. They always did when Brayden Gatsby walked into a room. Men stiffened, women stared, and whispers rippled through the air like fire spreading across dry grass.

But today was different. Today, I wasn’t just his pet. I was about to be his wife.

His hand clamped around my waist, firm and unyielding.

“Head up,” he murmured against my ear.

My stomach twisted. “Brayden…”

“Mr. Gatsby,” he corrected. His thumb pressed against my side, a warning. “Remember your place.”

I swallowed hard and nodded.

Inside, the courtroom was hushed. The judge sat at the front, brows furrowed as we approached.

Brayden pulled me to the front.

“Mr. Gatsby,” the judge began slowly, “I was told you requested an expedited civil marriage. This is… unusual.” His eyes flicked toward me. “Particularly with this arrangement.”

Brayden’s smirk was sharp enough to cut glass. “I don’t wait. Draw up the papers. She’s mine, and I want it sealed under law.”

The judge hesitated. “Miss Brant… are you entering this marriage of your own will?”

My lips parted, but no sound came out. The room pressed in on me. All those eyes. All those whispers.

Brayden’s hand slid down my back, invisible to the judge but unmistakable to me, a slow, dangerous trail that ended at my hip. His fingers pinched hard, a silent command.

“Yes,” I breathed. “I… I consent.”

The judge’s frown deepened, but he nodded for us to sign. The contract lay heavy on the desk.

I reached for the pen, my hand trembling…

The doors burst open.

Alessia Barged in. The venom in her eyes was directed straight at me.

“You can’t be serious,” she hissed, moving forward. “You’re really marrying her? A common slave?”

Gasps rippled through the courtroom.

Brayden didn’t even glance at her. He pushed the pen into my hand. “Sign, Zoe.”

I froze. Alessia’s shadow fell over me. She leaned close, her voice dripping poison. “If you do this, little girl, you’re dead. The mafia won’t forgive you. My father won’t forgive you. Do you think you’ll last a week in his world?”

My throat constricted.

“Sign.” Brayden’s tone was soft, but laced with steel.

My hand shook as I scrawled my name across the line.

Alessia’s laugh was sharp and cruel. “Oh poor girl. You’ve just signed your death.”

“Enough,” Brayden snapped. “She’s mine. My wife. Touch her, and I’ll tear your family to ashes.”

The judge cleared his throat nervously. “By the authority vested in me… I pronounce you legally married.”

The words echoed, final. I was officially my masters wife.

Brayden reached into his pocket and pulled out not a ring, but a thin platinum band connected to a delicate chain. A collar.

Gasps broke out again as he fastened it around my neck. His lips brushing my ear as he murmured low enough for only me to hear:

“Wife. Slave. Mine. Forever.”

Alessia’s face twisted, her nails digging into her palms. “This isn’t over.”

She spun on her heel and stormed out.

Brayden didn’t flinch. He turned me toward the doors. “Walk.”

The world outside was louder, brighter. The moment the car doors shut behind us, silence swallowed everything.

Then his hand was at my jaw, forcing my face to his.

“You’re now legally bound to me. From today I am your husband. Say it!,” he demanded.

My voice was barely a whisper. “Say what?”

His grip tightened. “Say it, Zoe.”

“…Husband.”

A slow smile curved his lips. “Good girl.”

His mouth claimed mine as the car sped away from the courthouse. His hand slid down, parting my thighs, reminding me that even as a wife, I was still his slave.

The mansion felt colder when we returned. Maybe it was the weight of the chain around my neck.

Brayden didn’t speak as the butler opened the doors. He didn’t speak as we climbed the stairs. He didn’t speak as he led me into his office, the room that smelled of leather, whiskey, and power.

The door clicked shut behind us. He loosened his tie, poured himself a drink, and finally turned toward me.

“Congratulations, Zoe,” he said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “You’ve just become Mrs. Gatsby.”

His eyes gleamed. “But don’t confuse the title. You are my wife. And my property. That means the rules change.”

My heart pounded. “Rules? Change?”

He set the glass down with a sharp clink. Then he stepped closer.

“Yes. Rules. You thought being my slave was hard? Being my wife is worse. Because now you don’t just represent me in the bedroom. You represent me everywhere. In this house. In society. In the mafia’s eyes.”

His hand traced the collar on my neck, pulling lightly. “Rule number one: You do not speak unless spoken to when we are in company. Not to my family, not to my associates, not even to the servants.”

I swallowed. “And if I…”

His hand cracked against my cheek before I could finish. The sting burned.

“Rule number two: You never question me.”

My body trembled.

“Rule number three: Your body, your voice, your loyalty, they belong to me. Entirely. If you disobey, I punish you. If you please me, I reward you.”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing my ear. “Rule number four: No other man. Not their eyes, not their words, not their hands. You smile at them, you thank them, you breathe too close to them, and I’ll remind you who you belong to.”

I swallowed hard. I couldn’t breathe.

“Rule number five,” Brayden whispered, his hand sliding between my thighs, possessive, “Every night, without exception, you will open yourself to me. Your body is my right. My property.”

A tear slipped down my cheek. His thumb caught it, smearing it away with a cruel kind of tenderness.

“And finally… rule number six.” His eyes locked on mine. “You will learn to love your chains. The sooner you accept them, the sooner you’ll understand what it means to be my wife.”

His mouth crushed mine before I could answer, his kiss bruising, sealing the contract with more than ink.

I cursed the day my mother died and left me at the mercy of my stepfather.