4.

ISLA

The morning of my wedding felt like a haunting melody I couldn’t escape—each note a reminder of the life I was about to lose. My father had orchestrated a grand ceremony, a spectacle meant to impress, but none of it felt real to me. The house bustled with florists, attendants, and staff, but I felt like a ghost, drifting through the preparations.

“It’s the best decision you’ve ever made, Isla,” Victoria said with a smug smile, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Oliver Blackwood is quite the catch, you know. Even you should understand that.”

I said nothing, keeping my face carefully blank, unwilling to let her see the storm of fear and resentment inside me. She didn’t know what Oliver had once meant to me, didn’t understand the suffocating dread wrapped around my chest.

“You look stunning,” Victoria continued, oblivious. “You should be grateful. Your husband is rich, powerful, and devastatingly handsome.”

I snapped. “Do you ever think about how I feel, Victoria? Do you even care?” My voice trembled with suppressed anger.

Victoria’s eyes narrowed, her amusement fading. “Care? Why should I care? You’re doing this family a service by marrying him. I, Father—we’ve done you a favor. Do you really think any other man of his stature would have chosen you?”

“Then why not you, Victoria?” I hissed, my voice trembling with fury. “You’re the perfect one. Why wasn’t it you?”

“Enough,” my mother’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and cold. “Today is your wedding day, Isla. Let’s not have unnecessary drama.” She turned to Victoria. “Leave us.”

Victoria shot me a final glance filled with disdain but didn’t argue. My mother, ever composed, offered me her hand. I took it reluctantly, the touch colder than I expected. There was no warmth, no reassurance.

I followed her out, the noise of the house fading as we walked toward the grand double doors.

My father came over and took my hand, leading me to the chapel like a lamb going to be slaughtered.

Each step felt heavier than the last, the whispers of the guests blending into a hum I barely registered.

The music swelled as the doors opened. I forced myself to move forward, eyes locking on Oliver. He stood at the altar, every bit the powerful man he had become—tall, commanding, his dark eyes steady on me. His presence filled the room, leaving me breathless, but not in awe—in fear.

There was no escape. Only the cold reality of my fate.

As I reached the altar, Oliver extended his hand, his grip firm and possessive as he led me to stand beside him. The officiant’s voice echoed through the chapel, but the words were distant, meaningless. All I felt was the heat of Oliver’s gaze, as if he were branding me with his eyes.

“Do you, Isla Bennett, take Oliver Blackwood to be your lawfully wedded husband…?”

I hesitated, the question hanging in the air like a noose. For a brief moment, I thought of running, but the memory of my father’s desperation, Oliver’s threats, froze me in place.

“Yes,” I whispered, the word hollow and lifeless.

Oliver’s lips curled into a smile, his satisfaction palpable. His grip tightened on my hand, a silent reminder of the power he held. When it was his turn, he answered without hesitation.

“I do.”

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. I was numb, my body moving mechanically through the vows, the exchange of rings. And then, the final pronouncement.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Before I could react, Oliver’s hand cupped my cheek, his touch possessive. His lips claimed mine in a kiss that held no tenderness, only dominance—a dark promise of everything that was to come. The room erupted into applause, but I barely heard it. I was his now, and the knowledge burned through me like fire.

***********

The reception was an endless charade of smiles and congratulations. Oliver kept me close, his hand never leaving mine, introducing me to his associates as though I were some prize he had won. I felt like a caged bird, desperate for freedom.

At one point, I excused myself, needing air, needing space. But as soon as I found a quiet corner, Oliver appeared, his hand slipping around my waist, pulling me close.

“You’re not trying to run away, are you, Isla?” he whispered, his tone laced with amusement and warning.

“I needed a break,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “It’s been a long day.”

His chuckle was dark, knowing. “The day may be long, but the night is just beginning.”

The implication was clear, his words sending a shiver down my spine. Without a word, I pulled away and walked off, knowing there was no real escape from the man who now owned me.