The sun blazed overhead, casting waves of heat that rippled across the empty stretch of road. Hazel's breath came in short, ragged bursts as she ran, the sharp clack of her heels echoing in the stillness. Her legs trembled with each step, the punishing asphalt beneath her feet radiating heat like a furnace.

She clutched the skirt of her dress in both hands, yanking it up to free her legs, her heels clicking awkwardly against the ground. Every stride felt like a gamble—would she stumble? Twist an ankle? She cursed under her breath, her voice barely louder than the hammering of her heartbeat.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit..."

The sound of the engine behind her grew louder, closer, rumbling like a predator ready to pounce. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. She felt him in the air, in the way the road trembled under her feet, in the shadow that crept along the edges of her peripheral vision.

Panic surged through her chest, flooding her veins. Her legs moved on pure instinct now, each footfall a frantic prayer. But the heels—God, the heels—were slowing her down. She kicked one off mid-run, stumbling as it flew to the side of the road. Then the other. Her now-bare feet slapped against the rough asphalt, pebbles digging into her skin. But it was better. Faster.

"Come on, Hazel," she whispered to herself. "Come on."

The road stretched endlessly ahead, shimmering in the heat like a mirage. And far, far in the distance—there it was. The faintest hint of a city skyline, blurred by the sun but real. Tangible. Hope.

She choked on a breath, a sob mixed with relief and desperation. "Almost there. Just keep running."

She risked a glance behind her.

The black car was close. Too close. Not so close he could reach out and grab her, but close enough she could sense the faint  glint of his eyes behind the windshield. Focused. Obsessed. The front bumper was bouncing slightly with the uneven road, and the tires kicked up small clouds of dust and gravel in their wake.

He was gaining.

Hazel pushed herself harder, ignoring the burning in her thighs, the stabbing pain in her feet. Her lungs screamed for air, but she didn’t slow down. She couldn’t. She'd rather collapse from exhaustion than let him get her again.

"bastard," she hissed through gritted teeth. " sick—" she couldn’t even finish the sentence, her voice too broken from panting.

She turned her head again. The car was even closer now. Chris wasn’t slowing down.

A bolt of terror shot through her. He’s not going to stop. He’ll run me over if he has to. The thought sent her into overdrive.

Her feet hit a patch of loose gravel, and she nearly slipped. Her arms flailed for balance, her body lurching forward. She recovered and kept running, but now her feet were bruised, scraped, bleeding. She could feel the sting of cuts and the wet warmth of blood .

The road curved slightly, and she veered with it, weaving side to side, hoping—stupidly—that she could somehow lose him, as if he might miss a turn. But the car stuck to her like a shadow, the engine roaring louder, more insistent.

The wind whipped her hair across her face as her breath grew ragged. Every inhale burned her lungs, but she couldn’t stop.

Her legs screamed. Her heart was a wild drum in her chest. Her mind screamed one word over and over.

Run.

She turned again—he was closer now.

So close.

And then—something caught her eye.

A stone. Big enough to cause damage, not too heavy, lying by the edge of the road like it was waiting for her.

She skidded to a halt, nearly losing her balance. Dust rose around her feet as she crouched and gripped the rock with both hands. It was rough and gritty, heavy but manageable. She didn’t think. Didn’t plan.

She just threw it.

With all the rage, panic, and exhaustion bottled inside her—Hazel let the stone fly.

It soared through the air like a bullet.

For a split second, the world paused. She stood there, watching it spin and slice the air. Her heart stopped. Her breath hitched.

Then—crash.

The sound of shattering glass split the sky.

The rock smashed straight into the windshield of Chris’s car.

Glass exploded like diamonds. The front mirror cracked violently, webbing into a hundred splinters. His car swerved slightly, veering to the left as if shocked by the blow. Hazel caught a glimpse of his head jerking back, hands flying up in instinct.

She didn’t wait to see more.

“I'm sorry but it’s your mistake,” she spat, voice trembling as adrenaline surged.

And she ran.

Again.

Faster.

