She wept, a raw, guttural grief tearing through her for her father. On the other side of that grief, Zaviyar felt a cold, triumphant joy to see his enemy’s daughter drown in tears.
Then, the door splintered inward. He stood there, framed in the doorway. She gasped, a choked sound caught in her throat. Never, in her wildest nightmares, had she imagined *him* standing in her room—the man who’d stolen her father’s life, radiating power and cruel satisfaction.
“Kutta…” she breathed. *Dog.* The word tasted like ash in her mouth. He’d dared to invade her sanctuary, to pollute her grief with his presence.
That was the first thought that clawed at her mind. But fear held her rigid, paralyzed. He moved closer, and she couldn’t look away. He reached out, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. She flinched at his touch, a tremor running through her. A slow, predatory smirk stretched across his lips, fueled by her reaction. She stumbled back, a desperate, instinctive retreat. His smirk widened, a chilling promise of the power he held.
“Oh, come on, baby. I don’t like to see my wife cry before her wedding,” he said, his voice dripping with false tenderness.
“W…w…wife?” she stammered, utterly bewildered.
“Yes. You heard me right. My wife… or should I say, my soon-to-be wife,” he purred, amusement lacing his tone.
“I’m not your wife, and I never will be. How *dare* you even think I’d marry you after what you did!” she spat, her voice raw with fury.
“Stop shouting. You will. And you *are* going to marry me. That’s final,” he said, his tone dangerously calm.
*How can he be so calm?* she thought, a whirlwind of confusion and rage. He’d murdered her father, shattered her world, and now he sat before her, radiating a chilling serenity. *How can he sit here, so calm, after everything he’s done?*
“I… I won’t marry you. Not now, not ever,” she choked out, her voice barely a whisper.
“Darling, I’m not *asking* you. I’m *telling* you. We will. And we’re marrying tomorrow,” he said, a flicker of irritation finally breaking through his composure.
“What if I don’t agree?”
“Then I’ll fuck you right here, right now,” he said, his voice laced with a threat that stripped away any pretense of civility. “The choice is all yours.”