Summary : The Judge Turpin has married you by buying your hand to your father. Determined to not let him get close to you and even less reach your heart well kept under ice and resentment, you keep on to push him away. But after having been told that loving you is a losing game, something new seems to awake inside of you.
Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Forced marriage. Assault.
A/N: Hello dear 😁 here lay my first Turpin fiction. I didn't really know where I was going with it but here is it. I didn't proofread it so there are probably some mistakes, sorry for that. I am not the one who came up with the name Richard. I read this name in the terrific trilogy "Judged and Sentenced" from Deepperplexity (unfortunately not on Wattpad) . Since then I saw the name pop up here and there and so, I suppose the name is sort of canon now 😅 You can find that incredible story on AO3 and other piece of her work on Tumblr as well than AO3.
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You couldn't put up with the fact that he had bought you. But it wasn't really him, your husband, that you despised for that. It was your father. The man you thought you could always count on.
You had had quite an easy childhood with not too many constraints, which were rather rare at that time. You had been taught to read and to write. And you were a good writer. Such a good one that one day, a publisher from a local and independent Newspaper from London made you sign a contract to edit some of your short stories in his Sunday paper. And as he was well known in the literary sector, he put you in touch with a book publisher. This is how you became "Alexander Bryant" in the eyes of the public. Of course, you weren't able to be published under your real name. A female writer ? What an offense !
But you didn't really care as you were able to make some money from the sale of it. Some really good money, a rarity for a woman. It was fortunate as, for the biggest desperation of your father, you weren't, in any way possible, a good maid. You couldn't sew two points in a raw correctly, your cooking wasn't palatable at all and if you appreciated living in a tidy house, you couldn't spend more than one hour or less doing that.
But you didn't have to worry about it now as you had been married for two months to no one else than "The Death's Judge".
"How did it happen to me," you muttered to yourself, looking at you in the mirror without really seeing your reflection.
In fact, you perfectly knew how it had happened. You didn't know how and you didn't know where, but Richard, your now husband, had noticed you one day and since then, your faith was decided.
He came one day to your house with a bouquet of flowers for you. You had looked at him suspiciously. You knew who he was. His reputation preceded him of course but you also had a glimpse at him one day when you were at the court with your publisher and one of his associates to negotiate the terms of your new contract with a solicitor.
