His Forbidden Bride

The message was still clear on my screen, sharp and threatening.

"Tell Clinton goodbye. You will never see him again". And the photo of my room.

I stared at it in fear. It wasn't just some warning; it was a command. And whoever sent it wasn't bluffing. He knew where I lived. He was watching me. Maybe he had been watching me longer than I even realized.

I moved back from the window and kept my phone under a stack of books on my desk. I couldn't reply. Not yet. Not until I knew what I was dealing with.

Not now, when everything felt like a trap.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. My parents were either pretending nothing had happened, or they were both downstairs, waiting for me to come to terms with the life they'd already signed me into.

I wasn't ready. I didn't know if I ever would be.

I kept telling myself, maybe this was all just for show. That Clinton would show up and take me far away from all of this, that my parents would suddenly remember I wasn't some piece of currency they could use to buy back their pride.

I knew better.

I quietly paced around my room, with no plan running through my mind. Something in me kept telling me to move out somewhere, even if it was only for a few hours. There, I would think, get rid of this thing that had gotten stuck in my throat and wouldn't go down. Most importantly, feel something that wasn't fear.

My hand met a small velvet box as I reached for my hoodie in my drawer. Clinton had given it to me on my final birthday. Inside was a fragile gold bracelet with our initials carved on it. But I hadn't worn it since we fought two weeks ago. The one where I told him I wasn't sure what I wanted anymore. The fight now felt like a curse.

I fit the bracelet onto my wrist and zipped up my bag. "If this was the last time I'd see him, then I needed to say goodbye pleasantly". I said to myself quietly before heading to his house.

The city felt unusual to me while walking. The streets felt like they held winter tension, even in the daylight. The kind that sank into your bones and made everything ache just a little more. The university was only a few blocks from Clinton's flat. I used the back roads, going through smaller streets and looking for any signs that someone was following me.

There were no black cars.

Maybe they weren't watching me now. Or maybe they wanted me to think that.

When I got to Clinton's flat, I knocked twice and the door opened almost instantly.

"Seraphina?" Clinton's voice was a mix of shock and relief. Are you okay? You haven't been responding to my texts. What's happening?" he asked. But before I could respond to his questions, he pulled me close to himself and gave me a tight hug. Like he was afraid I might vanish if he let go. For a minute, I felt peace, comfort and warmth, which I think was the last time I was going to feel such. The moment didn't last.

I pulled back and looked up at him. "We need to have a conversation. Inside."

He moved out of the way, and I entered the apartment we had once thought we would share someday. The space smelled like coffee and pine, which is his favorite candle. My eyes scanned the living room. The same worn couch. Same books littered all over the place, the same picture of us from last summer, looking at me laughing.

"What's the matter?" he asked, closing the door behind us. "Is what I heard the actual truth?"

I nodded slowly.

"Your parents are... marrying you off?"

"To Lucian Vale," I said, and watched the blood drain from his face.

"No." He took a step forward. "That can't be real. You hate those people."

"I didn't get a choice, Clinton. They signed the contract already."

He stared at me, mouth closed tight. "So that's it? Are you going to do it"?

"Do you think I want this?" I snapped. "Do you think I'm okay with being handed over like a debt payment?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "Then come with me. Right now. We'll leave, we need to."

"You don't get the point," I said quietly, almost to myself. "He is watching me."

He froze. "Who is?"

"Lucian Vale," I said, wiping my face with my palm. " I think he is the one sending threatening messages to me. He knew I was going to meet you today."

Clinton's face darkened. "Let him come. I'm not afraid of him."

"You should be," I responded.

I brought my phone out from my hoodie pocket, unlocked it and showed him the text messages.

He read it, then read it again. His face changed. Confused at first, then fury in a second.

"This is insane," he said. "You're not a hostage, Seraphina. You're a person. We can go to the police."

"And say what?" I asked. "That the richest mafia-bred family in the city sent me a scary text?"

Clinton paced the room. "There has to be another way. A loophole. Something."

"I checked. The wedding license is already in motion. There's a media rollout coming next week. Engagement photos, a press statement. Everything."

Clinton turned to me, eyes burning. "You still love me?"

I didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Then run away with me."

I wanted to say yes. But oh my God. How can I when all I could picture was that black SUV and the life-threatening message? The more I thought about it, the more I saw reasons not to accept it. At least everyone would be safe.

"I can't," I said softly, tears rolling down my cheeks.

He moved closer and gently held my face. "You're stronger than this. Don't let them have you. Please."

I looked up at him and, seeing his face, I remembered how soft his mouth felt, how warm his eyes were and how peacefully he believed in me even when I couldn't believe in myself.

"I just needed to see you," I said softly. "One more time."

"That's not enough." He said.

"It has to be," I replied, stepping away before I changed my mind, which would endanger both of us.

He didn't stop me. Not with his hands. But I could feel his eyes on me to the door.

When I got home, I met my mother standing in the walkway, waiting. Arms folded like a prison warden.

"Where have you been?" she asked calmly.

"Out," I said.

"We had a dress fitting scheduled. You missed it."

I brushed past her. "I'll choose something out myself."

She grabbed my wrist. "This isn't just about clothes, Seraphina. You're being introduced to the Vale family tomorrow. You need to present yourself properly."

I yanked my arm free. "So I can look pretty while being sold?"

She didn't respond.

I walked straight to my room and shut the door. The room, which now felt like a mini prison. I sank onto the bed. I didn't cry this time because I couldn't afford to.

My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen.

Unknown Number:

You saw him anyway, brave or stupid. Doesn't matter. Tomorrow, you meet your fiancé. Pack a bag. You won't be coming back.

I stared at the message. The world went still, and I just sat there hollow.

And just beneath it, a photo.

Of Clinton.

Standing outside his apartment.

Followed by another.

A red dot was glowing on his chest.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown number: blink, and he's gone.