Chapter 3 - The Forced Wedding Preparation

Sera’s POV:

“I won’t wear this!” I screamed, throwing the terrible silk wedding dress off the bed. It slid to the marble floor like a useless puddle. Two women, they were maids I guessed, though they looked as trapped as I felt. They both flashed each other a look of pure fear.

“Miss Hale,” the older one said, her voice shaking, “Mr. Damien needs you ready before the sun rises.”

“I am not marrying him,” my voice cracks. “I absolutely refuse.”

“You can scream later,” the younger one whispered, her eyes fixed on the dress. “Please, just get dressed.”

I held the robe tighter around my body. My heart hadn’t stopped pounding since he spoke the word marry. “Don’t come near me.”

“We won't,” the older woman promised. “We just have orders to help you… prepare.”

Prepare. The word made me want to vomit. Prepare for a cage or prepare for my life taken from me. My legs felt weak. I stumbled into the bathroom and grabbed edge of the sink until my fingers started hurting. My face stared back at me, I looked wild, my face was smeared with old tears, with a stain of my father’s blood on my cheek from where I brushed against his shirt earlier.

I looked utterly ruined.

“Miss?” A maid stood at the doorway. “The bath is ready. If you don’t hurry, the guards will have to…”

“I said back away!” I shouted.

She instantly disappeared.

I sank into the hot water, trying to stop the endless shaking, but the heat didn’t help. Dad gave me away. He promised me to this monster. The betrayal was a physical pain in my throat. I dipped my head under the water just to drown the sound of my own despair.

*****

The maids left me alone to dress. It was a small mercy. I quickly forced myself into the clothes—the soft silk underthings, the fitted dress, the slippers. Each layer felt less like clothing and more like a chain locking around my chest.

When the women returned, they just gasped softly, then bowed their heads.“You look perfect,” the younger one murmured. No I don’t . I look like a prisoner dressed for execution.

Four men stood outside the door they were all armed and looked massive. They watched me like I was a valuable object.

“Where are we going?” I demanded.. but they all kept quiet.

I took a step forward and two guards moved in front of me and two behind me. I panicked and asked again . “I asked you… where are we going?”

Yet no one answers me. They just kept moving.

“Stop!” My voice rises. “STOP!”

They didn’t. I screamed the word, then jumped at the nearest guard. He instantly stepped back, his massive hands raised in surrender.

“We can’t touch you, Miss,” he said quickly. “Those are the Boss’s orders.”

“Then let me go!”

“We can’t do that either.”

My breath hitched. I started hitting him tiny, useless slaps against his hard chest. “Let. Me. GO!” He just stood there, letting me hit him, refusing to hold me, refusing to push me, letting me crumble into my own desperate rage.My vision got blurred with fresh tears. I couldn’t stand straight anymore.

“Sera.”

The sound of his voice, Damien’s voice stopped the air in my lungs. I turned around and saw him standing at the end of the hall, hands behind his back, looking impossibly controlled in his black suit. His face looked unreadable. But I saw it. It was a tiny, painful flicker of something in his dark eyes. Something like hesitation or maybe regret.

“Why are you doing this?” I whispered, suddenly exhausted.

“Because you must be protected.” His voice was low and firm. “And because your father made this your destiny a long time ago.”

“That is not protection,” I whispered. “That’s stealing my life.”

He took a slow step closer. The four guards instantly left, leaving space around us.

“I will not touch you,” he said, his hands still behind him. “Not unless you ask me to. Not unless you want me to.”

The words were cold and honest. They confused me more than anything he’d done so far.

“You think that makes it okay?” I asked.

“No.” His jaw tightened. “But it gives you back the choice your father took.”

The air between us felt too thick to breathe. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze dropping to my violently shaking hands.

“You’re shaking,” he stated.

“No thanks to you.”

His expression hardened… and then softened.

“Come here.”

“No.”

His brows lifted, a slow challenge. “You truly believe I am the danger right now?”

“You are the danger!”

He stepped closer slowly, watching me. I stumbled back, terrified. My slipper caught the edge of the rug. I gasped and lost my balance, he stretches his hands towards me. I thought he was going to catch me.

But he stopped and his fingers stopped very close to my waist. He didn't make contact. He took his hand back with the effort of holding back.

I managed to balance myself awkwardly with my heart beating very fast.

“Why didn’t you catch me?” I whispered, ashamed.

His eyes were dark. “Because you don’t want my hands on you.”

His honesty was painful and I couldn't look at him.

“Turn around,” he said gently.

“Why?”

“You have something stuck in your hair.”

“I don’t.. ”

He moved before I could finish, slowly and carefully, raising his hand toward me but not touching me.

“May I?” he asked.

The simple request, after all the commands, was devastating. I gave a single, small nod. He carefully brushed a loose strand of hair from my cheek.. and paused. His palm was so close to my skin, warm, making me shiver. Then he leaned in, his breath soft against my ear.

And then… his forehead touched mine. It was barely a touch, just the slightest pressure of skin against skin. I could feel the spark between us. My breath stopped and his stopped too.

“Breathe,” he murmured, his voice rougher now. “I am not going to hurt you, Sera.”

My chest rose shakily.

“That’s it,” he whispered.

His hand lifted and moved down… and this time, he took my wrist. Not hard or forcefully, but to steady me. His thumb pressed lightly against my pulse point.

“Do you feel that?” he asked.

I swallowed, “My heartbeat?”

“No.” His forehead remained against mine, warm and solid. “You’re still alive.”

He was telling me he was the shelter, not the storm.

“I’m safe here?” I whispered, the feeling of his hand on my wrist strangely anchoring. “Why does it feel like I’m not?”

He finally pulled back, just enough to look into my eyes.

“Because,” he said quietly, the warmth leaving me cold, “the people who want you dead haven’t finished their job yet.”

The hallway grew colder and I felt a new kind of fear.

“What do you mean?”

He released my wrist, and I regret the sudden loss of his touch.

“Your father woke up again,” he said. “And he gave me a name.”

“A name?” I could barely form the word.

Damien nodded once.

“The person who tried to murder him,” he said. “The person who told them where you were.”

My blood ran cold.

“Who?” I whispered.

Damien met my eyes, his voice was soft and controlling.

“Your aunt.”