The rope cut into my wrists before the priest could even finish the opening prayer.
Not silk. Not ceremonial ribbon. Not anything soft that should have brushed my skin.
Coarse, rough rope. Burning, choking, impossible to ignore.
I screamed. My bouquet slipped from my hands and scattered across the stone floor. White petals crushed beneath boots. I tried to grab them, but my fingers slipped over petals wet with dew or sweat—I couldn't tell.
"Jane! Jane!" My mother's voice cracked the air like glass breaking. She ran toward me, skirts tangling around her legs, but guards shoved her back. She fell to her knees, screaming. The sound tore at me. I wanted to cry, but nothing came out. Only panic, hot and raw, filling every hollow in my chest.
"This isn't part of the ceremony!" I shouted. "Father! Stop! Somebody stop this!"
No one answered.
I looked at my father. He stood at the front of the hall, hands clenched in front of him, face pale and frozen. Not frozen in shock. Frozen in decision. He would not meet my eyes. He would not say a word.
I understood before I even saw him.
I wasn't a bride.
I was payment.
Metal clanged behind me. Cold hands grabbed my arms, yanking me backward. Pain shot up my shoulders. My veil slid down, blinding me for a second, and then tore free. My chest tightened. I struggled, clawing at the rope, screaming, spitting words no one could hear over my mother's wailing.
"Stop! You don't get to—Don't!" I screamed. My voice broke. I tasted blood. My lips split from biting too hard.
The hall was silent, except for the muffled sobs of my mother and the scraping of boots on stone. Every guest froze. Some stared, wide-eyed. Some lowered their heads. A few whispered behind cupped hands.
Then I saw him.
Sam.
Sam of the Black Lands. The enemy lord. The man who had burned cities. Who had left villages screaming in the ashes. Who had destroyed kingdoms and left kings to beg for mercy.
He didn't stand on ceremony. He didn't wear armor. He didn't wield a sword. He just…was. Sitting at the far end of the hall, one arm draped casually over the back of a chair, dark eyes fixed on me. Watching. Measuring.
The calm in his gaze made my stomach twist. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to scream. I wanted to sink into the floor.
"So," he said, voice low and deliberate. "This is what you offer instead of gold?"
My father swallowed, voice trembling. "She is… untouched. Pure. Raised to obey."
I gagged.
"I'm not yours!" I hissed, the words cracking. "I will not obey you. I would rather die than—"
His dark eyes flicked toward me, amused. Not cruel. Not kind. Just…assessing. Like a predator testing the air for weakness.
He stood. The scrape of his boots on stone echoed in the hall. Each step deliberate, slow, making my panic twist tighter. He stopped in front of me. Close enough that I could smell him. Smoke. Steel. Something else. Blood? Fear? Something darker I couldn't name.
He crouched. Lifted my chin with one finger.
My pulse skipped.
I tried to bite him. Foolish. He caught my jaw easily. His thumb pressed against my cheekbone. Warning, not pain.
"Spirited," he said. "You didn't mention that."
"I'm not yours!" I spat. "I don't belong to you. I will never—"
"Your family disagrees," he said, straightening. His gaze flicked to my father. "She'll do."
My heart thundered in my chest. My knees buckled. My mother screamed louder. My father did nothing.
Chains clanged. Cold metal wrapped around my wrists. He snapped his fingers. Just like that. Done. Finished. There was no choice.
"You should stop begging," Sam said, leaning close to my ear as I was dragged away. His breath smelled of smoke and iron. "It's already done."
The doors slammed behind us.
And my old life ended.
We rode through the night.
I don't even remember the city gates opening behind us. Only the cold wind, the rough grip of chains, the constant, suffocating presence of Sam behind me.
The horse lurched, and I gasped, clinging to the chain and the reins, my legs shaking. My back was pressed to him. Too close. Too warm. I hated it. My mind screamed to move, to pull away, but the chain cut into my wrists whenever I shifted.
"Stop struggling," he murmured. Not harsh. Not loud. Just…certain.
I stopped.
But I hated myself for it.
He laughed. Low, quiet. Shaking my blood with it. "Good. I like it when they fight. It keeps things interesting."
The night dragged on. Every rock in the road jabbed into my legs. Every cold gust of wind scraped against my raw skin. My wrists burned. My mouth was dry. My throat ached from screaming. And still, I could not let my eyes leave him.
He was always there. Watching. Waiting. Measuring.
When dawn came, we reached the Black Lands.
The fortress rose like a black wound in the landscape. Walls taller than anything I had ever seen. Towers like daggers. Banners snapping in the wind.
The soldiers dismounted and seized me again. My knees trembled. I wanted to collapse. I tried. My body gave out. Pain shot from my shoulders to my toes. My arms screamed inside the chains.
"You will walk," Sam said. "Or I will make you crawl."
I did not move fast enough. He stepped closer, and I felt the heat of his body press against mine. I could hear the low rumble of his voice behind me as he gave orders. Every word a warning, every glance a reminder: I belonged to him.
They dragged me inside.
The walls were colder than the air outside. Stone scraped my arms. The chains bit deeper. My dress tore further. I didn't care. Every step felt like a mile. Every breath a punishment.
Sam walked beside me. Not touching me. Not speaking. Just…present. Dominant. Watching.
I hated him. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to throw myself off the nearest wall. I wanted my mother, my father, my old life. But all that had died outside the gates.
Inside the fortress, the guards pushed me into a room. Sparse. Stone walls. No decorations. A single window, high and narrow. A cot in the corner. A basin. Nothing else.