The jolt of satisfaction from that one moment gave her a burst of strength. Her legs felt like jelly, her throat dry as dust, but she pushed through. Behind her, the car groaned and jerked, trying to stay on course.

She didn’t know if Chris was hurt.

The sun was merciless above her, blistering against her skin. The wind offered no comfort, just more heat. Her hair clung to her forehead. Her dress clung to her back. Every step was agony. Every breath was a battle.

But she didn’t stop.

The sound of the broken glass replayed in her head like a victory bell. She had bought herself a few seconds. Maybe more. Maybe enough.

She glanced back once more.

His car was still moving—but slower.

The windshield was now a broken mess of cracks.

He was leaning forward now. She could see it through the broken windshield. His face was streaked with blood  but his eyes were wild, locked on her with terrifying intensity. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He wasn’t slowing. He wasn’t stopping.

She kept running, praying her legs wouldn’t give out. The city glimmered like hope on the horizon. She had to make it. She would make it.

Hazel didn’t slow. Not once.

Because behind her, despite the damage, the engine still growled.

And she knew Chris wasn’t done.

Hazel’s entire body burned—her legs shaking violently, her lungs clawing for air. Sweat slicked her skin, soaking the fabric of her dress and gluing it to her back like a second, suffocating layer. Her hair stuck to her cheeks and forehead, strands matted with sweat and dust. Her mouth was dry, tongue thick, and when she tried to swallow, her throat scratched like sandpaper.

Each step now felt heavier than the last. Her feet were torn, red and raw from the asphalt. She winced with every stride, yet still, she ran.

“Just a little more,” she gasped, eyes locked on the faint silhouettes of buildings ahead.

The city.

Civilization.

People.

Help.

It gleamed on the horizon like salvation—just a little farther. She pushed forward, her body crying out for rest, but her mind screamed louder: Run.

The hum of the engine came again—but this time, it was different.

Louder.

Aggressive.

Her heart dropped.

No... no, no, no—

Before she could even glance over her shoulder, a black blur shot past her.

The car.

Chris.

He didn’t honk. Didn’t scream. Didn’t even look like he hesitated. He drove fast—too fast—and in a terrifyingly smooth motion, swerved ahead and cut in front of her path.

Hazel skidded to a halt, her arms flailing for balance as dust swirled around her ankles. Her chest heaved, and for a moment, she could hear nothing but her heartbeat drumming in her ears.

The car door flung open.

Chris stepped out.

And Hazel froze.

His face was bloodied—thin crimson trails running down from his temple and across his cheek. Shards of glass still clung to his dark hair. His eyes—those sharp, furious eyes—were trained directly on her.

His hands were cut too. Small gashes from the shattered glass, some still fresh, others beading with blood. His breathing heavy from rage—not exhaustion.

Hazel’s breath caught in her throat.

She took one step back.

No.

She turned to bolt to the side—but screeching tires made her freeze again.

More cars.

Black.

Sleek.

Deadly.

They skidded in from both sides of the road, kicking up a storm of dust. Her eyes widened as two more vehicles formed a barricade ahead of her, and from them, doors flung open in unison.

Men stepped out.

Tall. Suited. Unsmiling.

She didn’t need names to know they belonged to him.

Her vision swam with heat and fear. The sun beat down on her like a punishment. Her legs trembled. Her breath wouldn’t come.

Chris didn't speak. He simply walked toward her, slow, controlled steps, as if he had all the time in the world and she was already his again.

Hazel’s chest ached.

Run. Run again—anywhere!

But where?

Every side blocked. Trapped. Surrounded.

And Chris—he was only a few steps away now.

Two of the men moved to the car behind .

And they pulled someone out.

***

Hazel’s stomach dropped.

No.

Her breath hitched as the figure slumped forward, barely held up by the men on either side of him.

“Vincent…” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Blood streaked his face, a deep gash above his brow oozing down to his chin. His shirt clung to his body, darkened with crimson patches. One eye was nearly swollen shut. He looked like he’d been beaten to the brink of death—and still, somehow, he managed to lift his head.

His gaze found hers.

Hazel took a step forward, her hand instinctively outstretched. “Vincent!”

