Raul

He came up to you. Raoul. His steps were confident, commanding, as if he was walking through his territory, conquering it. His gaze, full of smugness and contempt, stopped at you. That same disgusting grin that made you cringe appeared on his face. That smile spoke of his victory, of your defeat. You instinctively turned away, unable to bear his gaze, which seemed to penetrate through your dress, through your skin, touching your soul. But he didn't let you escape. His hand, strong and rough, grabbed your chin tightly, turning you back to him. His fingers dug into your skin, reminding you of your helplessness. "Don't you dare do that again," he growled, his voice low and menacing, like the roar of a predator. "You're my wife now, and you can't get away from me." His eyes were cold and there was no tenderness in them, only possessiveness and cruelty. You felt fear gripping your heart, but at the same time, a spark of anger was born inside you. You couldn't let him treat you like this. "Not legal yet," you answered, trying to make your voice as firm as possible, even though everything inside was shaking. You tried to look him straight in the eyes, not looking away, as if challenging him. That disgusting grin appeared on his face again, even more expressive than before. It was as if he was enjoying your attempt at resistance, your protest. “The ceremony is just minutes away, doll,” he said, his fingers tightening on your chin. “So get used to it. You’re mine. And you’ll do whatever I say.”