Page 103 of Deliria

Whether she knows what’s happening.

That’s the beauty of this whole situation. It doesn’t matter who she was before, or what she might have wanted in some distant, hypothetical future, because I own her now. In every measurable sense.

When we reach the part where rings are exchanged, I slide the enormous diamond across her limp hand, pressing it against the base of her ring finger. It becomes apparentalmost immediately that I misjudged the size. It refuses to settle comfortably past her knuckle, her joints too swollen to allow it.

I don’t have the time, nor the patience, for this trifling inconvenience. Tightening my grip on her fingers, I exert just enough pressure to force the ring over her knuckle with a sharp, dry sort of sound. It leaves a faint indentation beneath the diamond’s cold band, and that makes me smile. Good. It’s almost fitting that the thing marks her physically, considering how much I’m going to have to sacrifice for this charade.

Besides, the diamond is an heirloom. With what it’s worth, the last thing I need is it being loose, or worse, slipping off.

I imagine her weakened body could hardly manage to keep hold of anything these days—not even her own dignity.

The chaplain’s voice continues, delivering the final words of this farce, but I’m barely listening. I’ve already won, haven’t I? But this moment here is more than a simple business deal. More than an acquisition. This here, is what guarantees my family’s fortunes as well as a final and definite revenge on the Heaths… and it’s all delivered neatly into my hands, without so much as a whimper of resistance.

I take her hand again, guiding her to sign the marriage certificate. Of course, it’s laughable, really, the notion that she might be in any kind of condition to sign anything. I feel the slight tremor in her arm as I position the pen between her fingers, guiding her hand in smooth, deliberate strokes, forging the signature that binds her irrevocably to me.

Is she trying to fight me now? Is she trying some last desperate attempt to stop this?

Well, it’s too late for that, love. You’re mine. All mine. Signed, sealed, and fucking delivered on a nice little silver platter.

Scarlett Forster.

There’s a nice ring to it. Not that she’ll hold that title for long.

My lawyer, who until now has stood quietly in the corner of the room like some spectre, moves forward with a practiced efficiency. He’s utterly silent as he produces the next stack of papers, all neat and orderly in a leather folder. Power of attorney. Lasting Will and Testament, all the usual legalities, and with her family now all out of the way, there is no one to contest it, no one to call foul play.

That little stunt she pulled in trying to escape might have caused me a temporary headache, might have given me a shock I hadn’t anticipated, but it worked out in my favour. It helped me eliminate the final loose end in all of this; Sebastian.

The attorney offers a curt nod, and I shift Scarlett’s hand once again, forcing her limp fingers through the same motions. Her signature slides effortlessly into place on each form, as if she too understands that her power is now gone.

Control. Complete control. I’ve accomplished it faster, and with less resistance, than even I could have predicted. It’s amazing what can be done when you strip away extraneous factors like consent or lucidity.

I pass the final sheet of paper back to my lawyer, and he catches my eye as I do. There’s no need for a verbal acknowledgment though, we both know he’ll handle the rest. We’ll need to wait a few days to play it safe, then he can file the final piece of the puzzle, he can ensure that everything that was hers, is and will be mine.

He tips his head once more, an unspoken congratulations passing between us. He loves a win too. And this here, is the greatest win for both of us.

By the end of this week, everything Scarlett ever was, everything she owns, and will come into possession of, falls tome. Every decision, financial, personal, medical, they’ll all be mine to make.

The chaplain clutches his prayer book close to his chest. It’s almost comical, the way he’s trying so hard to seem religiously solemn in a room where God hadn’t bothered to show up, not today, at least.

He glances at Scarlett, then at me, fidgeting like he’s itching to leave but can’t muster the courage without officially closing this sorry excuse of a ceremony.

“Congratulations, then,” he mumbles weakly, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his watery little eyes.

I don’t bother replying, not really. There’s a grunt that escapes my throat, an acknowledgment at best, before I usher both him and the lawyer to the door. They’ve done their part; there’s nothing left for them here.

The lawyer folds the documents neatly into his briefcase, casting one small glance back at Scarlett as if he’s weighing something, maybe even pity, but then catches my gaze and quickly averts his attention. He knows better than to linger too long on her. What she looks like now is temporary. As soon as she recovers enough, I’ll make sure she’s moulded into something that is softer, quieter. She’ll be an obedient blur of whatever useful function I assign to her going forward, until her final inheritance lands in my lap and I’m done with her for good.

I watch them disappear down the hall, waiting until their forms disappear around a corner and I know they’re gone.

I then shut the door, turning the lock quietly to ensure we are not disturbed. There’s a glass window onto the ward beyond and I pull the vertical blinds enough to ensure we are fully concealed.

When I turn back to the bed, I know I’m finally alone with my new wife.

I sit down in that same, plastic, cheap chair, not in any sort of hurry now that the deed is done. I lean back, rest my elbows on the armrests, and steeple my fingers together. From here, I can watch her closely, observe the slight rise and fall of her chest, the slackness in her jaw. I let the silence envelop us both, feeling the weight of the moment without rushing it.

Everything is settled now. And soon, she will be settled too.

She stirs slightly, her body attempting to break through the fog of sedation, her face contorting into something faintly resembling awareness, her lips parting as if to speak.

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