5.

ISLA

The ride back to the estate was suffocating, every second stretched taut with tension. I sat rigidly, my hands clenched in my lap, staring at the sleek leather interior of the car instead of at Oliver Blackwood. He sat beside me, composed, his gaze unwavering as it flicked toward me now and then. He was calm—too calm—as if the chaos swirling inside me didn’t exist.

The silence was unbearable, but I refused to break it. My mind replayed the events of the day like a cruel loop. The wedding was a blur of vows I didn’t mean, a kiss that felt like a claim, and applause that echoed in my ears like a death knell.

Now we were alone, bound by a marriage I wanted no part of.

The car slowed, the massive iron gates to the Blackwood estate looming ahead. My pulse quickened as they swung open, sealing my fate with an eerie finality. I glanced at Oliver, whose expression remained unreadable. He exuded control, dominance, and power—all of it suffocating.

I turned away, looking out the window at the sprawling grounds, desperate to feel anything but the dread pooling in my stomach.

“Comfortable?” His voice broke the silence, smooth and deliberate.

I kept my gaze forward. “Do you care?”

He chuckled softly, a low, unsettling sound. “You’ll learn that I always care, Isla. Everything about you now concerns me.”

The car stopped, and before I could respond, the driver opened my door. I stepped out, the cool night air brushing against my skin like a fleeting comfort. I didn’t wait for Oliver, my feet moving on instinct as I headed toward the entrance of the estate, knowing he was right behind me.

Inside, the grand foyer was dimly lit, the marble floors gleaming under the soft glow of the chandelier. I felt the weight of the house settle over me, like a cage dressed in luxury.

Oliver’s voice echoed softly in the space, each word deliberate. “Welcome home.”

I spun around to face him, my chin raised defiantly. “This is not my home.”

His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “It is now.”

I turned on my heel and headed for the staircase, eager to put as much distance between us as possible. But before I could ascend, his hand closed around my wrist, gentle but unyielding.

“Running already?” His voice was a whisper of amusement.

I wrenched my hand free, glaring up at him. “Don’t touch me.”

His gaze darkened, the amusement fading, replaced by something far more dangerous. “Careful, Isla. You don’t want to start this marriage off on the wrong foot.”

I held his gaze, refusing to back down. “I’m not afraid of you.”

He studied me for a long moment, then released me, his expression cool. “We’ll see. The master bedroom is the fourth door by the right little dove”

Without another word, I stormed up the stairs, every step echoing like a declaration.

When I reached the master bedroom, I locked the door behind me, my heart racing.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at the heavy, ornate furnishings.

I sat in silence for a long while, my thoughts in disarray when the door rattled violently, and I froze. The lock held, but the heavy pounding continued.

“Open the door, Isla,” Oliver’s voice demanded, smooth but edged with menace.

I swallowed hard, my hands trembling, but I said nothing. Maybe if I stayed quiet, he’d walk away.

Silence.

Then the sharp click of the lock. My stomach dropped. I had forgotten that in this house, Oliver Blackwood always had the key.

The door swung open, and there he stood, dark and imposing, the soft light behind him casting shadows over his sharp features. His eyes burned with something primal, something dangerous. He closed the door behind him with a quiet finality, and I backed away instinctively, but there was nowhere to go.

“You think a locked door would stop me?” he asked, his voice low, almost amused, as he stalked toward me.

“Stay away from me,” I warned, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound strong.

He stopped in front of me, his eyes devouring me, taking in every inch of the delicate satin dress that clung to my body. “You’re my wife now,” he said softly, like it was a fact I should have already accepted. “It’s time you understood what that means.”

I tried to sidestep him, but he grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not painful—yet. “Let me go, Oliver!”

His eyes flashed, and without a word, his other hand fisted the fabric of my dress. With one sharp tug, the sound of ripping silk filled the room. My dress fell away in tatters, leaving me exposed, shivering under his gaze.

I gasped, clutching the remnants of the fabric to my chest. “You bastard!” I hissed, my voice thick with fury and fear.

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “You belong to me, Isla. And I take what’s mine.”

I felt tears sting my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “If you do this, then you’d end up having sex with a woman against her will. And that is rape.” I whispered, defiant even as my voice shook.

He paused, his grip loosening slightly. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—hesitation? Regret? But it vanished just as quickly, replaced by the cold, unyielding man I had married.

With a low growl, he released me and stepped back. I stumbled, pulling the remains of my dress around me like armor.

He stood there, staring at me, his chest rising and falling with restrained fury. “You think you’re strong,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “You think you can defy me. But you’ll learn, Isla. You’ll learn. I won’t have you tonight but I’ll very soon.”

He turned abruptly, walking to the door. He paused with his hand on the handle, not looking back. “Sleep well, wife,” he said, his voice mocking. “You’ll need your strength.”

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me trembling, humiliated, and furious.

I stood there, shaking, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I clutched the shredded fabric of my dress tighter, feeling the rage boil inside me, eclipsing the fear.

He might think he’d won tonight, but he was wrong.

“I’ll never let you break me,” I whispered to the empty room.

Not now. Not ever.