But before she could rush to him, a hand seized her arm and yanked her back.

Chris.

He dragged her close, her back crashing into his chest.

She fought his grip, twisting her arm, but he didn’t flinch. His hold was firm. Possessive.

“Let go of me!” she screamed, glaring up at him. “What the hell are you doing?!”

He didn’t answer right away. His face was stoic, jaw clenched, eyes locked on her like she was the only thing that mattered.

Then finally, in a low, unbothered tone, he said, “It’s nothing compared to what I’m planning.”

Hazel’s blood ran cold.

She looked back at Vincent, barely conscious between the guards.

“How could you do this to him?!” she shouted.

Chris didn’t react. He raised his right hand, the one that had been hidden behind her.

In it was a gun.

Hazel’s heart stopped.

“No…” she whispered.

He handed the weapon to one of his men without breaking eye contact with her.

The man loaded it and gave it back.

“Chris, no,” she said, voice trembling. “You’re not thinking straight—please—don’t do this.”

But he was already turning, raising the gun in Vincent’s direction.

Hazel shoved him. “Chris! Don’t!”

He yanked her back hard, slamming her into his chest again. The barrel of the gun now glinted in the sunlight.

“are you crazy?!” she cried, struggling against him.

“I guess I am,” he muttered, voice disturbingly calm.

He stepped forward

“Stay back!” he barked at her as he raised the gun.

A shot fired.

Hazel screamed.

Vincent collapsed to his knees, crying out in pain. The bullet had missed him—barely—but it had grazed the ground just inches from his leg.

Hazel’s chest heaved, the sound of the gunshot still ringing in her ears. “Stop it! stop this!”

Chris turned to her, gaze dark and unreadable.

“Marry me,” he said flatly.

Hazel blinked .

He took a step closer, lifting her chin with the gun. “Marry me, Hazel. And I’ll let him live.”

Her lips trembled. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” he said, tilting his head, “but I’ve never been more serious.”

“You are doing this to blackmail me into marrying you?!”

“I’m not blackmailing you. I’m offering a deal,” he said coldly. “Say yes, and Vincent walks out alive. Say no…” He pointed the gun at Vincent again. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t walk out at all.”

She looked at Vincent. He was on the ground now, coughing, his body too weak to even stand. His one good eye met hers—pleading, broken.

“I’ll do it,” she whispered.

Chris didn’t move.

“I’ll marry you,” she said louder, teeth gritted, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Just don’t hurt him anymore.”

He slowly lowered the gun.

"Hazel, no!" Vincent said, the barest trace of voice left in him.

His men started beating him again.
"Stop!" Hazel shouted at them.

Chris raised his hand, and they stopped immediately.

“I will marry you but I’ll hate you for the rest of my life,” she spat.

“I don’t care,” he said. “All I want is for you to be mine.”

Hazel stared at him, disgusted, horrified.

“You’re a monster.”

Chris leaned in, brushing a bloodied knuckle along her cheek. “Then marry your monster, Hazel.”

“Let him go,” she pleaded.

“After we’re done,” Chris said. “Not before.”

“I will keep my word,” he said. “After you say ‘I do’.”

Then he reached forward, grabbed her wrist, and dragged her toward the car.

She didn’t resist. Her legs felt like lead. Her mind was empty . The white gown was now smeared with dirt from the road, a small tear near her ankle. Her hair, which had been pinned neatly, was now tumbling down in waves, messy and wild.

Chris was worse—blood stained his temple from the fight, his sleeves were rolled up, the collar of his dress shirt half undone, smeared with grime and sweat.

They looked like a disaster.

And still, he dragged her toward his black car like she was some prize.

Hazel glanced over her shoulder one last time at Vincent. One of the guards was now helping him up.

“promise me you will let him go,” she said as Chris yanked open the door.

“I will ,” he said, pushing her inside.

He slammed the door and walked around to the other side.

Hazel sat silently, breathing heavily, her palms pressed against her lap. The wedding dress felt tighter with every breath. Her throat burned with unshed screams.

Chris got in and turned the ignition.

