When Chester Danforths’ nurse catches titus attempting to murder his own father he tries in numerous ways to buy her silence in order to keep his dark secrets away from his plotting sister. Seeing an opportunity for family domination, Titus proposes marriage to the woman, allowing her anything she wants so long as she provides him the heir the Danforth’s need. What Titus doesn’t know is just exactly who his new bride is…
Set in a universe where the plot of ready or not 2 doesn’t happen
Please keep interacting with this post because when I come to tumblr to procrastinate, this shows up again in my notifications and guilts me into writing again
Summary - Daphne tries and fails to consummate her marriage before Ursula’s wedding, and decides instead to form a new plan… which isn’t as successful as she had hoped.
Warnings - smut, sex, nudity, violence, weapons, themes of abuse and control, mentions of Satanism.
Daphnes first attempt was the night she found out. She had crawled into bed, leaning over him as he slept peacefully, planting kisses. He woke up to find her and pushed her down, caging her underneath his large body. He kissed down her neck, nipping at the soft skin at the top of her chest. She thought she had succeeded in that moment… until the phone rang. Titus pulled off of her, apologising and stepping out of the room to take the call. Daphne let out a groan and sighed. The next morning when she awoke he was gone. And so she had failed attempt one.
Attempt number two took place a few days later. She had cornered him in his office, coming to sit on his lap. He had reciprocated her excitement for a few moments, hands roaming at the soft skin of her ass, and then he stopped.
“We can’t.” He told her, breaking away from her desperate kisses, panting for breath. She pouted. “I have to work.” He reminded her, sending her on her way. Daphne screamed into her pillow that night, seeing her window of opportunity closing with a sharp swing.
Titus had made himself sparse those next few days, gone when she woke up in the morning and back after she had fallen asleep. The only way she knew he had even joined her was the crumpled sheets from his side in their bed. Daphne had just a day left until the wedding, one day to protect herself. She thought back to what he had said on her wedding night, about how he wanted her to beg for it. And so she waited up that night, wearing that skimpy pink lace nightie he had picked out for her. She had set the mood with candles, dolled herself up and waited. He returned not long past midnight, stinking of liquor. His eyebrows raised as he took in the sight in front of him.
“What’s all this for?” He asked, smiling like sin.
“For you.” She told him, kneeling up on the bed to kiss him, she took advantage of his vulnerability then and pulled him down on top of her, continuing to attack him with her lips. He groaned as he kissed her, coarse hands running up her hips, appreciating the soft lace and her even softer skin. She felt him begin to pull away and so she switched tactics, pinning him down, hips straddling his. She began to grind against him, feeling that warmth trickle into her core, her body was betraying her, finding pleasure in what should have been a chore. Titus groaned before grappling her by the neck, pulling her lips off of him. He looked up at her, eyes half dazed with lust and raised an eyebrow. She sighed. “Please Titus.” She begged. He liked that. She could see it in the way, his eyes blackened, in the tense swallow in his throat, in the way his hand tensed as he continued to hold her neck.
Titus gave her a devilish gleam, sitting up and pulling her onto his lap, hand still remaining on her neck. His hand snaked its way down her body, roaming across her covered chest, and forging a path towards her cunt, which was now dripping with need. His hand skimmed over her clit, soft teasing circles, where it just wasn’t enough to satisfy her. Growing impatient, she tried to grind against his hand, but Titus’ grip on her neck tightened, causing her to choke and splutter as she fought for breath. She thought of the last time he had choked her, when she had caught him, and how terrified she had been. But she wasn’t scared now, if anything it had made Daphne wetter.
