Chapter5. Mrs creed
1135 Words
Dawn crept in too quickly, slicing through the penthouse curtains in pale gold streaks. Gwen hadn’t slept a wink. Her stomach had twisted into knots the entire night, knowing what sunrise meant.
When the door opened, her breath lodged in her throat. Two women stepped in silently, their faces unreadable, their movements efficient and precise. Without a word, they began their work.
Her hair was brushed and packed neatly, pinned into a graceful updo with soft curls framing her face. A heavy gown, white as snow and stitched with intricate lace, was lowered over her trembling body. The fabric whispered across her skin, soft against her trembling hands, but it felt more like shackles than silk.
She was a bride.
But not the way she had imagined it as a child. There were no flowers, no music, no family smiling with pride. Just silence. And the knowledge that she was walking into the arms of a man who had stolen her life with the same ease he stole her breath.
When they were done, the women guided her down the long hallway. Her legs felt weak, like they’d collapse at any moment, but somehow she managed to move forward, step after reluctant step.
And then, there he was.
Damien.
Standing tall in a dark shirt that clung to the powerful lines of his body, his black gaze locked onto her the second she entered the room. His men stood like shadows around him, silent, watchful, their eyes cold. There were no women except for the two who had prepared her. No family, no friends, just predators and one frightened bride.
At the center stood an older man who looked like a priest, though even he seemed uneasy in Damien’s world.
“Damien Creed,” the priest intoned, voice trembling just slightly, “do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Damien’s answer came without hesitation, deep and commanding: “I do.”
The words sent a shiver through Gwen.
The priest’s gaze shifted to her. “And you, Gwendolyn…” His voice caught, but he steadied himself. “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Her lips parted, but no words came. Say no, her heart screamed. Say no, fight, run. But her mind pictured the consequences, his men dragging her back, Damien’s wrath unleashed, the pain she would endure for defiance.
Her throat burned as she whispered, “I do.”
That was it. No music, no applause. Just silence heavy as a tomb.
But something inside her snapped at that moment, her freedom, her innocence, her very sense of self. She belonged to him now.
Damien’s lips curved, dark and satisfied. He leaned close, his breath hot against her ear.
“You look beautiful, wife,” he murmured, his voice low and sinful. “And I can’t wait to take that gown off you.”
Her breath caught violently, her skin heating under his words. He looked every bit a dangerous lover, one who wouldn’t go slow, one who would break her apart just to piece her back together the way he wanted. Fear wrapped around her like chains, but so did something else, something she refused to name.
After the vows, the same two women led her away again, stripping her of white and replacing it with a bold red dress that hugged her curves and marked her like a flame. Red. Not purity. Possession.
When she returned, Damien dismissed the priest and his men broke into rare laughter and chatter, drinking wine, celebrating their leader’s claim. It wasn’t a wedding party, it was a conquest.
But Damien’s attention never left her.
Later, he guided her down to his private penthouse. A table was set for two, the aroma of rich coffee and warm bread filling the air.
“Sit,” he commanded, pulling out a chair.
Her trembling fingers clutched the edge of the seat as she obeyed.
He sat across from her, leaning back with casual authority, his dark eyes fixed on her every movement. He didn’t eat. He only watched. Teased her by letting the silence stretch until her cheeks flushed crimson, her hands shaking so much she almost spilled the glass of water.
“You flush so easily,” he said finally, lips curving. “It suits you.”
Her gaze fell to the plate. She wished she could vanish into the floor.
Then his tone shifted, sharp and cutting. “If your brother hadn’t done something unimaginable, maybe you wouldn’t be here. But fate has a way of giving me what I deserve.”
Her heart raced.
“And that bastard you planned to wed? Liam?” Damien’s eyes darkened. “He doesn’t deserve you. Not one bit. He couldn’t even protect you. Used you as a shield.”
Her throat tightened. The memory stung. He was right—Liam had shoved her in front of him the second danger arrived.
Damien leaned forward, his gaze searing. “But now…” His lips curved. “…you’re Mrs. Creed. Mine. Entirely.”
Her pulse leapt wildly, fear and something far more dangerous tangling in her veins.
He rose, towering over her, his chair scraping the floor. His presence engulfed her, and she froze as he stepped closer.
“I’ll send some women to bring you clothes. You’ll need them, none of your belongings are here. And a phone too.” His smile twisted. “Perhaps I carried you too roughly from your wedding.”
Her lips parted, but no words came.
He bent down, his lips brushing her cheek in a kiss that was gentle but promised everything rough and consuming.
“I’ve got a meeting, wife,” he whispered, his voice like gravel against silk. “When I return tonight… we’ll consummate our marriage.”
Her eyes widened, her chest heaving.
“Enjoy yourself,” he added, straightening. “Choose whatever dresses you like. Make yourself comfortable. But remember—comfort doesn’t change what’s coming.”
And then he was gone, leaving her trembling, her body weak, her mind racing.
Hours passed before women arrived again, bringing armfuls of designer dresses, silks, satins, lace. Gwen tried them on mechanically, her body moving while her mind drifted elsewhere. She picked the ones she wanted, her taste had always been refined but nothing could distract her from the thought of Damien’s words.
Tonight.
Her husband.
Her captor.
Her destroyer.
And perhaps… something else.
She sat by the window as the sun dipped low, her hands clutching the folds of a red satin dress. Her heart beat wildly, not only in fear but in a gnawing, dangerous curiosity.
Would he really break her? Or would he make her crave the ruin?
Either way, night was coming. And with it, Damien Creed.
- Writer