"Here," one guard said, dropping the chain. It clanged against the floor.
I collapsed. On my knees. On my face. On anything I could touch. My chest heaved. My eyes burned. My hands bled.
Sam stepped inside after them. The guards bowed, then left.
He looked at me. Not angry. Not amused. Just…him. Calm. Certain.
"You'll stay here," he said softly. "Until I say otherwise."
"I will never—" I tried to stand. My body shook. "I will not obey you."
He raised a hand. One finger. I froze.
"You belong to me now," he said. Quietly. And that was all.
I sank back to the floor, trembling.
And for the first time, I truly understood: nothing would save me. Nothing would stop this. Nothing.The chain clattered when I collapsed, but I couldn't move. My limbs were too heavy. My wrists burned, raw from the rope and metal, and every breath felt sharp in my lungs. I pressed my face to the cold stone floor, wishing it would swallow me. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to go back. I wanted to scream until someone—anyone—stopped this. But there was no one. There was only Sam.
He didn't sit. He didn't leave. He just stood there, black boots planted firmly, hands clasped behind his back, watching me. Calm. Patient. Terrifying.
"You think you have a choice," he said softly. The words were almost casual. Almost like he was talking about the weather. "You don't."
I lifted my head, hissing, my lips cracking as I tried to speak. "I will fight. I will—" My voice broke. He didn't even flinch.
"You'll fight," he repeated. "I don't mind. It's amusing."
The way he said it made my stomach churn. Amusing. My pain, my fear, my struggle—it was entertainment to him. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would burst.
I tried to roll away, but the chain tugged harshly, cutting into my wrists. I screamed, the sound raw, high, desperate. My nails dug into the floor, leaving scratches. Every inch I moved, he tightened his grip. He didn't have to touch me. His presence alone was enough.
"Stop struggling," he murmured. Not a command, not a threat. Just…certainty.
I froze. My body trembling. My mind screaming. I hated him. I hated myself for being afraid. I hated every nerve in my body for reacting this way.
He took a step closer. I tried to shrink back, but the chains pulled me forward. My knees scraped against the stone, small cuts opening and burning. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
"You'll learn," he said. Calm. Patient. Certain.
I spat at him. I don't know why. Maybe because I had to do something. Maybe because I thought it would matter. The spit hit his boot. He looked down, then back at me. Nothing. No anger. No recoil. Just…calm.
"You have spirit," he said. "That will make this more interesting."
My blood boiled. I wanted to punch him. To kick him. To do anything to hurt him. But my body refused. My wrists throbbed. My arms ached. My legs trembled. Every muscle screamed, and still I could not escape him.
He circled me slowly, boots scraping against the stone, the sound magnified in the silence. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. Fast. Frantic. I felt dizzy.
"You're scared," he said. Observation, not accusation. Just stating fact.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear him apart with my bare hands. I wanted to throw myself at him, at the guards, at the walls, at anything that could give me back control.
I was shaking. Not just from fear. From rage. From humiliation. From the total loss of everything I had ever known.
I was a prisoner. I was property. And he knew it.
He stopped. Close. So close that his shadow fell over me. My stomach twisted. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to scream. I wanted to collapse.
"You'll stay here tonight," he said softly. "You'll sleep here. You'll eat here. You'll learn the rules before I decide whether to punish you."
I swallowed, dry, trying to find words. My throat was raw. My lips cracked. My voice barely came out. "I will never obey you," I whispered.
He tilted his head, amused. "You say that now."
I clenched my fists, the chains biting deeper. My nails dug into my palms. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to scream. I wanted to die.
He didn't move. Didn't rush. Just stood there, letting me writhe in my fear, letting me burn in my panic.
And I hated it. I hated him. I hated me. I hated everything.
I didn't know how long I stayed like that, pressed to the floor, trembling. Minutes? Hours? Time had no meaning. The only thing that existed was fear. And Sam. And chains. And me, utterly powerless.
Eventually, he spoke again. "Eat."
I looked up. There was a bowl of something—liquid, dark, unidentifiable—placed on the floor. The smell was faintly metallic. I didn't move.
"Eat," he said again, sharper this time.
I wanted to throw it at him. To scream. To spit it out. To do anything to assert myself. But my hands were chained. My arms were weak. My body refused. Hunger clawed at me, but pride—and rage—was stronger.
He crouched to my level. Close enough that I could see the faint glint of his eyes in the dim light. "Eat," he repeated. "Or you'll regret it."
I swallowed. Slowly. My throat a desert. My lips cracked. I forced myself to touch the bowl, the contents sloshing against my fingers. I brought it to my mouth, tasting it. Bitter. Foul. Metallic. But I ate. Small spoonfuls. Shaking. Tears streaking my face.
He watched. No expression. No approval. Just…watching.
When I finished, he stood. "Good," he said. "You'll need your strength."
I wanted to spit at him. My body screamed at me to strike, to claw, to do anything. But my arms ached. My wrists burned. My legs were bruised from the ride. And the truth settled over me like ice: I could not win. Not tonight. Not ever.
He left the room. Closed the door. The lock clicked. I pressed myself to the floor, hugging my knees. Shaking. Crying. Trying to breathe. Trying to survive.
Hours passed. Maybe minutes. I couldn't tell. Every sound made me flinch. The faint scrape of boots. The clatter of chains. The wind against the stone walls.
I hated him. I hated myself. I hated the world.
And still, I knew—he had not even begun.
The door clicked behind him, and the silence hit me like a physical blow.
