flash

Chapter 1 - THE CRACK OF THE CROPThe rhythmic thwack, thwack, thwack of the leather riding crop against Dominic’s tailored trousers echoed like a gunshot in the silent, opulent bridal suite. Outside, the glittering lights of the city hummed with life, completely unaware of the trap that had just snapped shut around me.

Eighty thousand dollars’ worth of hand-beaded silk and lace suddenly felt less like a dream dress and more like a heavy, suffocating shroud.

Dominic stepped closer, his pale blue eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. He expected tears. He expected trembling hands, a broken voice, and desperate, futile begging. After all, everyone in the city knew the Vance family motto: What the Vance empire wants, the Vance empire crushes.

“You’re awfully quiet, Audrey,” Dominic sneered, stopping just inches away. The scent of expensive cologne couldn’t mask the sickening stench of his arrogance. “Did the shock finally render you mute? Or did you genuinely believe a penniless orphan from the wrong side of the tracks was going to become a real Vance?”

I didn't cower. I didn't step back. Instead, a slow, icy smile curved across my lips—a smile so entirely devoid of fear that it made Dominic’s hand stutter mid-tap.

“A Vance?” I murmured, my voice as smooth and lethal as chilled glass. “Dominic, darling… you still have no idea who you just married, do you?”

His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a flicker of genuine confusion. He raised the riding crop, pressing the cold leather tip sharply against my collarbone, right above the intricate beadwork of my dress.

“Check your tone, little bird,” he hissed, leaning in so close his breath hit my cheek. “You belong to me now. Your debts are mine, your life is mine, and every single cent your pathetic little boutique makes belongs to the Vance conglomerate. Rule number two: You speak only when spoken to.”

I looked down at the crop resting against my skin, then slowly raised my gaze to meet his cold eyes. I didn't tremble. I didn't blink.

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“Rule number one,” I whispered, echoing his words with a chillingly perfect imitation of his mocking cadence. “My word is absolute. Too bad, Dominic… because I write the rules now.”

Before he could process the shift in power, I reached up with both hands, caught the leather crop by its shaft, and violently wrenched it out of his grip.

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