When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

Borrowed Vows

Myra

I stirred awake in my bed, groggy, my body still heavy from exhaustion. The first thing I noticed was the coolness of the sheets against my skin—different, unfamiliar. I looked down. My yellow summer dress was gone; in its place, my soft cotton pajamas clung to me. My breath hitched. Marcus had changed me. When I opened my eyes, the room felt hazy with the lingering weight of exhaustion. Marcus was sitting beside me, his phone in one hand, but the moment I stirred, he set it aside and leaned closer.

"Water," he said simply, placing the glass into my hands. His tone carried no softness, only command, yet the first sip felt like salvation. My throat burned with relief, and I drained every drop.

"Thank you," I whispered, handing it back.

He took it from me and set it aside. Then, without a word, he lifted the silver cover from a tray. The smell of creamy alfredo filled the room, rich and intoxicating. He sat on the edge of the bed, scooped a forkful, and held it out to me.

I obeyed, parting my lips. He fed me patiently, bite after bite, wiping the corner of my mouth when sauce smeared there. His silence pressed harder than words.

Why isn't he speaking? Why isn't he raging? Jess said no—the wedding was supposed to happen in three days. What reason had she given? How had his uncle taken it? Her father? Why was he here, feeding me pasta, looking at me without looking?

The questions spun in my skull like knives.

"So... what now?" I asked at last, hesitant, my voice breaking the fragile quiet.

He set the empty bowl aside, eyes finally lifting to mine. "Now you sleep. You're exhausted." His hand brushed over my hair, a gesture almost tender, before he stood to leave.

Panic flared in me. My hand shot out, fingers curling around his wrist. "Why are you not talking to me?"

"I am talking to you." His tone was flat.

"No, you're not. Not really."

"You need rest, Red."

"You were supposed to get married on Sunday," I pressed, heart thundering, "that's three days from now. You'll not talk about that?"

His eyes hardened, glinting steel. "I am getting married on Sunday."

The world tilted, the ground slipping beneath me. My mouth went dry. "But... but you said Jess refused. You said she said no." My voice shook, terrified, trembling on the edge of truth.

He tilted his head, his grip suddenly on my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His thumb grazed along my jaw, deceptively gentle. "And I told you something else that day. Do you remember?"

My lips trembled. "T-to arrange your wedding."

"Exactly." His fingers lingered, brushing my cheek with control disguised as care. "So you do that. You obey me. Forget everything else. You'll do that for me, won't you?"

Tears threatened, but I swallowed them down. "Yes, Marcus."

"Good girl." His lips brushed mine in a possessive kiss before he pulled away, leaving me with nothing but the weight of his command.

Following  day blurred into a nightmare wrapped in satin ribbons. I found myself discussing venues, menus, flowers. Not for myself. Not as a bride. But as Marcus's shadow, moving at his will. His Red carrying out every instruction he was sending my way.

When the tuxedo arrived, Lillie squealed, dancing in circles as she tugged at the fabric. "Marcus is going to look like a prince!" she sang, spinning around with my scarf draped like a gown. "Offcourse he will sweetie" I said taking the fabric from her hand. Her innocence made my chest ache. I couldn't ruin that moment for her, not with my truth.