No footsteps. No voice. Just stone walls and my own ragged breathing. My wrists ached, throbbing from the chains. I flexed my fingers. Every movement was pain. Every movement reminded me I was trapped.
I pressed myself to the floor, knees pulled to my chest, shivering—not from cold, but from fear and rage and exhaustion tangled together.
I hated him. Hated him for every calm step, every quiet word, every look that made me feel like I had been stripped bare and displayed.
I hated myself for feeling it.
For shivering. For curling in on myself. For tasting the bitter metallic tang of the chain in my mouth when I bit my lips.
I tried to stand. Wobbled. Collapsed back onto the floor.
I thought about screaming. I wanted to. I needed to. But the walls swallowed sound. My voice felt weak, small, useless.
The faint sound of chains scraping against stone made me flinch. My heartbeat spiked. My chest felt hollow and tight at the same time.
I pressed my back to the cold wall. Tried to breathe. Tried to make sense of it. Tried to plan.
Escape? There was none.
Revenge? Not yet.
I would survive tonight. That was all I could promise myself.
I sat like that for what felt like hours. My mind ran in loops, imagining what he might do next.
Would he return?
Would he test me again?
Would he hurt me worse if I didn't obey?
My stomach churned. I felt sick. Nausea clawed up my throat.
I gagged, retching into the stone floor. My own body betrayed me.
I closed my eyes. Tried to block everything. Tried to disappear. Tried to believe that if I didn't see him, if I didn't think about him, maybe—maybe—I could survive.
But every time I dared to rest, to let myself calm, the memory of his eyes, cold and measuring, came back.
And my stomach twisted.
I had no idea how long I sat there. Time had no meaning. I counted nothing. I could barely remember what day it was. Hunger gnawed at me, but fear overrode it. Exhaustion pressed down, heavier than the chains, heavier than the stone floor.
And then I heard it.
The scraping of boots. Slow. Methodical. Deliberate.
I froze. My heart leaped. My wrists throbbed against the chains. I tried to shrink back. But the chains didn't let me. I was caught, pinned, exposed.
The door opened.
Sam stepped in.
He didn't speak at first. Just stood there, boots clicking against the floor. Hands clasped behind his back. Watching. Measuring. Waiting.
I wanted to spit at him. I wanted to scream. I wanted to claw at the floor, at the walls, at the chains. I wanted to throw myself at him, at anything.
My body shook.
He crouched. Close enough that I could see the faint glint in his eyes, the small smirk tugging at his mouth. "You're not used to this," he said.
"I… will not obey you," I whispered. My throat burned. My lips cracked. I tasted blood.
He tilted his head. "Yet."
Every word, a trap. Every glance, a warning. Every silence, a punishment.
He gestured. A tray appeared in his hand. Something to eat. Something to drink. The smell hit me before I saw it. Faintly metallic. Bitter. Thick. Unappetizing.
I shook my head. "I will not—"
"You will eat," he said calmly. "Or you will regret it."
I glared. Tried to look defiant. Tried to make him leave. Tried to make him go.
I took a bite. Bitter. Foul. Metallic. Choked it down. My hands trembled. My lips quivered. My chest ached. He watched. Calm. Certain. Enjoying nothing, enjoying everything.
When I finished, he said simply, "Good." And left the room. The lock clicked behind him.
I collapsed to the floor again. Hugged my knees. Shaking. Sobbing. Trying to breathe. Trying to survive.
Night came. I didn't sleep. I couldn't. Every shadow looked like a hand reaching for me. Every creak in the stone sounded like him entering. Every gust of wind reminded me of the chains and the cold.
I thought about my family. My mother. My father. My home. My life. Gone. All gone.
I hated them. I hated myself. I hated him.
And somewhere, deep in the pit of fear and rage, something else flickered.
Defiance.
I would not—could not—let this break me completely.
But I was so small. So weak. So entirely in his control.
And I hated it.
Hours passed. Maybe days. Time blurred. I tried to stand once. Fell. Tried to stretch my wrists once. Hurt more. Tried to scream once. Nothing came out.
Sam returned. Calm. Certain. Watching. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. He only needed to be there. To exist in the room. To remind me that everything—my body, my thoughts, my will—was under his gaze.
He crouched. Close. Close enough that I could feel his breath.
"You're stronger than most," he said softly. "But you will learn. You always do."
I wanted to throw myself at him. Wanted to scream. Wanted to die.
But I didn't.
I couldn't.
And that was when I realized the true fight was only beginning.I wake before dawn. My wrists throb in the chains, burning, raw. The metal bites into me with every shift, every twitch of my fingers. My back aches where I pressed it against the stone wall. My legs are stiff, cramped, bruises forming from the fall yesterday, from the ride, from the chains.
I try to rise.
I fall immediately.
I bite my lip until it bleeds.
I hate myself. I hate him. I hate that I am alive. I hate that my chest heaves. I hate that the room is cold. I hate the silence.
I close my eyes.
And it is worse.
I see his dark eyes, his smirk, the way he made me feel exposed, stripped bare, like I was nothing and yet everything.
I sit in the corner, pressed to the wall. I count nothing. I do nothing. I try to breathe.
The door opens.
Not suddenly. Not violently. Not in a way that alerts me.
Just a soft click.
A shadow crosses the floor.
Sam steps in.
No words. He doesn't need them. He doesn't have to speak. His presence fills the room. Every inch, every breath, every heartbeat. I feel trapped. Every nerve is on fire. My wrists scream. My chest tightens. My stomach flips.
