SASHA POV
“I’m not going to change my mind, no matter what you say, Sasha,” he responded, his words crushing me.
All hope I had left me, replaced by despair and desperation.
He’s definitely not going to change his mind, no matter what I say, I thought, resigned.
It’s clearly written on his face that he’s unyielding, unmoving, not today, not ever.
“This is very bad! This is really bad!” I screamed internally, panicked, distraught.
I’m doomed, doomed! What the hell am I going to do now? I thought, frantic.
How the heck did I even get here? How could I become a slave? It’s hard enough to choose to become his wife, but now I have to obey everything he says? I thought, horrified.
I let out a deep breath, trying to calm myself.
I can’t be his slave for one year, that’s crazy! I thought, rebellious.
Maybe it’s better to travel out of the country, that will be better, right? But I can’t leave now, I have something to do here, I thought, torn.
“But becoming his slave is impossible,” I thought, my frown deepening.
I’m completely confused, and I really have no idea what to do right now, feeling helpless.
I can’t leave the country, and I still can’t afford to live as Sebastian’s slave, I thought, trapped.
Maybe it’s best to leave the country; I can still change my decision, can’t I? I thought, uncertain.
I badly need to reconsider, or I’ll get myself into an even bigger mess, I thought, anxious.
“It’s best if I leave the country, becoming a slave to Sebastian would be the worst mistake of my life,” I told myself, sending a warning to my subconscious, desperate, resolute.
Now that it isn’t late, I need to change my mind now, I thought, determined.
Sebastian is cruel, cold, and ruthless; I can’t imagine myself becoming his slave, I thought, horrified.
Hell no! I will change my decision now, having a change of mind now is the best thing to do, right? I thought, relieved.
“Sasha?” I heard him call my name, as he tapped me slowly, and I immediately jolted out of my thoughts, startled.
“Yeah?” I answered, still unsure of what was happening around me, disoriented.
I had spaced out earlier and was lost in my thoughts, I thought, sheepish.
I didn’t hear him calling me, I was too caught up in my own fears, I thought, anxious.
“You spaced out? Are you okay?” He asked, a bit concerned, but I knew better.
There’s no way I’d fall for his sweet words; behind that concern laced in his voice is a very dangerous personality hidden, I thought, wary.
“I’m fine,” I responded, swallowing hard, trying to appear calm.
But before I could say anything else, he interrupted me, speaking first.
“Good that you’re fine; we need to leave now,” he said, his tone firm.
Leave? Why do we have to leave? What’s wrong? I thought, panicked.
“What do you mean? Where are we going?” I demanded, frustrated.
“We need to get going; we’re leaving for the registrar,” he answered.
I chuckled lightly, incredulous, thinking, This can’t be happening.
“What are we going there for?” I inquired, curious, apprehensive, unsure.
He frowned, his expression unreadable, making me wonder: What is he thinking?
Do we need to leave for the registrar? I thought, skeptical, anxious.
“We are getting married, so we need to go to the registrar to register our marriage,” he answered, his tone firm, resolute.
A gasp escaped my lips, shocked, astonished, dismayed.
“What? Why do we need to register our marriage? Isn’t it just fake? We don’t need to get it registered,” I responded, panicked, desperate, frustrated.
I’m thinking of changing my mind, and now he wants to register for marriage? I thought, incredulous, alarmed.
“I want it to be official, Sasha. It’s going to be real; that’s why I want it registered,” he fired back, his tone resolute, unyielding.
He wants it official and real? No way, that’s impossible, I thought, disbelieving, stunned.
“It’s not necessary; we’re only getting married for one year. There’s no need to get the marriage registered, and I haven’t fully accepted your condition. I’m thinking about reconsidering my decision,” I informed him immediately, trying to reason, feeling desperate.
He smirked, his expression condescending, amused.
“Reconsider what? You can’t change your mind. That was why I asked you if you were sure, and you made it clear to me that you would agree to marry me, don’t you remember?” He responded sharply, his tone accusatory, firm.
I frowned, feeling trapped, desperate, and frustrated.
“I remember, but I just can’t accept the condition of becoming your slave,” I complained, pleading, desperate.
He scoffed, dismissive, condescending.
“There is no turning back; you have to accept the conditions attached, whether you like it or not. That’s none of my business,” he answered firmly, unyielding.
I stared, dumbstruck, horrified, shocked.
This guy is really the devil himself, I thought, despairing, frightened. He gets whatever he wants, and one mistake boom! You’re done, just like me.
I had no idea who I’m dealing with, I thought, overwhelmed, intimidated.
Now I have to accept my fate like that? I thought, resigned, hopeless.
Why the hell is he being like this? I wondered, frustrated, angry.
He wanted me to leave when I chose to marry him, but now he doesn’t want me to leave again? I thought, confused, incredulous.
This is fucked up! I thought, furious, exasperated.
“But…” I tried to argue, frustrated, desperate.
He immediately interrupted me, his tone firm, commanding.
“Do you have to be so stubborn every time and argue with everything I say?” he asked, irritated, angry.
“You can’t change your decision, and you have no choice but to become my wife and slave,” he declared, his voice laced with dominance.
“Just stop talking and let’s go to the registrar to make our union legal,” he instructed, dismissive.
What the fuck! I thought, infuriated, rebellious.
I just can’t say yes to what he wants, I thought, resistant.
Why does he have to call the shots? I wondered, resentful.
“We don’t need to make the marriage legal, Sebastian; it’s a complete waste and very unnecessary,” I answered, defiant.
He immediately stood up, his eyes narrowing, silently planning his next move.
I feared he might do something crazy since I wasn’t giving in to his request, anxious.
“You never listen, do you?” he asked, his gaze locked on mine, accusatory.
“I just can’t believe… What are you doing?” I yelled angrily, outraged.
He pulled me up from my seat, mid-sentence, his grip firm.
“We need to leave. If you don’t go willingly with me, then I don’t mind forcing you,” he answered coldly, menacing.
I don’t want to leave! I thought, panicked, desperate.