He approached her with a smooth grace, each step deliberate and measured.
The paparazzi, a frenzy of flashing lights and eager voices, were held at bay by a wall of black-suited guards and stern-faced police officers.
The chaos outside the limousine was making her nervous.
He took her by the elbow, his grip firm and unyielding. "You're shaking," he said, his voice a dark caress.
Evangeline nodded, her teeth chattering slightly. "I'm...I'm just cold," she lied, hoping he would believe her.
With a nod, Vincente scooped her up into his arms, the fabric of his tuxedo brushing against her bare skin.
Then they entered the hotel's grand entrance with guards behind them eyes focused ahead.
The lobby was a flurry of activity, the sound of guests mingling.
She felt his arms tighten around her as they moved through the throng, his steps deliberate and possessive.
Evangeline's cheeks burned with embarrassment as the wedding guests' eyes fell upon them, their whispers a symphony of curiosity and judgment.
The applause grew louder, cheer that echoed through the grand ballroom like the laughter of the damned.
She could feel the weight of their gazes, the question in their eyes. What kind of bride needs to be carried to her wedding?
His eyes never leaving her teary eyes as he walked down the aisle.
The priest stood at the altar, his expression gentle. The white flowers and candles cast flickering shadows across the room.
The pain in her legs was a constant throb, but the emotional pain was unbearable.
Each step he took brought her closer to a future she had never wanted.
Then the ritual started...
"Do you, Evangeline, take Vincente Castellanos to be your lawfully wedded husband?" the priest asked, his voice a solemn echo in the grand ballroom.
Her voice trembled as she forced out the words that would seal her fate. "I do."
Vincent's grip on her tightened almost imperceptibly as he said his own vows, the promise of possession in his tone.
The priest's final blessing rang in her ears like a death knell.
As they turned to face the congregation, a sea of unfamiliar faces stared back at her.
The room was a blur of expensive fabrics and glittering jewels, but she couldn't bring herself to look at any of them.
"You may kiss the bride," the priest said.
Vincent's eyes bore into hers, the dark hunger in them making her stomach turn.
She felt his hand come up to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. His grip was gentle, almost tender, but she knew it was a facade.
"You're mine now," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "Every part of you belongs to me, even your thoughts" and with he claimed her lips in a bruising kiss that left her gasping for air.
The crowd cheered, their clapping hands a distant thunder compared to the storm raging within her chest.
As they pulled away, she felt a tear slip down her cheek, and she quickly brushed it away with the back of her hand.
"Put me down...please," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "I can walk."
Vincent's grip didn't loosen. "You're my bride," he murmured, his voice a dark velvet caress. "And I will not have you limping down the aisle."
Evangeline felt his possessiveness wrap around her like a second skin, suffocating her with its intensity. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. "Please," she whispered, "I can manage. Your hands must be hurting." She said feeling concerned even though he was the reason for her pain but her soft heart couldn't bear hurting others.
Vincent's eyes searched hers, the darkness in them swirling like a tempest in a midnight sea.
He leaned down, his breath warm against her ear "You will not shame me with your limping," he murmured, his voice a velvet threat. "Not here, not now and Im not weak!."
His grip on her tightened, his fingers digging into her arms. She winced but didn't protest, her eyes locked on the floor as they continued down the aisle.
The guests' applause washed over them like a wave of cold water, each clap a stark reminder of the prison she was entering. She could feel the eyes of the congregation boring into her, their smiles painted on like the makeup that concealed her bruises.
"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Castellanos!" A chorus of voices called out, their well wishes as false as the veneer of happiness plastered on their faces.
Vincent's response was a cool, "Thank you all and enjoy the party" his eyes never leaving hers.
After the end the of wedding ceremony
He strode through the mansion's grand halls, carrying her as if she were a prize he had just won, his steps sure and determined.
She felt like a ragdoll in his embrace, powerless to resist or escape.
Her eyes searched his, looking for a hint of compassion or mercy, but all she found was the same cold, haunted her since the day she had been brought to this place.
His jaw was clenched, the muscles in his neck standing out in sharp relief as he carried her.
As they reached the door to his bedroom, he kicked it open with a resounding thud.
The opulent room was bathed in soft moonlight, the heavy velvet drapes drawn back to reveal the vast, starlit sky beyond.
He carried her to the bed, with one final, brutal toss, he threw her onto the plush mattress.
Her red veil on her head....the pins holding it in place digging into her skin.
She reached up, her trembling hands shaking as she tried to remove it, her fear-filled brown eyes never leaving his.
"Allow me," he said, his voice a low rumble.
Vincent's hands were at her neck, his movements swift and deft as he unpinned the veil, his cold hungry eyes focused on her pins.
The fabric fell away.
Her breath was ragged, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath she took.
"Don't," she whispered, her voice barely a thread. "Please, not now. Im not ready yet"
Vincent ignored her, his gaze never wavering.
He reached for the zipper of her wedding dress, his eyes never leaving hers.
She could see the hunger in them, the dark desire that made her stomach churn.
She tried to sit up, her hands coming up to cover her chest.
The zipper whispered open, the fabric parting like the jaws of a beast ready to devour her.
She felt the cool air hit her skin, sending goosebumps along her arms and down her spine.
He paused, his hand hovering over the exposed skin of her back, his breathing harsh.
Evangeline's eyes were wide with fear, her pupils dilated until they almost swallowed the brown irises.
She pressed her hands to her chest, her knuckles white from the force, as if she could hold the fabric together and keep herself safe.
Her legs scrambled against the bed, but the pain in her legs was a reminder of her weakness.
Vincent's gaze never left hers as he reached for his tie, his fingers deftly loosening the knot.
His movements were slow, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.
Then he shrugged off his coat, the fabric sliding off his broad shoulders and landing on the floor with a soft thud.
His shirt was next, the buttons popping open one by one to reveal the taut, muscled chest beneath.
His face was cold, his jaw clenched and his eyes dark with desire.
Evangeline's body tensed, her hands forming fists at her sides as she watched him disrobe.
She could feel the heat of his gaze on her bare skin, even though he had not yet touched her.
She tried to scoot back on the bed, the fabric of the gown whispering against the sheets.
"You're mine," he said, his voice a dark promise. "I own every inch of you, now and forever."