He crouches, close enough that I can smell him. Smoke, metal, something darker. Blood? War? Fear? I can't name it. It twists in my stomach. I want to vomit. I want to scream. I want to throw myself at him.
"You look worse than I expected," he says. Calm. Certain. Detached.
"I am fine," I whisper. My voice cracks. My throat hurts. My lips bleed.
He tilts his head. Smirk. "You will learn quickly that pretending doesn't change reality."
I flinch.
I want to strike him. Punch. Kick. Scratch. Anything. My body trembles. My legs shake. My hands shake. The chains don't let me. They bite into my wrists, remind me that I am trapped.
"You'll eat," he says, and a tray appears. Food. Water. The smell is faintly metallic. Foul. I stare. My pride fights hunger.
"You will eat," he repeats. "Or you will regret it."
I try to refuse. I shake my head. My body trembles. I hate him. I hate the situation. I hate myself.
I force myself to touch the food. Slowly. Trembling. My fingers shake as I bring the bowl to my lips. The taste is bitter, metallic, disgusting. I gag. I choke. Tears streak my face. He watches. Calm. Certain. Enjoying nothing, enjoying everything.
When I finish, he says, simply: "Good." And leaves. The lock clicks behind him.
I collapse. Shaking. Crying. Trying to breathe. Trying to survive.
Hours pass. Maybe minutes. Maybe forever. I do not know. Time has no meaning here. Every sound makes me flinch. Chains scraping. Boots against stone. Wind against the walls. My own ragged breath.
I think of my family. My home. My old life. Gone. All gone.
I hate them. I hate myself. I hate him.
And somewhere in that rage, somewhere in that hollow pit of fear, a spark of defiance flickers.
I will not break. Not completely. Not yet.
Night comes. I try to sleep. I cannot. Shadows move across the stone. Every creak echoes. Every gust of wind shakes the room. I curl tighter, trying to disappear, trying to convince my body and mind that nothing exists beyond the walls, the chains, the air.
A sound. A scrape. I freeze. My chest tightens. My throat aches. My wrists scream. I cannot hide. There is nowhere to hide.
The door opens.
Sam steps in.
No words. No motion. Just presence. Dominant. Terrifying. Certain.
I want to throw myself at him. To scream. To die. To claw the chains off. But I cannot.
He crouches. Close. Eyes glint. Smirk. "You're not used to this," he says.
"I will not obey you," I whisper, throat raw, lips cracked.
He tilts his head. "Yet."
Every word is a trap. Every glance a warning. Every silence a punishment.
I think of escape. My body aches. My wrists are raw. My legs stiff. My arms weak. Hunger gnaws. Fear screams. Pride fights.
I cannot move.
I cannot act.
And I hate it.
Sam leaves. Door clicks. Silence returns. I collapse. Shaking. Breathing ragged. Every nerve alive with pain, fear, rage. I hug myself. I close my eyes. I will survive. Somehow.
I sit in that cold room, pressed to the wall, trembling. Counting nothing. Feeling everything. Pain. Hunger. Fear. Rage. Shame. Humiliation. Despair. Defiance. Every second stretches. Time has no meaning.
I curse him. I curse myself. I curse the world.
And deep inside, I swear: I will find a way to fight back.The room felt smaller at night. The shadows stretched across the stone walls like dark fingers, crawling toward me. Every sound was amplified—the scrape of a chain, the whisper of wind through the narrow window, my own heartbeat pounding so loudly it seemed to shake the floor.
I tried to lie down, but the chains tugged at my wrists, and my arms ached too much to fully stretch. My back pressed against the cold stone wall, bruises stinging where I'd fallen. My stomach churned with hunger. My throat was raw from screaming. My lips cracked from biting too hard.
I tried to close my eyes. Tried to sleep. Tried to vanish inside my own head.
But it was impossible.
Every time I blinked, I saw him. Sam. Watching. Measuring. Waiting. Calm. Certain. Terrifying. I hated him. I hated the way his presence made my blood run hot and cold at the same time. I hated the way my body reacted even as my mind screamed in defiance.
I shifted slightly. The chain tugged. Pain lanced through my wrists. I bit my lip to stop myself from crying out.
I hated him.
I hated myself.
I hated this room.
And yet—I survived.
Hours passed. Maybe minutes. Maybe an eternity. I lost track. Hunger gnawed at me, but fear overrode it. Exhaustion pressed down on my chest. I pressed my hands to my face and tried to breathe through it.
The door opened.
I froze. My chest leaped. My wrists throbbed. My stomach twisted.
He entered.
No words. No motion. Just presence. Dominant. Certain. Terrifying.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to claw at him. I wanted to throw myself at him. I wanted to disappear. But I could not. My body refused.
He crouched. Close. Close enough to see the glint in his eyes. The smirk tugging at his mouth. "You're not used to this," he said softly.
"I… I will not obey you," I whispered. My throat burned. My lips cracked.
He tilted his head. "Yet."
Every word, a trap. Every glance, a warning. Every silence, a punishment.
He left. Door clicked. Silence returned. I collapsed to the floor, hugging my knees, trembling. Trying to survive. Trying to breathe. Trying to convince myself that somehow I could. Somehow.
I thought about my family. My home. My old life. All gone. Everything gone.
I hated them. I hated him. I hated myself.
And somewhere in that rage, a spark of defiance flickered.
I would not break completely. Not yet.
The next day, light came through the narrow window. Weak, pale, and sharp. It didn't warm the room. It illuminated every bruise, every tear, every cut from the chains and the floor and the ride. My hair was matted. My lips split. My skin sticky. My eyes dry and red from crying and lack of sleep.
