Chapter 4 A forced marriage

Chapter 4

ISLA'S POV

Evans sways slightly where he kneels, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His dark eyes flick up to meet mine, filled with something I can't quite name-anger, betrayal, maybe even hatred. My stomach churns. I knew he wouldn't be happy about this, but I never thought it would come to this-my father pressing a gun to his head, Ford watching with that smug, knowing smirk. I nod to answer his question. "Why are you pregnant?" Evans' voice is sharp, accusing. Like this is something I did to him. My father doesn't wait for my answer. He cocks the gun, pressing it against Evans' temple. "You got my daughter pregnant. You will marry her." He was a man of his word. He liked to deal with any problems quickly and right now, Evans only looked like a problem to him. Evans huffs out a bitter laugh, despite the situation. He tilts his head slightly, just enough to glance at my father out of the corner of his bruised eye. "And what happens if I don't?" He was a daring man. I didn't know that about him but it definitely added to his charms. Ford, who's been quiet up until now, lets out a long, exaggerated sigh. He crouches in front of Evans, his fingers lazily cracking his knuckles. "The first punch only drew a little blood," he murmurs, almost thoughtful. "You don't want to find out how I like to play." I know Ford. He's not bluffing. My father might be the one holding the gun, but Ford is the real monster in the room. Evans must realize it too because his jaw tightens, his hands clenching into fists despite the fact that he can barely sit upright. I look around for the next person with a short temper. Amid was nowhere to be found. Must be on another mission. "Marry my beautiful daughter," my father says, his voice calm, controlled. "Or die." Evans exhales sharply. His shoulders tense, his pride warring with his survival instincts. He knows when he's cornered. His gaze locks onto mine again. It's not soft. There's no warmth, no understanding-just resentment, burning and deep. Nothing from our night of passion was still in him. "Fine," he spits. "I'll marry her." My father finally lowers the gun, stepping back as if Evans' agreement was inevitable. But I know this isn't over. Ford chuckles, stretching as he straightens up. "See? That wasn't so hard." His eyes gleam with amusement as he pats Evans' cheek, his touch deceptively light. "Now, play nice, yeah?" Evans jerks his head away, glaring up at him. "Go to hell." Ford just laughs. "Oh, I've got my own reserved seat." My hands feel like ice as I watch Evans struggle to stand, his body swaying under the weight of exhaustion and pain. He doesn't look at me. Not once. "Where do you think you are going, pretty boy?" Ford asks. "My phone fell off in your car. I have to call my parents and inform them of my very happy wedding decision." He said with sarcasm. Evans' phone is placed in front of him, the screen lighting up as someone hands it over. His hands are still shaking whether from pain or rage, I don't know but he grabs it, flexing his fingers before dialing. Ford leans casually against the desk, arms crossed, watching Evans like a predator enjoying the slow unraveling of its prey. "Speaker," Ford orders, his voice leaving no room for argument. Evans hesitates, his gaze flicking to me for the briefest second before pressing the button. The line rings twice before a warm, familiar voice fills the room. "Evans! Finally! You never call." A woman's voice comes up, light and teasing. There's no hesitation, no fear in her tone. She has no idea what's happening on this end of the line. Evans swallows, his jaw tight. "Mom." His voice is rough, strained, but he tries to keep it steady. "I-uh... have news." "Oh?" There's a beat of silence before she gasps. "Wait! Are you finally settling down?" His father's voice joins in, gruff but amused. "About time. You've had your fun, but a man needs a wife." Evans closes his eyes briefly, his fingers twitching against his thigh. I can tell he's barely holding back a sarcastic response, but he's smart enough to know it won't end well. "Yeah. I'm getting married." A delighted squeal echoes from the phone. "Oh, Evans, that's wonderful! Who's the lucky girl?" I stiffen, feeling Ford's gaze flick toward me with quiet amusement. Evans' hand clenches into a fist at his side. "Her name is Isla." There's a pause. "Isla," his mother repeats slowly, as if tasting the name. "That's lovely. When do we get to meet her?" Ford speaks before Evans can respond. "Soon," he drawls, his voice laced with mock sweetness. "But first, we have a wedding to plan." There's a moment of quiet confusion from the other end. Evans' father chuckles, completely oblivious. "Good, good. None of this long engagement nonsense. You've wasted enough time." Evans' entire body is tense, and I can almost hear the words he wants to say but doesn't dare to. "We'll be in charge of church and guests." His mom said again. "No. Isla will arrange guests. I want her to do this, mom." He sounded almost genuine. If not for the facial expression, you couldn't tell that he wasn't happy. My father steps forward, his presence filling the room with quiet authority. "You have four days," he states, his voice cold, final. "That should be enough time for the bruising to go down." Evans finally looks at me. Not with love. Not with understanding. Just simmering, quiet rage. Four days. It came in a flash. The wedding hall is silent. Evans stands rigid beside me, his jaw tight, hands clenched. The bruises on his face have faded, but the fury in his eyes hasn't. His parents and butler were present. The priest's voice cuts through the tension. "Do you, Evans Scott, take Isla Femerao as your lawfully wedded wife?" A pause. Evans' gaze flicks to my father in the front row, his expression unreadable but heavy with warning. Everyone waits. Evans exhales sharply. His fists tighten. "Say the words, Babe." I whisper. He eyes me in anger. Before the priest repeats himself. "Do you, Evans Scott, take Isla Femerao as your lawfully wedded wife?"