The Engagement

The Engagement

The golden zipper whispered up her back as her mother fastened the dress, hands surprisingly gentle for a night so heavy.

Aroha stood in front of the mirror—silent.

Her reflection stared back at her like a stranger.

The blush pink fabric clung to her curves softly, modestly, and yet… something about it made her feel offered.

“Nineteen,” she whispered to herself, “and already being dressed like someone’s bride.”

Behind her, her mother smiled faintly.

“You look beautiful, Aroha. He’ll be pleased.”

He.

As if Zadkiel Rylend was her groom, not her captor.

She bit her lip. “It’s not a wedding. Just… an engagement.”

But even she couldn’t pretend it was casual.

---

The Rylend estate’s private hall was dressed in ivory and shadow.

No paparazzi. No noise.

Just a circle of elites—family, power, legacy.

And then there was him.

Zadkiel stood at the far end of the room, suit dark as night, eyes darker.

He didn’t smile.

Didn’t blink.

But when Aroha entered—

His gaze locked on her like a flame tasting silk.

Slow. Intense. Undeniably possessive.

She felt it all without a word:

The promise.

The threat.

The control she hadn’t even begun to understand.

As she walked toward him, every step felt heavier.

The heels, the silence, the way everyone else faded in the background.

He took her hand when she reached him—cold rings, hot skin.

“You look beautiful,” he said, voice smooth like a secret.

She looked up—her breath caught.

Because behind that compliment were his cruel eyes.

And they said everything he didn’t:

> "You're mine now, little kitten. You’ll wear my ring.

You’ll sleep under my roof.

And one day soon…

You’ll beg for what you're scared to want."

The ring slid onto her finger.

A perfect fit.

Her future? Sealed.

With diamonds.

And danger.

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The Photos & The Pressure

The room had dimmed just enough for the chandeliers to glow like moons—

casting soft gold light over velvet walls and glittering wine glasses.

Every guest was dressed like sin and status.

But all eyes were on them.

Zadkiel Rylend and Aroha Harrison.

The newly engaged.

The perfectly staged.

She stood beside him, still stiff in the way only innocence knew.

Posture too straight. Smile too polite.

Her hand dangled by her side, never touching his.

And yet—he didn’t take his eyes off her.

They greeted people one by one—

Zadkiel with a nod, a faint smirk, a chilling calm.

Aroha with quiet words, soft smiles, trying to seem okay.

But her heart thudded like it knew she was on display for more than just photos.

Across the room, a photographer gave the signal.

Zadkiel leaned slightly closer—not enough to touch her, but enough to speak without being heard.

“Smile, little kitten. You're the star tonight.”

She swallowed hard, keeping her eyes forward.

“And you’re the shadow behind me,” she whispered back. “Always watching.”

He smirked at her words.

She wasn’t just innocent.

She was aware—and that thrilled him more than it should’ve.

The first click echoed.

Flash.

She stood straight, shoulders drawn back.

Click.

He angled his face just enough toward her, like he was admiring what he already claimed.

Click.

Their eyes met. Briefly.

But her breath hitched like he’d just run a finger down her spine.

The crowd smiled. Clapped lightly.

But to Aroha, every shutter sound felt like a lock snapping closed.

Zadkiel didn’t move. Didn’t touch.

But his voice slid beside her again, quiet as poison:

> “One day… you’ll look into the camera and beg for my hand around your waist.”

She didn’t flinch.

But her fingers curled tightly around the bouquet she held.

Because deep down…

Some part of her believed him

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