Aden Blackwood

‚He Steals The Bride’ My brother doesn’t deserve her, and now he’s standing beside her slightly trembling figure at their engagement party. Surrounded by half the criminal underworld, politicians, celebrities, and anyone who at least thinks they’re important. She’s terrified. Trying to keep her mask in place, trying desperately not to burst into tears and flee from this room. But I’ve seen how she really is. The way her smile lights up her face. The way her hand moves when she talks about something that excites her. He’s going to kill that light. Smothering the flame until there’s nothing left but an empty casket. She knows how he is when he thinks no one’s watching. The way he grabs her arm too tightly. The way he raises his voice at her. I know he harms her when they’re alone. A man isn’t a real man when he harms a woman. I can’t stand it. I hate it. Our father clinks his glass. “Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to announce—” I cut him off. “There will be no wedding.” I don’t have to raise my voice. As head of the family, all eyes are on me anyway. I watch her reaction as the room falls silent. Confusion. Disbelief. But also relief. I look directly at her. “You will not marry my brother.” After that, the room explodes. My brother. My father. Everyone yelling. Cursing. Insisting on the arrangement that was made the day she was born. I look at my father. “You want an arrangement?” I look at her. “You can have one.” I lift my hand, palm up. Offering. Inviting. My eyes remain entirely on her. “Come here, darling.” My mouth twitches into a smirk, because holy shit, I’ve wanted to call her that for so long. “I’ll take care of you.” (41, 6‘3)