SASHA’S POV
My face contorted into a deep frown as I stared at him, confusion and dismay swirling within me. All the happiness and excitement from moments before vanished, replaced by frustration and unease.
“Our bedroom?” I echoed, incredulous. What the hell does he think he’s saying? This has to be some sick joke or something.
Panic set in, my mind racing with the implications. Why would we stay in the same bedroom? What does he think we are? Married couples or what? The thought sent a shiver down my spine.
I get the fact that we are legally married, I mean, there’s a ring and a marriage license to prove it, but this is all fake.
It’s just a contracted marriage, nothing more. But it seems like I’m the only one who knows how, and he doesn’t seem to be getting it right.
We can’t live in the same room, use the same bathroom and closet, and even sleep on the same bed. That’s impossible! No way! I won’t let that happen; that would never happen. In fact, this has to be some kind of joke.
I forced a laugh, trying to lighten the tension. “Our bedroom?” I asked, attempting to sound amused.
Sebastian’s expression turned puzzled, his eyes narrowing. “Sasha? What is funny?” he asked, his tone laced with confusion.
I dropped the facade, my voice rising in exasperation. “Are you not joking? Why would we live together in the same room?” I demanded.
Sebastian chuckled lightly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Why won’t we live in the same room? Aren’t we married?” he replied.
My frustration boiled over, anger and desperation coloring my words. “We are not married, for crying out loud! This is a contracted marriage; it’s not real, Sebastian! This is all fake!” I emphasized.
He’s taking this whole marriage charade too far, and I’m at my wit’s end, frustration and confusion swirling within me.
It feels eerily like we’re married for real the ring, the marriage certificate, living in his house, and now sharing his bedroom. The lines between reality and pretense are blurring.
“I don’t think I forgot about that, Sasha, but you’re the one who’s forgetting something very important,” he said, his tone measured, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.
I frowned, irritation sparking. What is he talking about?
“And that is? What the hell am I forgetting?” I demanded, exasperation creeping into my voice.
Sebastian’s smirk grew, his eyes glinting with triumph. “The fact that you signed to be my wife and my slave. As it’s stated in the contract, you’re to do anything I want, but you keep forgetting that.”
His words struck like a cold slap, indignation and outrage coursing through me.
“But this is absurd!” I yelled angrily, my face hot with emotion.
Sebastian chuckled, his expression unyielding. “Sasha, you just keep forgetting what you’ve gotten yourself into. Being a slave means ‘yes, sir’ to everything I say, absurd or not.”
His words dripped with condescension, and I felt my anger boil over. Yet, I knew I was trapped.
“I need you to come with me to the registrar, you go with me. I want you to live with me, you do so. I want you to stay here with me in my bedroom ‘yes, sir’ is exactly what you should say, not yell at me and tell me it’s absurd.”
His explanation left me feeling defeated, resignation washing over me. I sighed tiredly, my shoulders slumping in submission.
I was in this mess, and I couldn’t deny it. Further disobedience might only spark his anger, and I knew I had no right to refuse.
I stood there, silenced by my own powerlessness, my mind reeling with the implications.
He was right, I thought, resignation washing over me. I was supposed to say “yes, sir” to everything he said. I signed the contract, binding myself to him as his slave, and now I’m trapped.
“I will take your silence to mean you understand what I’ve just said,” he stated, his tone firm, expectant.
“You are to do whatever I want you to do without objections, okay?”
I nodded mechanically, defeat settling in. “Of course, I would do whatever you want me to do,” I replied, forcing the words out.
“I agreed to be your wife and… and your slave.” Shame and frustration simmered beneath the surface.
He chuckled lightly, a low, triumphant sound that made my stomach twist with anxiety.
“I really won’t tolerate disobedience anymore,” he warned, his eyes narrowing. “You’re supposed to obey me, not the other way around. Do you understand?”
I sighed softly, despair creeping in. How did I end up in this nightmare?
The more I tried to escape, the more entangled I became. Becoming his wife was supposed to be a solution, a way to avoid exile. But now, I’m stuck in this twisted reality.
I thought I’d be his fake wife, a temporary arrangement. Instead, I’m his legally bound wife, his slave, forced to utter only “yes, sir” to his every command.
Living in his mansion, sharing his bedroom it’s all too much. Sebastian’s not just my husband; he’s my master.
Fear and resentment swirled within me as I accepted my new reality.
Nothing seems to turn out the way I want it to, and it’s suffocating me. A deep sadness settled in, weighing me down. I really don’t want to be Sebastian’s fake wife and little slave, but I’m trapped.
The thought of spending a year in this predicament feels like an eternity. Desperation clawed at my heart, longing for escape.
“It’s just a year and nothing more,” I whispered to myself, attempting to find solace. “I’m sure I can survive it without losing my sanity.”
But the words rang hollow.
“I guess there’s no other way out,” I murmured, resignation seeping into my voice.
I sighed deeply, the weight of my circumstances crushing me.
“I understand, I won’t try to act disobedient anymore,” I promised, forcing the words out.
Sebastian’s face lit up with a satisfied smile, pleased that I’d finally submitted.
But inside, I seethed. I couldn’t just keep mute and say “yes, sir” to everything he said. The urge to speak up, to assert my autonomy, burned within me.
Before I could muster the courage to voice my thoughts, Sebastian turned and walked into the bathroom, leaving me standing there, feeling frustrated and helpless.