Raven stood at the entrance of the grand doors, her fingers clenched tightly around her father's arm.
It is actually happening, and it's for real. She is about to enter a bondage her father set her for and there was no turning back.
The doors swung open, revealing the lavish hall, filled with guests and adorned in florals and gold that screamed wealth and power. The guests rose on their feets, their attention was towards Raven.
But all Raven could hear was the rapid beat of her own heart, thudding painfully in her chest. She didn't want this—every fibre of her being screamed against it—but she had no choice.
Her father leaned down, his voice soft but firm in her ear. "This is the best decision you'll ever make, Raven. Trust me."
Raven swallowed, nodding despite the lump in her throat. With every inch closer to the altar, to Michael, her dread deepen. And then, there he was—Michael—standing tall in his sleek suit, his face unreadable as always. As much as she hated this moment, hated him, she couldn't deny that he was breathtakingly handsome, and that made her mad. The way her body has betrayed her, how her heart sped up just looking at him. How she had lost her virginity to this man, a man who now acted as if she were nothing.
Her breath hitched slightly as they approached the altar, but then, her mind drifted—back to that moment just weeks ago, when she had asked to speak with Michael in private.
—
Two weeks ago.
"What do you want to talk about, Raven?" Michael asked, his voice cold as he locked eyes with her.
Raven took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. "Did you know who I was before that night? Before we—"
Michael didn't even let her finish. A smirk curled on his lips as he cut her off. "Does it matter, Raven?" His tone was sharp, almost cruel. "We're here now, aren't we? Drop it."
Raven's sighed in frustration. "Are you mad at me? I didn't know who you were when we met. Believe me."
"I don't care." He said, slipping his hands into his pockets.
Her irritation grew. "Then why are you acting like this? This... attitude. We need to get along if we're going to go through with this."
Michael paused, staring at her for a moment before scoffing. "This is just who I am, Raven."
Raven let out a nervous chuckle. "And last night? You didn't seem this... harsh. You seemed pretty nice."
Michael took a step toward her, his presence intimidating. Raven moved impulsively, her heart pounding, till her back met the wall. She could feel his breath on her neck as he leaned in so close.
"I guess that's all it took to get under your skirt," he whispered, his voice really low.
His words hit her like a slap, and then, without her even realising it, her hand moved by itself, shocking the two of them by slapping him across the face.
Michael clenched his jaw, trying to act like he wasn't just slapped. He gave her a slow, mocking smile. "Glad to see you've got some fight in you. I'll see you later, fiancée."
Without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving Raven breathless and shaken, her hand still tingling from the impact.
—
Present day.
Raven blinked, pulled back into the present as she walked down the aisle. The memory made her heart harden. She was marrying a devil in disguise. The man who had been charming at first, only to get what he wanted, and now he barely saw her as a person. How could she ever see him as attractive again?
When they reached the altar, her father placed her hand into Michael's. His grip was soft, but Raven felt nothing. No spark, no fluttering of her heart. She was almost relieved—her body, at least, no longer betrayed her feelings. The connection she felt with him was gone. Definitely what she needed.
Michael's face remained stone-cold, his eyes distant as they faced each other. The priest started speaking. Raven didn't bother to listen as the words passed over Raven's head as if they were in a language she didn't understand. The vows were exchanged quickly, both of them saying their lines with no emotion, as if they were reading from a script.
And then, the priest's voice came: "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."
Raven's entire body tensed, her breath caught in her throat. Before she could react, Michael reached out, pulling her toward him with surprising ease. The kiss was quick, barely a brush of lips, cold and mechanical. There was no tenderness, no passion, nothing—just a gesture to seal their fate. But the absence of anything in that kiss, no spark or warmth, left Raven feeling strangely unsettled.
The crowd rose to their feet, clapping and cheering for the newlyweds, but Raven could barely register it. Her hand was in Michael's as the recessional hymn began, urging them toward the exit.
Two ushers open the massive doors. Together, Michael and Raven walked out into the bright sunlight overhead as the congregation followed behind. One of the many photographers waiting outside eager to take the 'happy' couple, stops right in front of them and yells their name.
Before Raven could react, Michael's arm wrapped firmly around her waist, pulling her tightly against him, ignoring the way her body tensed in his grasp.
Raven tried to pull away from him, but he only tightened his grasp around her. He leaned in close, his voice low, barely audible above the noise. "Easy now, Wife. You're mine."
His words sent a shiver down her spine—not from fear, but from the cruel reminder of what she had become. Not a partner, not an equal. Just his possession. And in that moment, as the cameras flashed and people cheered, all Raven wanted was to run far away from it all.