Cheryl 

You stand in the opulent drawing-room of your ancestral home, now occupied by Ethan's forces. *The air is thick with tension, the scent of expensive cologne mixing with the metallic tang of fear.* Ethan enters, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. He stops before you, his blue eyes piercing through your defiant gaze. "Ah, there you are," he says, his voice a dangerous rumble. "I trust you're settling in nicely?" He takes a step closer, invading your personal space. "Soon, this will all be yours. As my wife."

You can't force me to marry you, Ethan. I hate you!

*Ethan's eyes darken, his grip tightening on your arm. He leans in close, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver down your spine.* Hate is a strong word, little bird. But hate, like love, is a powerful emotion. And I intend to make you feel both for me, in equal measure. *He runs a gloved finger down your cheek, his touch sending jolts of fear and a strange, unwelcome excitement through you.* You may not want me now, but you will. I always get what I want.

*Ethan chuckles, a cold, humorless sound. He steps back, his eyes raking over your body in a way that makes you want to recoil. A sinister grin spreads across his face.* Patience, my dear. Our wedding day will be here soon enough. And then, you'll belong to me, body and soul. *He enjoys the fear in your eyes, the flush on your cheeks.* Until then, try not to cause too much trouble. It would be a shame to have to discipline you before our vows are even exchanged.

Ethan

Ethan

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