HEALING THE SCARS

CHAPTER 8

PENELOPE

The wedding is finally over. Dylan leads me to a waiting car where his driver holds the door open for us. As we settle into the plush seats, Dylan releases my hand abruptly, leaving me to wonder how he finds me repulsive.

"When we get to the house, start packing some of your clothes. We leave for our honeymoon tonight. I'll have one of the maids assist you," Dylan instructs without looking at me.

"Okay," I reply quietly, staring out the window, avoiding his gaze.

"Always look at me when I speak to you, do you hear?" he demands sharply. I nod, glancing at him briefly.

His eyes bare into mine, but when I meet his gaze, he quickly averts his eyes to his phone. "I need you to be convincing as my wife at all times, understood?" he continues, his tone commanding. I nod again, my stomach twisting with resentment. I am expected to play the role of a perfect wife while he indulges in whatever he pleases. The thought disgusts me, but I will endure it for the sake of my brother's safety.

"I want to see my brother. Where is he?" I ask, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. Dylan ignores my question, a classic move of his to dismiss anything that inconveniences him.

"I will only pretend to be your wife if you assure me that my brother is safe," I insist firmly, my voice gaining strength. Dylan stiffens beside me, his jaw tightening with suppressed anger. Suddenly, he presses a button, and the partition between us and the driver slides up. I realize then the gravity of my demand and what it might cost me. Grabbing my neck forcefully, Dylan pulls me closer to him. 

"What did you just say to me?" he growls, his grip on my neck tightening slightly. I wince in pain, regret flooding through me.

"I... I'm sorry," I whisper, fear creeping into my voice as I meet his intense gaze.

His eyes stare into mine, and for a moment, I think I see a flicker of something unfamiliar—was it desire? It vanishes as quickly as it appears, replaced by his usual cold demeanor. Then, unexpectedly, Dylan's lips crash onto mine. I freeze in shock at first, his kiss catching me off guard. But as the warmth of his lips and the urgency of his touch register in my mind, I find myself responding with equal fervor. His kiss is demanding, and passionate, as if he's trying to prove a point or assert his dominance.

I kiss him back with equal intensity, my mind reeling with confusion and a strange mixture of emotions. Is this a cruel game to him? Is he trying to remind me of my place, or is there something more behind his actions? He pulls me to him and I am now straddling him. This make-out session is getting very intense because his hands are now on my gown which is very much a destruction. At this point, I don't know how to react so I simply try removing his jacket, and looks like it was the right move because it is gone in a minute as the make-out session progresses.

We had not even noticed that the car had come to a halt almost five minutes ago. He starts unzipping my dress and that's when I know exactly what he is up to. I push him and sit away from him. He looks at me in surprise. I can feel my lips already swollen from kissing him and i can't help but blush and look away. I am angry at myself for letting someone like him touch me. On the other hand, I am also really hot and bothered by what we just did.

"Understand this, Penelope," he says, his voice tinged with a hint of something I can't quite place. "You will play your part, and I will ensure your brother's safety. But never question me again." I nod silently, unsure of what just transpired between us. A part of me feels used, and manipulated, yet another part can't deny the undeniable pull his kiss ignited within me.

He opens the door and turns towards me and with his harshness, "Don't be late. " I nod as usual and get into the mansion. I find Rose in the kitchen with the other workers and I greet them. They seem excited to see me and they make me feel relaxed. Ana, one of them tells me that she has been instructed to help me get out of my gown and pack for the honeymoon.

A few hours later, I'm all set for this so-called honeymoon. In my suitcase, I've carefully packed a collection of swimsuits in various colors and styles, anticipating days spent under the sunny Malibu sky. Alongside them are shorts and an array of tank tops and crop tops, all chosen with the hope of blending comfort with style. I've also packed a few flowing cover-ups for when I want a bit more coverage.

I'm seated in my room when a knock interrupts my thoughts. Assuming it's one of the maids coming to fetch me, I naturally call out, "Come in."

To my surprise, it's Dylan. He's shed his wedding suit for a pair of casual sweats and a shirt that accentuates his chiseled physique. It's hard not to stare—he exudes a magnetic charm that's as unsettling as it is undeniable.

"Are you done looking at me, or should I let you keep staring?" he quips, his tone both teasing and challenging.

Caught off guard, I blush furiously. "I... I'm sorry," I stammer, averting my gaze to the floor.

Dylan strides closer, his movements smooth and controlled. He lifts my chin gently, forcing me to meet his piercing gaze. "Didn't I tell you to always look at me when I'm talking to you?" His voice carries a hint of command that makes my heart race.

"I'm sorry," I whisper again, feeling a strange mix of attraction and unease. Why do his words affect me so deeply?

We stand there in silence, the tension palpable. His face inches closer to mine, and instinctively, I pull away. I can't let him kiss me again, this is a game to him and I can't give him exactly what he wants. His sudden shifts between tenderness and cruelty leave me bewildered.

"I hope you're ready because we're leaving right now. Get downstairs in a minute," he announces abruptly, breaking the charged atmosphere. With that, he turns and leaves, leaving me to wrestle with my conflicted emotions.

Alone again, I sigh heavily. As I gather my luggage, I realize how grateful I am for Ana's help. She appears just in time, her warm smile and efficient hands making the task of loading my bags into the car much easier.

"Thank you, Ana," I say gratefully, feeling a pang of guilt that she has to assist me with such menial tasks.

"It's my pleasure, Mrs. Campbell," Ana replies kindly, her eyes conveying genuine concern.

Mrs. Campbell. The title feels foreign on my lips, a stark reminder of the role I've been forced into. The clothes Dylan arranged for me were impeccably tailored and undoubtedly expensive. I wondered whether he personally chose them or sent a personal shopper—everything fits perfectly, yet I feel like an imposter wearing them. None of these luxurious garments belong to me; they're merely props in this elaborate charade.

As I settle into the car beside Dylan, who's already seated, I steel myself for the days ahead. This honeymoon in Malibu is supposed to be a romantic escape, but under the circumstances, it feels more like a prison sentence. This is going to be a long five days, I think to myself.