They drove.

No music. No words. Just the hum of the engine and the silence filled with anger and grief.

***

The car finally pulled into the long cobbled driveway of the church.

It was a picture-perfect chapel—roses wrapped around the entrance, soft lights glowing from inside, the sky above painted with a late evening hue.

Hazel’s heart thudded. This was supposed to be her day.

But now? It felt like a funeral.

As the car screeched to a stop at the front, a small group stood near the church entrance—Chris’s family, a few close friends, and the priest.

They’d been waiting.

Excited. Curious.

Until they saw them.

The car door burst open, and Chris stepped out first.

Covered in blood.

Disheveled.

Eyes cold.

Then came Hazel.

A mess of lace and sorrow, stumbling out in heels that wobbled on the uneven ground, her hand still trembling as she pushed back her hair from her tear-stained face.

Gasps filled the air.

Chris’s mother took a step forward. “Chris—what on earth happened to you two?!”

“What is this?” his sister asked. “Why are you—what happened to your face?!”

No one looked happy anymore.

There was no music. No smiles. No warmth.

Just confusion and disbelief.

Chris didn’t stop walking. He took Hazel’s hand and led her toward the chapel entrance, ignoring everyone.

His jaw was clenched. Determined.

“Chris?” his father called out, frowning. “What’s going on?”

Chris stopped at the steps.

“Start the ceremony,” he said to the priest.

The priest blinked. “Are… are you sure?”

“Yes,” Chris growled. “Start it. Now.”

Hazel stood next to him, chest heaving. Her body burned with tension, but she said nothing. Her eyes burned with hatred.

Still, she didn’t back away.

The priest, clearly unnerved, motioned them forward.

The small gathering followed them in, murmuring questions that no one answered.

Inside the church, the flickering candles cast soft shadows on the old wooden pews. It was meant to be beautiful. Romantic.

But Hazel only felt suffocated.

The priest stood before them, flipping through his book with shaky fingers.

Chris didn’t bother fixing his shirt. He didn’t wipe the blood from his cheek. He simply stood tall, holding Hazel’s hand tightly, as if she might run if he loosened his grip even a little.

“W-We are gathered here,” the priest began, voice cracking, “to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”

Hazel stared straight ahead, her fingers cold in Chris’s grip.

She didn’t hear the rest of it.

Her mind had gone numb.

“…in sickness and in health…”

She swallowed hard, fighting back tears.

“…to love and to cherish…”

Chris looked at her, his eyes unblinking.

“…till death do you part.”

Silence.

The priest turned to Chris. “Do you, Chris Scott, take Hazel Martin to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Chris’s voice was firm. “I do.”

The priest turned to Hazel. “And do you, Hazel Martin, take Chris Scott—”

“I do,” she interrupted flatly, her voice hollow.

There was no emotion.

Just submission.

The priest looked hesitant but nodded. “Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

He paused.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Hazel didn’t move.

Chris stepped forward, one hand reaching toward her face.

She didn’t flinch.

Her eyes locked with his.

“I will make you regret marrying me,” she whispered, her voice laced with venom.

A dangerous smile tugged at the corner of Chris’s lips. “We’ll see,” he said softly.

And then he gripped her face with both hands and kissed her.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was hard. Claiming. Bruising.

The kind of kiss that said you’re mine now.

Hazel didn’t kiss him back. Her arms stayed frozen at her sides. But she didn’t pull away either.

She let him do it.

Let him own the moment.

Let him think he’d won.

When he finally pulled back, her lips were raw, her eyes blazing.

Chris turned to face the crowd. “The wedding’s done. She is mine now”

And just like that, he led her back down the aisle.

No confetti.

No applause.

Only stunned silence and a trail of wilted rose petals crushed beneath their feet.

He led her away from the altar. Her eyes were locked on him—the man who destroyed her world, now holding her hand like a prize he’d finally won.

Don't  think you won Chris, married you today… Her gaze didn’t waver as she silently vowed the words to herself, …but I will escape you tomorrow.And before I go, I’ll break you in a way you’ll never recover from.