"Stop? Why should I stop?" Jackson's hands gripped the steering wheel even though the car was parked, his knuckles white with pent-up rage. "I've been holding this in for months. Months, Natasha. Every time I see her, I feel sick. Every time I have to pretend to be happy about this wedding, I want to scream."
He turned to her, his eyes wild now, desperate.
"Do you know what it's like?" he asked. "To have to kiss her? To have to hold her hand in public and pretend she's something I actually want?"
Natasha shook her head slowly, her eyes wide with manufactured horror.
"It's disgusting," Jackson spat. "Her hands are always sweaty. Her skin feels wrong. Too soft, too thick. And when she smiles at me with those pathetic green eyes, all I can think about is how much I wish she was you."
He reached out suddenly, grabbing Natasha's hand in both of his. She let him. Of course she let him.
"You're everything she isn't," he said, his voice breaking with raw honesty. "You're thin. You're beautiful. You're graceful. Even now, exhausted and pale from losing blood, you look like a goddess. And Fiona? Fiona looks like a bloated corpse even on her best days."
Natasha bit her lip, holding back a smile. "Jackson... she's still my sister," she said softly.
"Sister?" He laughed again, that same cold, hollow sound. "She's not your sister. She's a mistake your mother made. A bastard child from some affair. She doesn't belong in your family. She doesn't belong anywhere. The only reason anyone tolerates her is because she's useful. Like a donkey you keep around to carry your luggage."
He squeezed her hand tighter.
"And that's all she'll ever be, Natasha," he finished.
Natasha looked down at their joined hands, then back up at his face. Her expression was soft, conflicted, pained. Everything it needed to be.
"What are you asking me to do, Jackson?" she asked.
"I'm asking you to save me," he said desperately. "Save me from marrying her. Save me from a lifetime of waking up next to someone who makes my skin crawl."
"But the wedding is tomorrow—" she started.
"I don't care about the wedding!" he shouted, then caught himself, lowering his voice. "I don't care about any of it. The family can be angry. The guests can whisper. Let them. As long as I have you, nothing else matters."
Natasha pulled her hand back gently, pressing it against her heart as if his words had wounded her.
"I can't," she whispered. "I can't do that to Fiona. She's been through so much. Our father... he's never loved her. My mother... she barely looks at her. And now you? Her fiancé? The only person she thought wanted her?"
"Then let her be alone," Jackson said coldly. "She deserves it."
"What?" Natasha asked, her eyes widening.
"You heard me." His eyes were ice now, his voice flat and final. "She deserves to be alone. She deserves to feel every bit of the rejection she's been too blind to see. Someone like her. Fat, ugly, boring. She should be grateful anyone even agreed to marry her. But grateful? No. She just clings. She just hopes. She just exists like a leech, sucking attention from anyone who makes eye contact."
He leaned closer to Natasha, his breath warm against her cheek.
"I don't have a choice, Natasha," he continued. "I like you. I love you. And if you don't say yes to me by tomorrow morning, I will marry your sister."
Natasha's breath caught.
"And I will never love her," he continued, his voice dropping to a vicious whisper. "I will never touch her. I will never look at her. On our wedding night, I will leave her alone in that bed while I go sleep somewhere else. On every anniversary, I will buy her gifts I picked out for you. When she asks me if I love her, I will lie. And she will know I'm lying, because I won't even try to sound convincing."
He pulled back, his lips curling into a cruel smile.
"She will grow old wondering what she did wrong," he said. "She will cry herself to sleep every night, begging God to make her thin, make her pretty, make her someone worth loving. And God won't answer, because even He is tired of her."
Natasha stared at him, her face pale, her lips trembling.
Inside, her heart was singing opera.
"She will remain loveless through the entire marriage," Jackson finished softly. "Empty. Alone. Broken. A wife in name only, while I spend every moment wishing she was you."
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Natasha's ear, his touch gentle despite the ugliness of his words.
"Is that what you want for your sister, Natasha?" he asked. "Do you want her to marry a man who will destroy her piece by piece, day by day, until there's nothing left but a hollow shell?"
Natasha's eyes filled with tears. Perfect, beautiful tears that slid down her cheeks one by one.
"You're cruel," she whispered.
"I'm honest," he replied. "There's a difference."
She looked away, staring out the window at the darkness beyond.
"Tomorrow morning," she said softly. "You'll have your answer tomorrow morning."
"That's all I ask," Jackson said, starting the engine.
As the car pulled back onto the road, Natasha pressed her forehead against the cool glass and smiled into her reflection.
Tomorrow morning, she thought. I'll let him beg a little more. Then I'll say yes.