I tried to move. Stand. Stretch. Adjust. But pain stabbed through every limb. I groaned softly, hating every sound I made.
Footsteps approached.
I froze.
Sam entered. No guard. No announcement. Just him. Calm. Dominant. Certain.
"You slept poorly," he said. Statement, not question. Observation.
"I… didn't sleep," I whispered. My voice cracked. My arms shook.
He circled me slowly, each step deliberate. I flinched at the scrape of his boots. Tried to make myself small, tried to make myself invisible, tried to convince him I was nothing. But he saw me. Always saw me.
"You'll eat," he said, and food appeared. He placed it before me. The smell hit me—faintly metallic, bitter. I gagged.
"You will eat," he said, and crouched close. "Or you'll regret it."
I hated him. Hated myself for being afraid. Hated that I was trembling. Hated that I even wanted to spit at him but couldn't.
I ate slowly. Tiny bites. My stomach turned. My throat burned. He didn't look away. He didn't need to. He only needed to watch.
When I finished, he said: "Good. You'll need your strength." And he left, door clicking.
I pressed myself to the wall. Tried to breathe. Tried to survive. Hunger mixed with fear, pain, and shame. I hated everything. I hated myself. I hated him.
And deep inside, a tiny spark of anger remained.
I woke to the faint scrape of stone on stone. My wrists screamed. Pain lanced through my arms, but I couldn't move properly. Every movement reminded me I was trapped. My back pressed against the cold wall, bruises forming, every muscle screaming. I wanted to curl smaller. I wanted to vanish. My stomach growled, hunger clawing, but fear overrode it. I could barely remember how to breathe.
The chains clinked faintly when I shifted, reminding me that I was here. Forever? I pressed my face to my knees. I could taste the metallic tang of my own blood from biting my lips. My body trembled. I hated myself for trembling. I hated him for being so…calm, so certain, so untouchable.
A noise outside. Soft. Footsteps. My stomach flipped. My pulse raced. My wrists throbbed. I pressed harder against the wall. Tried to disappear. Tried to make myself small. Tried to breathe quietly.
The door opened.
Sam entered. No words. No announcement. Just him. Dominant. Certain. Terrifying. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw myself at him. I wanted to claw the chains, the floor, the walls—anything. But I couldn't. My body refused.
He crouched near me. Close enough to see the glint in his eyes, the smirk on his lips. "You're not used to this," he said softly.
"I… will not obey you," I whispered. Throat raw, lips cracked.
He tilted his head. "Yet."
Every word, a trap. Every glance, a warning. Every silence, a punishment.
He circled me slowly, boots scraping against stone. Each step deliberate. I flinched at every sound. Tried to make myself invisible. Tried to disappear. Tried to convince myself I was nothing. But he saw me. Always.
"You'll eat," he said, and food appeared. The smell hit me: bitter, metallic. I gagged.
"You will eat," he said again, crouching. "Or you'll regret it."
I shook my head. Trembling. My pride fighting hunger. My body shaking. I hated him. I hated myself. I hated that I was afraid.
I touched the food. Slowly. Trembling. Tiny bites. My throat burned. My stomach twisted. He didn't look away. Didn't need to. Watching was enough.
When I finished, he said, "Good. You'll need your strength," and left. The lock clicked. Silence returned.
I collapsed. Hugged myself. Pressed to the wall. Tried to breathe. Tried to survive. Hunger, fear, pain, and shame tangled together. I hated everything. I hated myself. I hated him.
Hours passed. I couldn't tell. Time blurred. Shadows shifted. Every noise, every scrape, every wind gust made me flinch. My heartbeat drummed painfully. I closed my eyes. Tried to vanish.
Sleep came, but nightmares followed. My wedding. The ropes. My mother screaming. My father watching. Sam's eyes, dark and calculating, fixed on me. I woke screaming. My wrists throbbed. My lips cracked. My back stung from lying on the floor.
Morning light came through the narrow window. Weak, pale. No warmth. My body stiff. My muscles cramped. Bruises from falling, chains, and the ride throbbed. My stomach twisted with hunger. My throat ached. My mind raced.
Footsteps. I froze.
Sam entered. No guard. No announcement. Just him. Calm. Dominant. Certain. Terrifying.
"You slept poorly," he said. Observation, not question.
"I… didn't sleep," I whispered. Throat raw. Arms trembling.
He circled me slowly. Each step deliberate. I shrank. Tried to disappear. Tried to make myself nothing. But he saw me. Always.
"You'll eat," he said, and a tray appeared. Faintly metallic smell. Bitter. I gagged.
"You will eat," he repeated. Crouching. Close. "Or you'll regret it."
I tried to refuse. Shaking. Trembling. My body weak. Pride fighting hunger. Fear screaming.
I forced myself to eat. Small bites. My stomach churned. My throat burned. Tears streaked my face. He watched. Calm. Certain. Enjoying nothing. Enjoying everything.
When finished, he said, "Good," and left. The door clicked. Silence returned.
I pressed myself to the wall. Tried to breathe. Tried to survive. Hunger, fear, pain, and shame tangled. I hated everything. Hated him. Hated myself.
Night returned. I couldn't sleep. Every shadow a threat. Every sound a warning. Every gust of wind a predator. Chains dug into my wrists. Pain burned. Every nerve screamed.
I thought of my family. My old life. Gone. Everything gone. I hated them. I hated him. I hated myself.
