My Fake Husband Locked Me In His Castle — The Real Reason Why Destroyed Me

Part 2

I lunged forward with a desperate gasp, but Greg caught my wrist in a grip of absolute iron.

His touch was no longer cold and indifferent; it was burning, possessive, and terrifyingly strong.

I screamed at him, thrashing against his hold, demanding to know what happened to clause four of our agreement.

He jerked me effortlessly against his chest, the sheer power radiating from him leaving me completely breathless.

He looked down at me, and the carefully constructed mask of the stoic, indifferent politician shattered completely.

His eyes were entirely unhinged, burning with a dark, obsessive hunger that made my blood run instantly cold.

He murmured against my ear, asking if I truly believed a man of his resources needed a fake marriage just to quiet some gossip.

I stared up at him in pure horror as he casually confessed that the political scandal was a total fabrication.

He had intentionally planted the rumors himself just to give him an excuse to seek a bride so hastily.

My mind spun violently as I choked out a demand to know why he would do something so insanely elaborate.

His voice dropped to a gravelly, possessive whisper as he told me it was because I was slipping away from him.

He confessed he had been watching me from the shadows for three entire years, waiting patiently for me to enter society.

But when my father squandered our money and died, he knew I was planning to disappear into the countryside.

Realization hit me with the devastating force of a physical blow.

He admitted he had bought my father’s debts the day after the funeral and ordered the creditors to squeeze me.

He had orchestrated my entire financial ruin just so I would have no choice but to take his hand when he offered salvation.

My entire life, my father’s despair, and the terror of Brenda’s illness had all been a chess game played by a madman who wanted me as his prize.

I told him he was a monster and threatened to scream for the police.

He merely smiled, wrapping his arm securely around my waist and pulling me flush against him.

He informed me that the staff answered only to him and the doors of the fortress were permanently locked.

He declared there was no fake marriage, and that I would be his true wife in every single sense of the word.

For seven agonizing days and nights, the master suite became a tense, suffocating battleground of wills.

I refused to weep or cower, my fear entirely burned away by a hardened, crystalline fury.

He didn’t force himself on me, but waged a war of psychological attrition by constantly invading my space.

He took his meals in the room with me, reading his dispatches while his pale eyes tracked my every movement like a predator.

He told me he didn’t want to break me, he only wanted to protect me from his ruthless political enemies.

But on the eighth evening, the heavy oak doors echoed with a frantic, terrified knocking.

The housekeeper screamed through the wood that a rival politician had breached the lower gates with a team of armed mercenaries.

Greg’s romantic obsession vanished instantly, replaced by the ruthless, calculating billionaire I had first met.

He tossed a heavy brass key onto the table, ordering me to lock the door behind him and shoot anyone else who tried to enter.

He grabbed a weapon and strode out of the room, slamming the heavy doors behind him to face the threat alone.

I stared at the brass key resting on the table, realizing this was my first and only chance at freedom.

I grabbed a velvet cloak and the silver revolver he had left behind, slipping out through the servants’ staircase.

But as I reached the ground floor, I overheard the rival politician instructing his men to kill Greg and leave no witnesses.

I had the key to escape in my hand, but as the assassins stormed his study, I had to make the most terrifying choice of my life—do I run, or do I save the monster who trapped me?