The wedding was a masterpiece — white roses, crystal chandeliers, and a sea of smiling faces.
Everyone said the same thing:
"They look perfect together."
Ayla smiled until her cheeks ached, hands trembling behind her bouquet.
She couldn't shake the feeling that Damien's gaze on her wasn't love — it was possession.
That night, when the guests were gone and the lights dimmed, Ayla stood by the window of their new house — his house — still in her gown.
Outside, fireworks bloomed in the sky. Inside, silence settled like frost.
Damien entered, his tie loosened, glass of wine in hand. He looked breathtaking, effortless — the man everyone admired.
He walked toward her, slow and calm.
"You didn't say a word during dinner," he said softly.
"I was overwhelmed," she murmured.
His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face — gentle, almost tender — until his hand tightened at the back of her neck.
"Overwhelmed?" he echoed. "You embarrass easily. We'll fix that."
Ayla froze.
He released her just as easily, his smile warm again. "You're mine now, Ayla. You don't have to be afraid anymore."
But fear was the only thing she felt.
Days turned into weeks.
In public, Damien was every woman's dream — kind, courteous, protective.
At home, his tone changed. Every movement she made seemed to test his patience.
"You shouldn't talk to the driver so casually."
"Don't wear that lipstick—it's too bright."
"Stop visiting your parents so often. You're a Hale now."
Each rule was spoken gently, wrapped in concern, but they piled up until Ayla's world shrank to the size of his expectations.
One morning, she found a small velvet box on her dresser.
Inside was a diamond bracelet.
A note beside it read:
For my perfect wife. Don't make me regret trusting you.
Her chest tightened. The jewelry sparkled, but her reflection beside it looked dull—lifeless.
At a dinner with his business partners, Damien held her hand under the table, smiling for the cameras.
When she missed a cue to laugh at one of his jokes, his fingers pressed into her skin hard enough to bruise.
Later, in the car, he kissed the spot softly.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered. "But you have to learn to keep up with me."
She nodded, numb.
That night, Ayla stared at the bracelet again.
Every diamond felt heavier than stone.
From the outside, her life glittered — wealth, admiration, a husband who adored her.
But behind closed doors, perfection had teeth.
And it was starting to bite.