CHAPTER 21: FORCED TO BE MARRIED TO A DICK

Eleanor’s POV

I was utterly speechless. My mind had short-circuited, unable to process the sheer audacity of the scene unfolding in my kitchen. The vase in my hand was forgotten, its weight the only thing anchoring me to reality.

Dickson mistook my stunned silence for overwhelmed joy. His smile widened, becoming unbearably smug. "I know," he said, his voice oozing with self-satisfaction. "You didn’t expect this. I wanted to surprise you, to finally make your dream come true."

I still couldn’t form words. A violent, foreign thought sliced through the static in my head.

Smash that vase across his misogynistic, narcissistic, utterly pathetic face.

The urge was so visceral, so specific and insulting, that I physically recoiled. I shoved the thought down.

Dickson was still talking, completely oblivious to the internal war raging inside me. "I would kneel," he said, with a sigh of faux regret, "but I can’t risk staining these trousers. They’re very expensive. You understand."

He held the ring box out expectantly and wiggled his fingers, signaling for me to bring him my hand.

The movement broke the spell. I snapped out of my frozen state, the absurdity of it all crashing down on me. My voice, when it finally came, was quiet but laced with a disbelief so profound it bordered on laughter.

"Is there something wrong with you?"

His smile vanished. A frown of genuine confusion and irritation creased his brow. "What kind of question is that? I just gave you a perfectly reasonable explanation. Now you’re just being difficult. Stop asking for too much and just accept what I’m giving you."

His words hung in the air, so ridiculous they were almost comical. The shock began to curdle into something colder, sharper.

"What," I began, my voice dangerously low, "could possibly have given you the idea that I wanted to marry you?"

He sighed, as if explaining something simple to a very slow child. "Your behavior, Eleanor. All of it. The moping, the pathetic looks at the office, the way you’ve been acting ever since I ended things and started seeing your sister. It’s obvious."

The mention of my sister was a fresh twist of the knife. "Can you even hear yourself?" I asked, the words dripping with a disgust I no longer tried to hide. "You broke up with me. You humiliated me by immediately dating my sister. And now you’re standing in my kitchen, proposing to me, while you’re still with her?"

He shrugged, a gesture of breathtaking casualness. "And so what? I can marry both of you. You’ll just have the privilege of being my first wife. Consider it an honor."

A cold, clear certainty washed over me. "Get out," I said, my voice shaking not with fear, but with a rage so pure it felt clean. "You are mental. You need help."

Now it was his turn to look incredulous. "I’m mental? Look at you! You’ve been embarrassing yourself for days! This whole pathetic act—it’s all just to get my attention. You wanted to prove you can’t get over me. You wanted me back. Well, here I am, fulfilling your little wish. Don’t back out now that you’ve gotten what you wanted."

The distortion of reality was so complete it was dizzying. "I will never," I said, each word a shard of ice, "marry someone like you."

A smug, condescending smile spread across his face. "Of course you won’t. Because you’ll never find anyone like me."

He followed me as I backed out of the kitchen into the living room, his presence filling the space, suffocating me. "Let’s be real, Eleanor. No other man will ever want you. Who could possibly manage you? Your anxiety? Your neediness? I’m the only one who can handle you. You don’t have options. Your only option... has always been me."

He took a step closer, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial, oily tone. "And think about it, when we’re married, you won’t have to worry about that silly contract anymore." A sickening smile played on his lips. "Because you’ll be under me. Everything that’s yours becomes mine. Your ideas, your work... it will all belong to me. You’ll accept it. You don’t want to keep having problems at the office, do you?"

"The same problems you keep putting me in," I shot back, my voice trembling with a fury I could barely contain.

He flinched as if struck, and for a second, his mask slipped. "YOU CAUSED IT!" he screamed, the sudden volume making me jump. He seemed to realize he’d lost control and took a sharp breath, forcibly smoothing his features into a mask of pained concern.

"You... you’re the reason I have to do these things," he said, his voice now a fake, trembling whisper. "I didn’t mean any of it. Don’t you see? The reason I’m with your sister... it’s for her wealth. So I can build something, take care of us—you and me. You’ll enjoy being a housewife, won’t you? Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? A quiet life?"

Then, his eyes welled with tears. Actual, crocodile tears that began to stream down his face.

He let out a loud, ugly sob, a performance so dramatic and grating I feared my neighbor would bang on the wall. "You’re breaking my heart, Eleanor! Why won’t you just accept this? This is what you wanted!"

"Stop it," I pleaded, horrified by the noise, by the sheer insanity of it all.

"I won’t stop!" he wailed, even louder. "Not until you say yes!"

"I’m not saying yes! I’m done with your fake tears, Dickson! It’s over!"

The crying stopped instantly. The tears vanished as if a switch had been flipped. His face went cold, his eyes flat and dangerous. "Fine," he said, his voice quiet and lethal. "If you don’t agree, I’ll make sure Mira is fired. Not just fired. I’ll frame her for embezzlement. I have the connections. She’ll spend the rest of her life in a cell. Who do you think they’ll believe? Her? Or me?"

A cold, paralyzing fear seized me. Not for myself. For Mira. He would do it. I knew he would.

"You wouldn’t dare," I whispered, but the fight had drained out of me.

"Try me," he said, his voice a soft, terrifying promise.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t let Mira’s life be destroyed because of me. This was all my fault for ever getting involved with him. The weight of it, the hopelessness, crushed me. I stood there, defeated, as he stepped forward.

He took my limp hand in his. His touch was cold. He slid the ring onto my finger. It felt like a shackle.

"See?" he said, his voice dripping with false warmth and triumph. "That wasn’t so hard, was it? Why did you have to stress me out like that when you were always going to say yes?"

He leaned in then, his eyes closing, expecting a kiss from his conquered prize. A reflex of pure revulsion made me turn my head away. His lips grazed my cheek.

SLAP!!

It was a stinging slap across my face that snapped my head to the side. Tears of shock and pain sprang to my eyes.

"Don’t you ever do that again," he hissed, all pretense of tenderness gone, replaced by a cold, possessive fury. "You are my fiancée now. You belong to me. You will do what I want."

Before I could react, his hand clamped onto my jaw, forcing my face toward his. He kissed me then, a hard, punishing kiss that was about ownership, not affection. I struggled, pushing against his chest, but he was too strong. In a final, desperate act of defiance, I bit down hard on his lower lip.

He grunted in pain and shoved me away, stumbling back. A trickle of blood welled on his lip. He touched it, looked at the red on his fingers, and then... he smiled. A slow, terrifying smile that made my blood run cold. He licked the blood away, the gesture grotesque and predatory.

"I like you are becoming Feisty," he murmured, as if I were a pet that had performed an amusing trick.

Trembling, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "The key," I managed to say, my voice raw. "Give me back my key."

He laughed, a short, dismissive sound. "Why would I do that? We’re a couple again. I’ll be coming and going as I please." He straightened his outfit, the picture of composed malice. "I’ll see you at the office tomorrow, my love. Don’t be late."

He turned and walked out, closing the door behind him with a soft, final click.

The moment the lock engaged, the strength left my legs. I crumbled to the floor, the cold hardwood pressing against my knees. The diamond on my finger caught the light, winking mockingly. A sob tore from my throat, then another, until I was crying in great, heaving gasps that felt like they would break my ribs.

He was right. I had no one to tell. How could I explain this to Mira? How could I drag her into this nightmare, especially when his threat against her hung over my head? I was trapped. The walls of my own apartment felt like they were closing in, a gilded cage he had just locked from the outside. There was no escape.