Somewhere in that chaos, a spark of defiance survived. I would not break completely. Not yet.
I tried to stretch. The chains cut deep. I pressed against the wall, biting my lip until it bled. Tried to measure my pain, my limits.
Footsteps again. Soft. Deliberate. Predictable. I froze.
The door opened.
Sam entered. No words. No motion. Dominant. Terrifying. Certain.
"You're stronger than most," he said softly. "But you'll learn. You always do."
I wanted to throw myself at him. Scream. Die. Claw at the floor, chains, anything. My body refused.
He crouched. Close. Eyes glint. Smirk. "You're not used to this," he said.
"I… will not obey you," I whispered.
He tilted his head. "Yet."
Every word, a trap. Every glance, a warning. Every silence, a punishment.
I thought about escape. My body ached. My wrists raw. Legs stiff. Arms weak. Hunger clawed. Fear screamed. Pride fought.
I couldn't move. I couldn't act. I hated it.
And that was when I realized: the fight was only beginning.I tried to close my eyes. Tried to sleep. But the shadows of the stone walls seemed to reach for me, stretching and twisting into shapes that weren't there. Every scrape of the chain against the floor made my heart leap. Every gust of wind through the narrow window made me shiver. My back ached. My wrists burned. My legs cramped. My stomach twisted with hunger.
I curled tighter. Pressed myself to the wall. Tried to vanish. Tried to make myself nothing. Tried to breathe quietly, to disappear into the shadows, to convince myself I was gone, that he could not see me, that nothing mattered.
But he was always there. Always. In my mind, in my fear, in the ache of my wrists and the sting of my back.
I heard the scrape of boots on stone. My chest froze. My heart raced. My muscles tensed. I pressed harder against the wall. I wanted to scream. I wanted to fight. I wanted to throw myself at him and die.
The door opened.
He stepped inside. No words. No announcement. Just him. Dominant. Certain. Terrifying.
I hugged myself tighter. Tried to make myself smaller. Tried to disappear. Tried to vanish. My body trembled, legs weak, arms shaking. My wrists screamed.
He crouched near me. Close enough to see the glint in his eyes, the smirk tugging at his lips.
"You're not used to this," he said softly. Observation. Statement. Not a question.
"I… I will not obey you," I whispered. Throat raw. Lips cracked.
He tilted his head. "Yet."
Every word, a trap. Every glance, a warning. Every silence, a punishment.
He circled me slowly. Boots scraping. Deliberate. Each step a measure of control. My stomach twisted. I shrank. Tried to disappear. Tried to make myself nothing. But he saw me. Always.
"You'll eat," he said, and food appeared. The smell hit me first: metallic, bitter, foul. I gagged.
"You will eat," he repeated, crouching closer. "Or you'll regret it."
I tried to refuse. Tried to shake my head. Trembling. Shaking. Weak. Pride fighting hunger. Fear screaming.
I forced myself to eat. Tiny bites. My stomach churned. My throat burned. Tears streaked my face. He didn't look away. Didn't need to. Watching was enough.
When I finished, he said, simply: "Good. You'll need your strength," and left. The door clicked. Silence returned.
I collapsed to the floor. Hugged myself. Tried to breathe. Tried to survive. Hunger, fear, pain, and shame tangled together. I hated everything. I hated him. I hated myself.
Hours passed. Time lost all meaning. Shadows shifted across the walls. Chains scraped. Wind whistled. My own ragged breathing echoed. My body ached. My wrists burned. My stomach twisted. Every nerve was alive with pain, panic, and humiliation.
I thought about my family. My home. My old life. All gone. Everything gone. I hated them. I hated him. I hated myself.
And somewhere, deep in the pit of despair, a spark of defiance remained. I would not break completely. Not yet.
Night deepened. I tried to sleep. Impossible. The shadows of the fortress seemed to watch me, creep closer, shift into forms of fear I could not name. My wrists throbbed. My back ached. Hunger gnawed. Exhaustion pressed down. Every muscle screamed.
I pressed myself against the wall. Tried to vanish. Tried to shrink into nothing. Tried to pretend I did not exist.
Footsteps.
I froze.
The door opened.
Sam entered. No guards. No announcement. Just him. Dominant. Certain. Terrifying.
"You're stronger than most," he said softly. "But you'll learn. You always do."
I wanted to scream. To claw at him. To throw myself at the chains and walls and bite until my teeth bled. My body refused.
He crouched. Close. Eyes glint. Smirk. "You're not used to this," he said.
"I… I will not obey you," I whispered.
He tilted his head. "Yet."
Every word, a trap. Every glance, a warning. Every silence, a punishment.
I tried to stand. My legs shook. My wrists screamed. My back burned from sleeping on the cold stone floor. I collapsed again. Tried to breathe. Tried to survive. Hunger and pain battled pride and defiance inside me.
I thought of escape. Every route, every weak point in the fortress, every strategy I had imagined in my mind—it was useless. The chains held me. The walls were too high. The locks unbreakable. And Sam…Sam was everywhere and nowhere at once. Always watching. Always certain.
I pressed my face to my knees. My lips cracked. Tears streaked my face. Every nerve screamed.
I hated him. I hated myself. I hated the walls, the chains, the stone, the hunger, the fear.
But I survived. Somehow.
Morning light broke through the narrow window. Pale. Weak. No warmth. Illuminating every bruise, every tear, every cut. My hair matted. Lips split. Eyes dry from crying. Arms stiff. Legs cramped. Hunger gnawed. My body screamed. My mind raced.
Footsteps. I froze.
