In a world ruled by fear, survival comes with a price.
When her brother's attempt to overthrow the Saviors fails, Tessa finds herself under Negan's watchful eye-protected, controlled, and dangerously close to the man she should hate. As violence, po...
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Negan didn't release her right away.
He held her there, her back pinned firmly to his chest, one arm locked around her middle as if she weighed nothing at all. Her pulse hammered violently beneath his grip, every beat loud in her ears. His breath dragged warm across her ear—steady, controlled, almost intimate—like she hadn't just tried to cut him open with a shard of glass, like her hands hadn't been shaking with desperation seconds earlier.
He wasn't angry.
That was the worst part.
Finally, he let her go.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Like he enjoyed the way her body jerked forward when the restraint vanished, the way she had to catch herself to keep from stumbling. Negan watched her closely through narrowed eyes, chest rising and falling at an unhurried pace. Even now—after she'd nearly attacked him—he didn't raise his voice, didn't snap, didn't lose control.
That calm felt dangerous.
Instead, he reached out and turned her by the shoulder, fingers firm but not rough. His thumb brushed the tear stains from her cheeks, wiping them away with an almost tender care.
That softness was somehow worse than violence.
"I'm tired of losing people," she whispered, her breath trembling as the words slipped out before she could stop them.
Negan's expression didn't soften.
It sharpened.
"Well, ain't that a damn shame," he drawled. "Why don't you take a seat, sweetheart. Let's chat like civilized folks."
She hesitated. Every instinct screamed at her not to obey—but the threat behind his calm lingered in the room like smoke, thick and suffocating. Slowly, unwillingly, Tessa moved, perching on the edge of the leather sofa like it might swallow her whole if she leaned back too far.
"Take me to Daryl," she demanded, her voice steadier than her shaking hands.
Negan chuckled—low, rich, condescending.
"You just tried to kill me, and now you're makin' demands?" He leaned back, spreading his arms along the back of the sofa behind him, legs open in that arrogant, relaxed sprawl he loved. Like he owned the room. Like he owned her fear.
"That's not how it works here, princess. Your free ride is over. You want in?"
His eyes locked onto hers, unblinking.
"You work for me now."
Her fingers tightened on the armrest until her knuckles blanched white.
"Work for you? After everything you've done?"
Negan's grin vanished.
His voice dropped into something colder than steel.
"You still don't get it. You stormed my outpost. You killed my men."
He leaned in slightly, eyes dead, flat, stripped of humor. "And me? I gave you a goddamn gift by letting you live."
His smile returned—slow, wicked. "Well... except for the unlucky two."
Tessa's stomach twisted violently.
Before she could speak, Negan stood—sudden and deliberate—and crossed the room in three long strides. He planted both hands on the arms of her chair, caging her in completely, his face inches from hers. She could feel the heat of him, smell leather and smoke and something unmistakably dangerous.
"I want you..."
His voice lowered to a gravel-dark whisper.
"...to be my wife."
Tessa's breath froze.
Then fire tore through her.
She shot to her feet, fury exploding out of her, heart slamming against her ribs. "You're delusional."
Negan's smirk stretched slow and wide, like she'd just confirmed everything he liked about her.
He didn't back up.
He stalked her.
Step by step, forcing her backward until her spine met the wall and her breath hitched painfully in her chest. There was nowhere left to go.
His hand came up—gentle, chillingly gentle—brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"It's simple," he murmured. "You marry me... Daryl lives."
His fingers trailed down her cheek, unhurried. "You say no..."
He shifted his shoulder, tapping Lucille's imaginary weight there. "...and the bat sings again. Round three."
He leaned closer, lips almost grazing her jaw, his voice a breath against her skin. "You wouldn't want that... would you?"
Her chest tightened painfully. "You wouldn't dare."
Negan's grin sharpened, his tongue sweeping slowly across his lower lip.
"Oh, darlin'..." he whispered. "I always dare."
Every nerve in Tessa's body screamed as he leaned even closer, brushing another strand of hair from her face, his breath hot against her cheek. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms as she fought the urge to scream, to strike, to run.
"What's it gonna be?"
Her throat burned. Fear and rage collided until she couldn't tell them apart. But she forced the words through clenched teeth, refusing to let him hear her break.
"I'll be your wife," she spat. "Your damn wife, you misogynistic freak. But if you so much as touch Daryl—today, tomorrow, ever—I swear to God I will kill you myself."
Negan froze.
For just a moment.
Then he laughed.
Low. Dark. Delighted.
Like she'd just told him the best joke of his life.
"That's my girl," he said finally, stepping back. Her lungs filled with shaky air she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. "See? Wasn't so hard."
He grabbed Lucille, tapping her against his boot as he hummed a familiar tune. When he swung the bat casually toward her, she flinched—just barely.
His eyes swept over her body one more time, slow and claiming, like he was memorizing what now belonged to him.
"Now come on," he drawled, swinging an arm around her waist and dragging her close. "We're payin' Alexandria a little visit."
His grip tightened.
"And darlin'... you better smile. Wives of mine don't sulk."
