Chapter 6 Bloody Wedding Vows

# Chapter 6: Bloody Wedding Vows

The aftermath of Darren's livestream confession thrust me into a spotlight I never wanted. Overnight, I transformed from anonymous trophy wife to one of the most powerful women in business. My phone wouldn't stop ringing—fashion publications wanting interviews, business analysts seeking statements on my plans for Allen Industries, and socialites suddenly desperate to befriend me.

"Mrs. Allen?" A maid knocked softly at my door. "The car is ready whenever you are."

Today marked my first official appearance as Allen Industries' majority shareholder—a charity gala where New York's elite would scrutinize my every move. Darren would attend too, maintaining his vegetative charade while I played the devoted wife.

"Just a minute," I called, studying my reflection. The woman in the mirror looked like a stranger—designer gown, flawless makeup, diamonds at my throat that cost more than my parents' house. A costume for a role I never auditioned for.

The drive to the venue passed in tense silence. Darren sat beside me in his wheelchair, blank-faced and seemingly oblivious, though I knew he was watching my every reaction.

"Remember," Peters instructed from the front seat, "keep conversations about the company brief. Defer detailed questions to the executive team. And perhaps avoid mentioning the... circumstances of your acquisition of shares."

"You mean my husband's public declaration of ownership?" I couldn't resist the barb.

Peters' expression tightened. "Financial journalists will be present. Discretion is advisable."

The gala was exactly as insufferable as I'd anticipated—air kisses, champagne flutes, and thinly veiled interrogations disguised as small talk.

"Vanessa, darling!" A woman I'd never met embraced me like an old friend. "What a week you've had! From fashion nobody to corporate titan overnight!"

I forced a smile. "Life is full of surprises."

"And how is dear Darren?" Her gaze slid to my husband, who sat perfectly positioned to appear helpless yet dignified.

"As well as can be expected," I replied with practiced ease.

Throughout the evening, I noticed something disturbing. Despite the crowd's ostensible sympathy for Darren's condition, they addressed all questions to me, speaking about him as if he weren't present. Their pity was performative, their interest in him extending only to how his disability affected their investments.

It enraged me, despite everything.

By midnight, exhaustion and champagne had lowered my guard. When yet another investor asked about "managing such responsibility with a disabled husband," something snapped.

"My husband," I said coldly, "built this company while you were still deciding which prep school matched your family crest. His mind remains sharper than anyone in this room. Perhaps direct your questions to him."

A hush fell over our corner of the ballroom. The investor retreated with mumbled apologies, and I felt Darren's gaze burning into me. When I glanced down, I caught the ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

Hours later, back at the mansion, Darren abandoned his wheelchair the moment we were alone, stretching his long limbs with catlike grace.

"You defended me tonight," he observed, loosening his tie. "Quite passionately."

"I defended basic human dignity," I corrected. "Don't read into it."

"Still," he moved closer, "it was unexpected. Almost wifely."

I stepped back. "Don't push your luck."

His smile never wavered. "I've arranged a surprise for you. A wedding gift, long overdue."

"I don't want anything from you."

"Nevertheless." He gestured toward his study. "Shall we?"

Curiosity overrode caution. I followed him into the room where I'd first discovered his surveillance of me. On his desk sat a sleek black box tied with a simple ribbon.

"Open it," he urged.

Inside was a USB drive. "What's this?"

"Watch and see." He inserted it into his computer.

The screen flickered to life, showing footage of our wedding day. The ceremony I'd been too numb to fully process.

"Why would I want to relive this farce?" I asked.

"Because you missed some crucial details." He fast-forwarded to moments before the ceremony began.

The footage showed Darren—fully mobile, no wheelchair in sight—speaking intensely to the priest. I increased the volume.

"—understand my instructions?" Darren was saying.

The priest looked uncomfortable. "Mr. Allen, the traditional ceremony includes asking if anyone objects—"

"And I'm telling you to omit that part." Darren's voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "If anyone says the words 'speak now or forever hold your peace,' I'll ensure your son loses his position at Hartford Investment Group. Do I make myself clear?"

The blood drained from the priest's face. "Crystal clear, sir."

Darren paused the video, studying my reaction. "Shocked?"

"That you threatened a man of God to ensure our wedding proceeded without interruption? Not particularly." I kept my voice steady despite my churning stomach. "Your obsession has already destroyed any moral boundaries most people respect."

"Not destruction. Prioritization." He resumed playback, showing more behind-the-scenes moments—Darren instructing security to remove anyone who seemed hesitant about the union, Darren reviewing the guest list and striking names at the last minute.

"Why show me this?" I demanded. "To prove how thoroughly you manipulated everything? I already know that."

"To help you understand the lengths I went to in order to secure our future." He closed the video and turned to face me fully. "Nothing was left to chance. No detail too small."

The realization hit me like a physical blow. "You're not showing me this out of guilt or confession. You're proud of it."

His eyes gleamed. "Efficiency should inspire pride. I identified what I wanted and created optimal conditions to obtain it."

"I'm not a corporate acquisition!"

"No," he agreed softly. "You're far more valuable."

I collapsed into a chair, suddenly exhausted. "What do you want from me, Darren? Really? Not the contract, not the marriage certificate—what is this all for?"