Sam entered. No announcement. No guard. No words. Just him. Calm. Dominant. Certain. Terrifying.
"You slept poorly," he said. Observation, not question.
"I… didn't sleep," I whispered. Throat raw. Arms trembling.
He circled me slowly. Every step deliberate. I shrank. Tried to vanish. Tried to make myself small. Tried to convince him I was nothing. But he saw me. Always.
"You'll eat," he said, and food appeared. Bitter. Metallic. Foul. I gagged.
"You will eat," he repeated. Crouching. Close. "Or you'll regret it."
I tried to refuse.Shaking.Trembling. Weak. Pride fighting hunger. Fear screaming.
I forced myself to eat. Small bites. Stomach twisting.Throat burning.Tears streaming. He watched. Calm. Certain. Enjoying nothing. Enjoying everything.
When finished, he said: "Good." And left. Door clicked.Silence returned.
Footsteps. I froze.
The door opened.
Sam stepped in. No guards. No announcement. No words. Just him. Dominant. Certain. Terrifying. My body shrank instinctively. Every nerve alight with panic and rage. My wrists throbbed. My stomach twisted. My chest felt hollow and tight at the same time.
"You look worse than I expected," he said softly. Observation, not question.
"I… I am fine," I whispered. Voice cracking. Lips bleeding from biting too hard. My hands shook. My body trembled.
He tilted his head. Smirk. "You'll learn quickly that pretending doesn't change reality."
I pressed myself tighter against the wall. Tried to vanish. Tried to disappear into nothing. Tried to breathe quietly. Tried to make myself invisible.
He circled me slowly, boots scraping. Deliberate. Measured. Each step calculated. I flinched. Every nerve screamed. My body wanted to strike, kick, claw, scream. But I could not. My limbs refused. My wrists burned. My stomach twisted. My pride and fear warred inside me.
"You'll eat," he said, and food appeared. Faint metallic smell. Bitter. Foul. I gagged.
"You will eat," he repeated. Crouching. Close enough to feel the heat of him, the certainty of him. "Or you'll regret it."
I shook my head. Trembling. My body weak. Pride fighting hunger. Fear screaming.
I forced myself to touch the food. Slowly. Trembling. Tiny bites. My stomach churned. My throat burned. Tears streaked my face. He didn't look away. Didn't need to. Watching was enough.
When I finished, he said simply: "Good. You'll need your strength," and left. Door clicked. Silence returned.
I collapsed to the floor. Hugged myself. Pressed to the wall. Tried to breathe. Tried to survive. Hunger, fear, pain, and shame tangled together. I hated everything. I hated him. I hated myself.
Hours passed. Time lost all meaning. Shadows shifted. Chains scraped. Wind whistled. My own ragged breathing echoed. Every muscle screamed. Every nerve alive with pain, panic, humiliation.
I thought of my family. My old life. Everything gone. I hated them. I hated him. I hated myself.
And somewhere, deep in that despair, a spark of defiance survived. I would not break completely. Not yet.
Night deepened. Sleep came, briefly. Then nightmares. The wedding. My ropes. My mother screaming. My father watching. Sam's eyes, dark and calculating, fixed on me. I woke screaming. Wrists throbbing. Back stinging. Lips bleeding. Eyes dry.
Morning. Pale light through the narrow window. No warmth. Illuminating bruises, cuts, every tear. Hair matted. Lips split. Eyes dry from crying. Arms stiff. Legs cramped. Hunger gnawed. Body screamed. Mind raced.
Footsteps. Freeze.
Sam entered. No announcement. No guards. No words. Just him. Calm. Dominant. Certain. Terrifying.
"You slept poorly," he said. Observation.
"I… didn't sleep," I whispered. Throat raw. Arms trembling.
He circled me slowly. Every step deliberate. I shrank. Tried to vanish. Tried to make myself nothing. But he saw me. Always.
"You'll eat," he said. Food appeared. Bitter. Metallic. Foul. I gagged.
"You will eat," he repeated. Crouching. Close. "Or you'll regret it."
I tried to refuse. Trembling. Weak. Pride fighting hunger. Fear screaming.
I forced myself to eat. Tiny bites. Stomach twisting. Throat burning. Tears streaking. He watched. Calm. Certain. Enjoying nothing. Enjoying everything.
When finished, he said, "Good." And left. Door clicked. Silence returned.
I pressed myself against the wall. Tried to breathe. Tried to survive. Hunger, fear, pain, shame tangled. I hated everything. Hated him. Hated myself.
I counted nothing. Measured nothing. Time blurred. Shadows moved. Chains scraped. Wind hissed. My heartbeat drummed painfully.
I thought of escape. Imagined it. Every weak point. Every route. Useless. Chains held. Walls too high. Locks unbreakable. And Sam…everywhere and nowhere. Always watching. Always certain. Always in control.
I pressed my face into my knees. Lips cracked. Tears streaked. Every nerve screaming. Hunger and pain gnawed. Fear burned. Shame tangled with defiance.
Somewhere in the chaos, anger sparked. Tiny. Fierce. I would not break completely. Not yet.
I tried to stretch. Chains cut deep. Back burned. Legs cramped. Wrists throbbed. Breathed shallow. Counted nothing. Felt everything. Every second an eternity. Pain mixed with fear and pride.
Footsteps again. Soft. Deliberate. Predictable.
Door opened.
Sam entered. No guards. No announcement. No words. Just him. Dominant. Terrifying. Certain.
"You're stronger than most," he said softly. "But you'll learn. You always do."
