Page 25 of Once A Villain

“Of course, sweetheart,” I lie through clenched teeth. “It’s a big day, that’s all.”

Heather catches my eye, and her knowing look says it all. She sees right through my fake smile but keeps her mouth shut, just giving me a reassuring nod as she rearranges the flowers in the girls’ baskets.

Then Dad bursts in, his gaze scanning the room like a hawk before landing on me. “Rory, you look perfect,” he declares with a grin that’s more pride than love. “Everything’s ready. It’s time.”

I take a deep breath, standing straight and smoothing down my dress like it’s going to magically make everything okay. I follow my father out, each step toward the ceremony feeling more like a march toward the gallows.

The backyard is a wedding magazine dream—white chairs perfectly lined up, an archway dripping with flowers, and a string quartet playing soft, romantic tunes.

Everything’s flawless—except for the groom.

Since that night outside the Pavilion, Axe has been as silent. The only thing I got from him was a text saying a moving truck would arrive at my house yesterday to pack my belongings. I was stuck at rehearsal, unable to stop it.

When I came home, my clothes in my closet and a few things from my bedroom were gone. Everything else in my house was left.

What kind of jerk just packs up your life without so much as a word? I could strangle him. Running away crossed my mind, but I know he’d hunt me down. There’s no escape from this.

As I approach the aisle, the sheer absurdity of this situation makes me want to hurl. The smiles, the fake congratulations, the cloying air of celebration—it’s all a load of crap. My emotions are a chaotic mix of disgust, sadness, and rage.

But underneath it all lurks a deep, gnawing fear.

Fear of what my life is about to become.

The music swells, cueing the crowd to rise. My heart races, and my palms turn clammy. Each step feels like I’m marching toward my own execution.

Finally, I reach the end of the aisle, and my stomach drops. Axel Hawthorne stands there, dressed in a sleek tuxedo, hair perfectly styled like he just stepped out of a magazine. A cruel smirk stretches across his lips, and the darkness in his eyes sends chills down my spine. Tattoos peek from under his jacket sleeves and crawl up his neck. I can’t believe I’m about to marry this monster.

Beside him stands Isaac, the High Chancellor, keeping up the Sovereign tradition as the officiant. My father steps back, the puppeteer of this travesty, his expression smooth, betraying none of the chaos he’s caused. Axe extends his arm, and against every survival instinct I have, I take it.

As the ceremony blurs, I lock my gaze forward, refusing to meet Axe’s eyes. I can feel them, burning into me, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. Tears prick, sharp and stinging, but I choke them down. I’ve endured worse. I can survive this.

Isaac’s voice drones on—empty words wrapped in tradition. I let the numbness take over, let it dull the absurdity of it all. Until the silence falls. Thick. Heavy. The kind that wraps around your throat and tightens.

I know what’s coming.

Axe turns to face me. His shadow looms larger than life. My heart clenches, and I force myself to look up, to meet his dark eyes. My stomach twists, dread coiling tight. This is the moment that seals my fate.

“Under the Sovereign Order, I claim you as mine, body and soul.” His voice is steady.

My throat tightens, the words I’m supposed to say clawing at my mind. I can’t. My lips part, but nothing comes.

Axe’s jaw clenches, his teeth grinding with impatience. His fingers tighten around mine, and a sharp pain shoots through my hand. My chest heaves as I struggle to breathe, to think, to resist the inevitable. But his grip tightens further, the pain forcing my focus.

“Under the Sovereign Order, I claim you as mine, body and soul,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

Axe steps toward me and retrieves the vow-bound collar from his jacket pocket. I clench my teeth and shut my eyes, silently pleading for this to end. The collar wraps around my neck, its weight settling heavily. He locks it into place, and the click feels like a death sentence.

Closing the distance, he leans in, his lips grazing my ear. “I. Own. You.” Those three words make my blood run cold. Swallowing hard against the rising nausea, I fight back tears. Isaac announces us asMr. and Mrs. Axel Hawthorne,a phrase that sounds like a nightmare incarnate.

Axe pulls me closer, gripping my face roughly. I squeeze my eyes shut as his lips touch mine. Applause erupts from the crowd, but my heart sinks deeper into despair. This is the beginning of the end.

As we walk down the aisle together, the guests cheer and clap. Once inside the house, I wrench my arm away from him and glare.

“Take it off now.”

“You look stunning when you’re angry.” He chuckles.

I can’t fucking stand him.

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