He considered the question with surprising seriousness. "Initially? Recognition. You looked through me at that design showcase five years ago. Me—a man no one ignores."

The confession startled me with its raw honesty.

"Later," he continued, "it became more... comprehensive. I wanted your talent, your perspective, your particular way of seeing the world." He paused. "I wanted you to see me the way I saw you."

"Through surveillance cameras and private investigators?"

"Through possibility." He knelt beside my chair, bringing his face level with mine. "I saw what you could become before anyone else did. Even you."

"So this is about your ego? Your need to play God with my life?"

"It's about partnership." He took my hand before I could pull away. "We're the same, Vanessa. Both willing to do whatever necessary to protect what matters to us. You married me for your brother. I married you for my future. We both made sacrifices for something greater."

"The difference," I pulled my hand free, "is consent. I knew what I was sacrificing. You stole my choices."

"And gave you the world in return." He stood abruptly. "The foundation is already receiving applications. Designers seeking your mentorship, your vision. Your dream, made reality."

The mention of the foundation twisted painfully. It represented everything I'd ever wanted professionally—a chance to transform an industry I loved, to elevate deserving talent regardless of connections or finances.

"You think that justifies everything else?"

"I think you're still here," he pointed out. "Despite knowing the truth. Despite having the resources to leave. You stay because deep down, you recognize the potential of what we've built."

His words hit uncomfortably close to my unspoken thoughts. I had stayed, even after learning about his deception. Even after gaining enough wealth to support Jacob's treatment independently.

"I stay because you've made leaving impossible," I countered. "The company, Jacob's care, the foundation—they're all chains disguised as gifts."

"Are they?" He moved to his desk, retrieving a document. "This arrived today. Your brother's latest medical report. The specialists believe he'll make a full recovery within six months."

I snatched the paper, scanning it frantically. It was true—Jacob was responding remarkably well to treatment. Six more months and he would be healthy, independent of the Allen fortune.

"Six months," I whispered. "And then nothing tying me here."

"Except the fifty-one percent of Allen Industries in your name. The foundation with your vision at its heart. The life you're building." He stepped closer. "And perhaps, by then, more personal considerations."

I laughed bitterly. "You think I could ever develop feelings for my jailer?"

"I think you already have complicated feelings toward me," he said with infuriating confidence. "Hatred and attraction often occupy the same space."

"You're delusional."

"Am I?" He reached out, trailing his fingers along my jaw. "Your pulse accelerates when I'm near. Your pupils dilate. Your breathing changes." His thumb brushed my lower lip. "Physical responses don't lie, Vanessa."

I slapped his hand away, standing so quickly my chair toppled backward. "Don't touch me!"

Rather than anger, his expression showed satisfaction, as if my reaction had proven his point. "Six months," he echoed my earlier words. "Consider it a trial period. If you still want to leave when your brother recovers, I won't stop you."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because by then, you won't want to go." He picked up another document from his desk, offering it to me. "Sign this."

I took it warily. "What is it?"

"A new contract. Formalizing your position as CEO of Allen Industries and director of the Vanessa Allen Design Foundation."

I scanned the document, my suspicion growing. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. Just one condition." His eyes held mine. "You commit to remaining in these positions—and in our marriage—for six months. After that, your choice."

"You expect me to sign another contract with you? After everything?"

"I expect you to recognize opportunity." He placed a pen beside the document. "Think of what you could accomplish in six months with these resources. The designers you could elevate. The sustainable practices you could implement industry-wide."

My hand hovered over the pen. The foundation was everything I'd dreamed of—a chance to make real change in an industry desperate for innovation. And running Allen Industries, while intimidating, offered power few women ever attained.

"What guarantee do I have that you'll honor this after six months?"

"The same guarantee I have that you won't destroy my company out of spite." He smiled thinly. "Mutually assured destruction."

I picked up the pen, studying the elegant contract. "I need time to think."

"Of course." He stepped back. "Take all night. But remember—these opportunities won't wait forever."

I returned to my room, contract in hand, mind racing. Was I actually considering this? Signing myself into another six months with a man who had manipulated every aspect of our relationship?

But the foundation... the chance to implement my vision on a global scale... the potential to help countless designers who struggled as I had...

As dawn broke, I made my decision. I signed the contract with one modification—a clause ensuring Jacob's treatment would continue regardless of any future changes in my relationship with Darren.

When I handed him the signed document over breakfast, his smile was triumphant.

"Wise choice," he murmured, pressing his thumb against a drop of blood where I'd pricked my finger on the pen's sharp edge. "Sealed with blood. How appropriate."

I watched him fold the contract carefully, tucking it into his inner pocket. "Six months," I reminded him. "Not a day more."

"Six months," he agreed, his confidence unsettling. "To show you what our partnership can truly become."

As he wiped my blood from his thumb, his expression sent a chill down my spine. This wasn't the end of his machinations—merely the beginning of a new phase.

I had signed away another six months of my life to a man who collected my moments like treasures. The blood on the contract seemed fitting somehow—a physical manifestation of the bond he'd created between us, willing or not.

Six months to fulfill my professional dreams. Six months until Jacob's recovery. Six months to understand the man who had rewritten my life to include himself in every chapter.

"To new beginnings," Darren said, raising his coffee cup in a mock toast.

I didn't return the gesture. This wasn't a beginning—it was a countdown.