SASHA POV
Sebastian took a deep breath, hesitant, conflicted, and took a long gaze before clearing his throat, indicating inner turmoil.
To me, it seemed like he was having an internal fight over whether to reveal the secret or change the subject, curious.
“Fine, let me fill you in on the conditions attached to the contract,” he said, and I smiled, relieved, delighted that he chose to shift topics, feeling hopeful.
“Great, let me hear them,” I responded, interested to know his conditions.
He chuckled lightly, seemingly amused, and began, “The conditions are quite simple: you need to get married to me for one year, and while we’re married, you’re my slave,” he explained, his words dripping with nonchalance.
My face twisted into a deep frown of displeasure, shock, and disgust, feeling appalled, offended.
I was displeased, outraged, and incredulous, thinking, “What is he saying? I’m his slave? Is this a joke? Why do I need to be his slave? That can’t happen, this has to be a joke.”
He can’t be serious, I thought, feeling indignant, resentful.
“You got to be kidding me! What did you just say the conditions are?” I inquired, my voice laced with anger, frustration, and disbelief.
A frown immediately settled on his face, but he showed no signs of concern or remorse, which infuriated me further.
“They’re quite simple, Sasha: you have to do whatever I say as long as we’re married. Be my wife and slave. Simple!” He answered nonchalantly, his tone infuriating.
How can he suggest such a thing with a straight face? I thought, outraged, feeling insulted.
A slave? That’s unacceptable, I thought, defiantly.
“Do you call being a slave simple? Why would I become your slave? I can’t do that!” I fired angrily at him, my emotions boiling over.
He chuckled lightly, seemingly entertained, which only fueled my anger.
“What do you plan on disobeying my orders?” He asked, his voice firm, commanding.
My eyes widened in shock, alarm, and disbelief.
“Do you plan on giving me orders that are hard for me to obey?” I asked, cautious, apprehensive.
He smiled, amused, condescending.
“Sasha, that’s the condition attached to becoming my wife, you chose that option yourself,” he answered, his tone cold, emotionless, detached.
I felt outraged, indignant, and trapped.
Why do I have to become his slave? Isn’t he supposed to treat me with love and respect, not dominance?
No woman in her right mind would agree to this marriage with such conditions, I thought, defiant.
Only God knows what his requests would be, I thought, fearful.
“I won’t do such a thing, no way!” I declared, resolute.
“Aren’t you supposed to treat me as your wife, not a slave?” I demanded, my voice firm, angry.
He scoffed, dismissive, unyielding.
“That’s the only condition attached, and you kind of caused it,” he responded, his tone unapologetic.
I stared at him, confused, perplexed.
I brought it upon myself? What does he mean?
“What are you talking about? You’re just trying to make it look that way, but it isn’t true. I didn’t bring it upon myself; you’re doing this because you want to,” I responded, defensive, frustrated.
“This is your punishment for running away the other time,” he said, his calm, cold voice sending shivers down my spine.
“I never planned on doing this, but when you decided to run away from me, I had no choice but to punish you,” he continued.
His words sparked fear, anxiety, and regret within me.
He decided to punish me because I tried to escape?
I thought he had forgotten, let go, but I was wrong.
Did I really bring this upon myself?
“A punishment?” I asked, seeking clarification, my voice trembling.
“Yes, a punishment!” he exclaimed, his voice laced with anger, frustration, and a hint of dominance.
“And if you don’t like it, you can start packing your bags to leave the country. I will personally take you to the airport and make sure you get on that plane,” he threatened, his tone firm, unyielding, and menacing.
I felt terrified, trapped, and desperate.
“Oh my gosh! I messed up big time,” I muttered silently to myself, dismayed, regretful.
“How the hell am I supposed to get out of this?” I thought, panicked, frustrated.
I really brought this upon myself, I reflected, remorseful, self-critical.
If only I hadn’t tried to run away from him, things would have been different, I thought, regretful.
But I really thought I could hide from him and not get caught, I thought, naive, foolish.
Who knows he owns this hotel I thought was the best place to hide from him? I thought, shocked, dismayed.
I’m in a really big mess now, I thought, desperate, hopeless.
How am I going to plead with him now? Will he even listen to my plea? I wondered, anxious, fearful.
“Please, why don’t you just change your mind? At least I’m here now, and I don’t plan on running again,” I begged, desperate, hopeful.
But, as I expected, he was far from listening to my pleas, unmoved, unyielding.
“I’m not going to change my mind. Those are the conditions attached to becoming my wife,” he answered firmly, resolute.
I frowned, frustrated, exasperated.
Why can’t he just quit being so adamant? I thought, irritated.
Is it crazy for me to agree to become his slave? I thought, horrified.
Becoming a slave means he has control over everything I do, I thought, fearful.
He’ll dictate every move, and I’ll have no choice but to obey, I thought, trapped.
“Please, just do this once. I promise to be obedient. I won’t try to run again, huh?” I pleaded, desperate.
But a frown immediately settled on his face, unyielding.
“I’m not going to change my mind, no matter what you say, Sasha,” he replied, final.
I knew immediately there was no hope, crushed.
He’s definitely not going to change his mind, no matter what I say, I thought, despairing.
This is bad, very bad! I’m really doomed! I thought, panicked.