~~ Anastasia's POV~~
The second that door clicked shut, my heart just went haywire—pounding so hard it actually hurt a little. My body kept throwing me mixed signals: run! jump out the window! But nope, I was nailed to the floor, paralyzed, thanks to Ricardo Antonio just lurking there like some kinda villain straight outta nightmares. His shadow? It felt like it swallowed half the room whole. The air got thick, practically strangling me with every desperate inhale.
Then he had to say it—real smooth, almost gentle, but loaded with this creepy possessiveness that pressed against me like a cinder block. "You belong to me now." God, every syllable squeezed me tighter. It felt like—no joke—chains were winding around my shoulders, one link at a time. My mouth dried up. Legs? Jelly. I wanted to scream, to bark that he was nuts, that I'd never give in... but yeah, my voice ghosted on me. Thanks, terror.
He came closer, slow as a hunter. I couldn't miss that knife-edge jaw of his, or the hungry look simmering in his eyes. His fingers flexed—like he could claim me without even grabbing hold. Annnd, well, then he did.
His hand brushed my arm—cold sweat and panic exploded up my spine. I jerked away, no surprise, but he just kept shrinking the space, eating up every inch between us 'til his face hovered right in my line of breath. My heart was basically staging a jailbreak at this point as he lowered himself, dragging it out, until bam—his lips on mine.
I tried to back out, to yank away, but yeah, his grip cinched tight. That kiss? Not gentle. It almost hurt—sharp, bruising, stung enough that I bit my lip. I opened my mouth—probably to argue, maybe even beg—but he just cut me off, kissing me harder, like punishing me for rebelling. Left this weird mix of fear and—what, danger?—lingering on my tongue, and my gut twisted up like a busted slinky.
"Stop!" I blurted, shoving him as hard as I could, but he barreled in closer, hands like steel. I was basically a prop, something he could bend whenever he wanted. "Please… I—"
His mouth was back at mine, words leaking out in a whisper just for me, and man, it burned. "You don't get to speak. Not yet. Not until you figure out who owns you. You will obey. You'll find your place. Or else everyone you care about goes down, you get me?"
The room spun so bad I half-expected to blackout.
I clawed at him, scratched at anything—his shirt, his arms, just trying to make breathing space. Nothing worked. He didn't move an inch. Those eyes locked on mine, ice-cold, uncaring. That was it, wasn't it? No way out. Even my panic couldn't undo the reality: he had me, one way or another, and my terror for everyone else kept my feet glued to the floor.
Finally, he leaned off just barely, his forehead tipping against mine. Still way too close, heat rolling off him. "Do you get it now?" he almost crooned—soft, but dripping poison underneath. My stomach tied itself into a knot the Boy Scouts would be jealous of.
I barely managed to nod—I mean, my whole body was shaking so hard I probably looked like I was freezing, or about to pass out. "Y-yes," I croaked out, though honestly, my voice sounded so small—even to me. The kind of whisper that drags itself out because terror's clawed your throat shut.
He finally let go. Didn't hurry, either, like he wanted me to remember those hands, how easily he could break me if he wanted. Then, just as I tried to steady my breathing, he turned and picked something up off the table. My eyes locked on that quick, almost bored movement. When I saw what he'd fetched—oh, man. A marriage contract.
The thing looked official as hell, all crisp edges and lawyerly typefaces, but it was what was written inside that really made my heart feel like it was about to claw its way out of my chest. My name, in bold black ink, staring back at me. A blank for my signature. Cold, bullet-pointed rules about what I owed and what bits of myself I'd have to surrender. It was all laid out, unflinching, like, "Congrats, here's your doom in triplicate."
He slid the paper across the wood with this chill, "business as usual" calm. "You're going to sign it," he said, flat and implacable as a tombstone "Or you'll watch everyone you love get hurt. And—listen—I promise, Ana, you'll drown in guilt before I'm through." No drama in his voice. Just a fact.