I wanted to scream. Throw myself. Claw. Die. My body refused.
He crouched. Close. Eyes glint. Smirk. "You're not used to this," he said.
"I… I will not obey you," I whispered.
He tilted his head. "Yet."
Every word, trap. Every glance, warning. Silence, punishment.
I tried to stand. Legs shook. Wrists raw. Back aching. Collapsed. Tried to breathe. Tried to survive. Hunger and pain warred with pride and defiance.
I thought of escape. Every strategy imagined useless. Chains held. Walls high. Sam everywhere and nowhere. Watching. Certain.
I pressed face to knees. Lips cracked. Tears streaked. Every nerve screamed,Jane shifted again, trying to find a less painful position on the cold stone floor. The chains tugged, biting at her wrists. Every muscle screamed. Her stomach gnawed at her. Hunger was constant, sharp, an ache that twisted with fear. She wanted to move, to get free, to claw at the walls, the chains—anything—but she couldn't.
The wind blew through the narrow window, carrying the faint smell of smoke and iron. She shivered. Every shadow danced. Every scrape of the chain against the floor made her flinch. Her heart pounded so loudly she feared it would betray her position.
Footsteps approached. Not sudden, not violent. Just soft, certain, deliberate. Her chest tightened. Her stomach flipped. Every nerve flared.
The door opened.
Sam entered. No words. No guards. Just him. Calm. Dominant. Terrifying. Certain.
He didn't crouch this time. He stood near the center of the room, hands behind his back, observing. The way he looked at her made her skin crawl. She hated him. She hated that he could unsettle her so completely. She hated that part of her wanted to shrink, to vanish, to disappear into the shadows.
"You've been awake," he said softly. Observation, not a question.
"I… I have," she whispered, voice cracking.
He circled slowly, his boots scraping against the stone. Every step deliberate. She flinched. Every nerve screamed. She wanted to lunge at him, strike, anything—but her body refused.
"You'll learn," he said finally. "Patience is a lesson. Pain is a teacher. Hunger is honesty."
Her stomach twisted. She shivered. Words. Threats. Statements. Not promises, not questions. Just certainty.
"You'll eat."
A tray appeared, sliding toward her across the floor. The smell hit her first: bitter, metallic, foul. Her stomach rolled. She gagged.
"You will eat," he repeated, crouching near enough that she could feel the heat from his body. "Or you'll regret it."
She shook her head. Trembling. Pride fighting hunger. Fear screaming.
She forced herself to touch the food. Tiny bites. Her stomach twisted. Her throat burned. Tears streaked her face. He didn't look away. He didn't need to. Watching was enough.
When she finished, he said: "Good. Strength is required." And left. The door clicked. Silence returned.
Jane pressed herself to the wall. Tried to breathe. Tried to survive. Hunger, fear, pain, and shame tangled together inside her. She hated him. She hated herself. She hated the walls. She hated the cold. She hated the chains.
Hours passed—or maybe minutes. Time no longer had meaning. Shadows shifted across the stone floor. Every movement made her flinch. Her body ached. Her wrists screamed. Her legs cramped. Her stomach twisted. Every nerve alive with pain, panic, and humiliation.
She thought of escape. Every imagined route. Every weakness she had studied in her mind. Useless. Chains held her. Walls were too high. Locks unbreakable. And Sam…he was everywhere. Watching. Certain. Untouchable.
She pressed her face to her knees, lips cracked, tears streaming. Anger and fear and humiliation twisted together inside her. Somewhere, deep, a spark of defiance burned. She would not break completely. Not yet.
Night fell. Sleep came in broken waves, nightmares following. The wedding. The ropes. The screams. Sam's eyes. His smirk. She woke screaming. Wrists throbbing. Back stinging. Lips bleeding. Eyes dry.
The next morning, pale light poured through the narrow window. No warmth. Illuminating bruises, cuts, every tear. Hair matted. Lips split. Eyes red. Arms stiff. Legs cramped. Hunger gnawed. Her body a cage of pain. Her mind a storm of fear.
Footsteps. She froze.
Sam entered. Calm. Dominant. Certain. Terrifying.
"You slept poorly," he said. Observation, not question.
"I… didn't sleep," she whispered. Throat raw. Arms trembling.
He circled her slowly. Each step deliberate. She shrank. Tried to vanish. Tried to make herself nothing. But he saw her. Always.
"You'll eat." Food appeared. Bitter. Metallic. Foul. She gagged.
"You will eat," he repeated. Crouching. Close. "Or you'll regret it."
She tried to refuse. Trembling. Weak. Pride fighting hunger. Fear screaming.
She forced herself to eat. Small bites. Stomach twisting. Throat burning. Tears streaked. He watched. Calm. Certain. Enjoying nothing. Enjoying everything.
When she finished, he said: "Good." And left. Door clicked. Silence returned.
Jane pressed herself to the wall. Tried to breathe. Tried to survive. Hunger, fear, pain, shame tangled. She hated everything. Hated him. Hated herself.
She counted nothing. Time blurred. Shadows moved. Chains scraped. Wind hissed. Heartbeat drummed painfully.
She thought of escape. Imagined it. Every weak point. Every route. Useless. Chains held. Walls high. Sam everywhere and nowhere. Watching. Certain.
She pressed face to knees. Lips cracked. Tears streaked. Every nerve screamed. Hunger and pain gnawed. Fear burned. Shame tangled with defiance.
Somewhere in the chaos, anger sparked. Tiny. Fierce. She would not break completely. Not yet.