Chapter 2

Carmela froze, her body stiffening. Own her? He didn’t just say that. Did he?

She pulled away, her gaze scanning his expression for any trace of amusement, a clue that he could be joking, yet there was none. His demeanor was serene, deliberate, and completely resolute.

This must be a form of a joke, she considered, or perhaps she was imagining it. Yes that was it. She was going to wake up now and everything was going to be fine but when she looked to his face once more, Damion smirk told her otherwise.

The drive to the Blackwood estate was silent, the tension in the air was so thick that Carmela could barely breathe in her wedding gown. When they arrived, the sprawling mansion loomed before her like a palace - cold, grand, and intimidating.

As they stepped inside, Damion didn’t bother with pleasantries. He turned to her, his gray eyes sharp and commanding. “There are rules you’ll follow in this house.”

Carmela blinked. “Rules?”

“Yes, rules.” His tone was clipped, as though he were explaining something painfully obvious. “Rule one: Don’t question me. Rule two: Don’t interfere in my business. Rule three…” he stepped closer to her, his voice dropping. "Don't forget that you belong to me."

Carmela looked at him, her jaw dropped like a fish out of its habitat. This cannot be genuine. Is this a kind of distorted fairy tale? Could she be Cinderella, only to discover her prince was actually a villain?

As she remained silent, Damion's lips curled into a grin. “What? No witty comeback? Or you’ve become mute?”

“No, it’s not that,” She snapped out of her daze, her cheek flushing. “I-I didn’t realize marriage came with a manual.”

His chuckle was low, almost sinister. “You’ll find out soon enough, Mrs. Blackwood.”

As he walked away, Carmela stood frozen in place, her mind racing. What has she gotten herself into?

The Next Day,

Carmela Blake sat at the long mahogany dinning table, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. The maid had prepared it for her, but the warmth of the cup did little to settle her nerves.

Her eyes flicked to the empty seat at the head of the table and for a moment, she exhaled, relieved to have some peace. The events of yesterday replayed in her mind on an endless loop- Damion’s cold words, the suffocating rules, the eerie calmness that masked something far more dangerous. How did she go from marrying her dream man to living in her worst nightmare?

The sound of footsteps- strong, deliberate- echoed through the hallway, pulling her from her thoughts. Her heart skipped a beat.

When Damion Blackwood entered the room, he stole the air from her.

He wore a sleek, custom-made suit that hugged his broad shoulders and slim waist, radiating power and affluence. His dark hair was casually arranged, embodying a messy perfection that appeared unintentional yet was deliberate. A lock fell slightly across his forehead softening the sharp angles of his face- though not enough to make him any less intimidating.

And his face…Carmela’s breath hitched. Prominent cheekbones, a defined jawline, and lips that appeared meticulously sculpted. Their lips had the ability to softly convey both promises and threat, and you'd be inclined to pay attention to each.

But it was his eyes that froze her. Strong gray and piercing, they radiated an authority that demanded submission. They weren’t just beautiful - they were dangerous. The kind of eyes that could unravel you with a single glance.

Carmela’s grip tightened on her cup as he strode to his seat at the head of the table, his every movement smooth and deliberate. He didn’t just walk; he commanded.

“Good morning,” she spoke, attempting to appear joyful even with the tension in her stomach. She raised the cup to her mouth, wishing the tea would conceal her quivering voice.

Damion didn’t reply. He barely acknowledged her as he sat down, adjusting his cufflinks with the precision of a man who controlled everything, even the smallest detail.

The silence stretched.

Carmela bit her lip, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Seriously? Not even a ‘good morning’? Is this how things are going to be?

Before she had a chance to determine if she should confront him, Damion unzipped his briefcase and retrieved a pile of documents. Silently, he placed them onto the table before her. The thud made her flinch.

“Sign this,” he said flatly, his deep voice smooth but devoid of warmth.

Carmela blinked, her eyes darting between him and the papers. “What is that?"

He leaned back in his chair, one arm placed on the back, radiating an inherent sense of command. A grin twisted his mouth, sending a thrill through her.

“Don't you have eyes?” he questioned languidly, his voice teeming with disdain, “or is it too difficult for you to read?”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He signaled towards the documents with a quick motion of his hand. “If you’re unable to read, allow me to summarize: this document is a contract detailing the terms of our marriage. Simple enough for you?”

Her fingers twitched against the teacup. She wanted to throw it at his head. “Rules? What kind of rules?”

The grin grew broader as Damion leaned in, his tempestuous gaze fixed on hers. He was near enough for her to sense the subtle aroma of his cologne—earthy, deep, and completely captivating.

"Happy you inquired," he replied. “Rule number one: you’ll play the perfect wife in public—smile, act happy, and make everyone think we’re madly in love. Rule number two: in private, stay out of my way. I have no desire to see you, hear from you, or interact with you unless it's truly needed. Rule number three: disobedience leads to repercussions, and you or your family cannot bear them.”

Carmela stared at him, her chest tightening. "You must be kidding."

“Does it look like I'm joking?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

She pushed the papers away, shaking her head. "This is ridiculous. I won't be signing this."

Damion's gaze deepened, the smile transforming into something much more threatening. He bent closer, his tone becoming a sinister murmur. "Please sign it, Carmela. Or should I remind you what’s on the line?The survival of your family relies on your collaboration."

Her hands shook as she held onto the edge of the table. This has to be a sort of warped nightmare. At any moment, she’ll awaken, and everything will be okay.

But Damion’s cold gaze told her this was no dream.

"You’re not who I thought you were," she spoke quietly, her voice shaking.

He chuckled quietly, yet the sound showed no joy. "Allow me to assume—you believed I was a gallant hero in bright armor? A prince who would captivate you and fulfill all your dreams?” He nodded his head, his grin becoming sinister. "Become mature, Carmela. This is the actual world, and I'm not a savior. I’m the antagonist of this tale.”

Her throat constricted, tears on the verge of coming out, yet she wouldn't allow him to witness her weep. "What agreement did you strike with my father?"

Damion lifted an eyebrow. "What leads you to believe that it's your concern?"

“It’s my concern,” she retorted. “I’m the person who’s trapped in this setup. I am entitled to understand what is happening."

He chuckled, the noise soft and scornful. “A right? Let me make one thing clear, Mrs. Blackwood. In this marriage, you have no rights. You do what I say, when I say it. End of discussion.”

Carmela tightened her fists beneath the table, her nails pinching her palms. She disliked him. She despised him greatly.

But she realized she wasn’t ready to confront him—not at this moment. For the time being, she would need to go along with it, regardless of how much it hurt her inside.

"Okay," she replied with clenched jaws. “I’ll sign your stupid contract. But don’t think for a second that I’ll let you control me forever.”

Damion’s smirk returned, more infuriating than ever. “We’ll see about that.”

Later That Evening

The day flew by, and when dinner finally arrived, Carmela felt completely exhausted emotionally. She decided to call Damion to dinner herself.

As she reached his office, she hesitated, hearing his voice.

“Everything is going according to plan,” Damion said, his tone low and sinister. “The Blake family won’t know what hit them once I take what’s mine. I’ve been planning this for a long time.”

Carmela’s heart sank. What does he mean? Is this marriage… some kind of revenge plot?

Her breath caught, and she faltered a bit, her hand grazing the door.

The noise must have caught his attention because the next thing she realized, the door flew open.

Damion remained still, his face giving nothing away, yet his eyes—those tempestuous gray eyes—were frigid and unyielding.

“Are you searching for something?” he inquired, his cold voice slicing through the stillness. “Did you find it?”