My hands would NOT stop shaking as I stared at that contract. My brain was sprinting in circles, pure panic-flavored adrenaline poisoning. "I... I can't," barely got out—my lips and teeth almost locked down by fear. "I'll never..."
He loomed up again. Like the room itself got smaller the closer he stood. "You already belong to me." He said it quietly—unsettlingly gentle, like a lullaby with a knife hidden in it. Those eyes of his—God—like coal burning from inside. "You think you've got a choice? Look around—think about the people you love. Do you really wanna see Emily destroyed? Maybe you want your aunt and uncle to lose everything. All because you're too proud to listen?"
Hearing him say Emily's name… that broke me in ways I didn't even know I could break. My best friend, my rock—her in danger because of ME? I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted iron. I stared at the pen—my fingers twitching. That stupid, ordinary pen had become a gun aimed at my life.
He leaned in, his voice so low and intimate it made my skin crawl. "You can choose, Ana. Sign and keep them safe. Or refuse—and watch what I do. I will ruin them all to break you. And believe me, I don't do things halfway."
I felt his presence almost physically, like some demon had perched on my back. Every nerve in my arms screamed at me to run, but my mind kept flashing images: Emily in pain, my family suffering. I wanted to rebel. But in the end, none of my stubbornness mattered more than them.
He whispered again, pushing me right to the edge. "Do it. Sign. Save them. You're mine now."
Tears, hot and bitter, blurred out the lines as I forced my hand to move. Signing that contract felt poisonously heavy, like I was carving up my soul for him to keep piece by piece. But what else could I do? If it meant protecting them, I'd torch everything I had left.
The ink barely dried and he finally stepped back, lips curling in this slow, cruel smile.
"Good," he even said softly. Yeah, sure, "good"—like I'd just finished a homework assignment. But under that, so much power; he knew he'd won, and he wanted me to never forget it. "Now you're mine, Ana. Completely. We'll see how fast you learn obedience."
It didn't feel like any of the fear left me. Nope. If anything, it clawed in deeper—worse, heavier, now that my fate was set in black and white. I desperately wanted to scream or just bolt for the door, but nothing seemed to work. I'd been boxed in, signed over, thrown into a nightmare that was now my "normal."
He came closer again, slow and deliberate, eyes raking my face—memorizing every line of fear and resignation he had stamped onto me. Then, like he needed to etch in his victory, he lifted my chin. His kiss crashed down—hard, unyielding, bruising—total ownership, no real tenderness left.
I wanted to fight back. I tried, but it was pointless. He held me like someone gripping a trophy, and every gesture spelled out that I didn't belong to myself anymore. His hands claimed everything left, every shudder and tear something he could inventory.
By the end I was still shaking. My lips hurt, my chest heaved. But he only smirked; he hadn't even really started. This was just the beginning. That contract, my trembling, the obliterating awareness that I had nothing left to bargain with—all of it pinned me down in that suffocating, hopeless dark. My choices didn't matter. Not anymore.
When he finally leaned back, our foreheads still touching, his breath ghosted over my lips. "You're mine," he murmured again, quieter this time—still clingy, still loaded with that whole iron-grip possessiveness. "And you'll listen. Sooner or later... you'll get used to it."
My eyes shut tight. I was shaking—full-body trembling kind of thing. The whole contract thing, the threat behind every word, my lips aching from how rough he'd kissed me—the feeling of being owned was just everywhere. I was the damn blackmailed bride. Boxed in. Nowhere to run, no clever loophole, just... trapped.
The panic basically ate me alive.
Every part of me wanted to shove him away, scream my throat raw, or just dissolve into nothing, but nope—sign on the dotted line, right? Too late. My life, my freedom, and crap—even the people I care about, they're all tangled in this now. Ricardo Antonio snatched me up, and just standing there, I could see what was coming: shadows, pain, him pulling every single string.
He watched me, all icy and confident, and that's when it really hit—no way out. None. My future? Not even mine anymore. Just fear, surrender, and the nasty weight of this blackmail sitting heavy on my chest.