Elena's father delivered the news to David; the proposal was a cold calculation of alliances and assets. But Elena had her own terms, a contract she'd fiercely declared: a marriage in name only. "I'll marry him," she'd told her father, her voice tight with desperate resolve, "but until I choose, we won't share a bed as husband and wife. We won't interfere in each other's lives." David, who had engineered this very proposal, overheard her words. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
She thinks she can bargain for freedom when she's already mine?
The Abduction
The following afternoon, David burst into Elena's boutique, his presence a sudden, jarring storm. Before she could utter a word, his hand clamped around her arm, a grip of steel, yanking her out of the shop and into his waiting car. The journey was a blur of her silent defiance, his face a mask of grim determination. He drove to an isolated apartment, miles from the city's comforting sprawl, a place designed for anonymity. The cold glint of the gun he casually revealed was all the argument Elena needed to comply.
"I'll press charges," she hissed, her voice a brittle whisper, as he practically dragged her from the car.
He merely scoffed, a chilling, dismissive sound. "The very people you'd appeal to are my puppets, Elena."
He forced her through the apartment door. What met her eyes was a cruel, breathtaking irony: the apartment was transformed, bathed in the soft, flickering glow of candles, thick with the heady scent of countless flowers. It was a meticulously crafted tableau of romance, a grotesque mockery of what a true proposal should be.
Her phone vibrated, a sudden, desperate lifeline—her father. Elena lunged for it, a flicker of hope in her eyes, but David was faster. He snatched the device, crushing it in his fist. The plastic crunched, silencing the ring, and with it, her last tether to the outside world. He slammed her against the wall, his face inches from hers, his eyes burning into her own. "Now," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through her, "you'll do exactly as I say."
The Contract of Ownership
He signaled his assistant, who appeared instantly, a thick folder clutched in his hands. Inside, a formal, binding contract awaited. Elena's eyes scanned the terms, each clause a fresh, agonizing twist of the knife:
Elena could not end the marriage without David's explicit permission.
She could not get pregnant without his permission.
She could not leave the apartment without his direct approval.
She could not refuse him access to her, ever.
Neither person could complain about the other to anyone.
Elena was bound to the marriage for as long as David wanted.
The gun was back, its cold steel pressed firmly against her temple. Her hand trembled violently, but he forced the pen into her fingers. She signed, her name a shaky testament to her captivity. The assistant then produced a marriage certificate, already filled out. David signed with a flourish, then, with a silent, iron command, he forced her hand to the pen once more. The lawyer, a silent, impassive witness to the chilling charade, officially declared them husband and wife.
The others left, leaving David to see off the lawyer with a casual, almost jovial conversation, as if this were nothing more than a routine business transaction. Elena stood there, tears streaming down her face, a silent, endless flow of despair. The sheer weight of it all—the violation, the terror, the suffocating finality—became too much. Her vision blurred, the room spun, and she felt herself swaying, about to collapse into the abyss. David, always watching, caught her before she hit the floor. His hand on her forehead confirmed his observation: a stress-induced fever, her temperature alarmingly high.
He had everything he wanted. She had nothing left.