“Patience” he growled, ceasing his iron-tight grip on her neck. His fingers swirled with more pressure now, causing soft moans to slip from her parted lips. Titus spent a few minutes just playing with her, different intensities and speeds, watching how she would bite her lips if he was doing it perfectly, how she would whimper when it wasn’t enough pressure, and how she would shake and groan when he was being too rough. Titus found himself mesmerised with the way her brown brows knitted together in pure bliss, in the way her hair began to cling to her neck as a thin layer of sweat coated her barely covered shoulders. He snapped out of it then as she let out a particularly loud moan, indicating she wasn’t far from finishing. He changed tactics, two fingers easily working their way into her dripping hole. She looked up at him, eyes wide with bliss as his fingers pistonned in and out of her, curling perfectly to hit her sweet spot every time. It wasn’t long before she was coming undone around him, fingernails digging into his biceps and she let out a yell, legs shaking, cunt dripping.
As her mind steadied itself, she reached her hand beneath her to grab at his clothed cock but he stopped her.
“Not tonight.” She pouted, trying to play off her seething anger and fear. He stood up then, letting her drop her legs to the floor, struggling to stand as they still trembled.
“I’m going to shower.” She said, walking straight into the bathroom. In the shower she went through several emotions, the first anger. She felt furious as she practically ripped off her night gown, she yanked the shower on with such aggression it groaned and she screamed silently before she got in. While in the shower, she felt fear. The fear that this was quite possibly the last night she had alive, the fear that come tomorrow Titus was going to stage some accident, playing the role of devastated husband. Then it was realisation, revenge. She thought in that moment, as she rinsed her hair, that Titus had no idea she was aware of the clause, that she had caught on to his plan. That was her advantage. He would be cocky, the same way he had been that night with her medical bag, like he thought her too naive or too scared to question him. Not this time.
She climbed back into bed with the beast, letting him drape an arm half-assedly across her, pretending she bought his love, or care, or whatever the fuck he was trying to convince her he felt toward her. The whole time she thought of her plan, how she would escape him, and if needs must, how she would destroy him.
That afternoon, as Titus and Daphne readied themselves for Ursula’s nuptials, she enacted the first stage of her plan. She waited until he left the room and walked into the wardrobe, using the code he had foolishly told her, she opened the safe, finding that tiny gun he had given her, and a dagger. She picked up both, using a belt to fashion a makeshift holster. She put the gun in her bag, slipped on her heels and went to meet him downstairs. When she reached the door he looked her up and down, telling her how beautiful she looked.
An hour later they were back at the Danforth estate, sat in the front row on the gardens, watching Ursula get married. Titus went to put his hand on her thigh but she jerked it away. He looked to her with confusion, almost fear, but left her too it. As Daphne watched the sun set behind the devoted couple, she reminded herself of phase two of her plans, remembering where each door in that house led to. As the happy new couple walked back down the aisle together, Titus turned to her.
“I assume you won’t be participating in the hunt?” He asked her, hands fidgeting with his trousers.
“Of course not.” She sneered, disgust painted across her face. He glared at her then, but she didn’t care. He led her into the house, and up to his bedroom, where he locked the door behind him, insisting it was for her own safety, a ‘just in case’ guarantee. But Titus was stupid, and ignorant, and didn’t think of the servants entrance built into his wall.
Daphne sat on his bed, awaiting the sound of the horn. Her hands shook with fear. To calm herself down, she reminded herself of the path she was going to take, how she was going to take two lefts and then a right, and at the bottom of that staircase, she would be led into the kitchen, where she could easily run out the back door. She would hide in the woods, out of sight, until the hunt ended, and when they opened the gates to let the extended family leave, she would slip out. It was the perfect plan.
As she had calmed herself down, she heard the ear-bleeding groan of the horn, and went straight for the servants door. She pulled it open with a yank, brushing past the cobwebs from years of idle use. At the end of that first narrow corridor she turned left, walking down that next corridor. She thought of how loud her heels would be, and cursed herself for not bringing flat shoes. She slipped the heels off in order to keep herself hidden. She thought that Titus would probably be on his way to her now, axe in hand, ready to slice her down. Or maybe he wouldn’t be that brutal. Maybe he’d strangle her, or throw her from a balcony, hit her in the head with something heavy. But when he would enter the room he would find nothing, the door would still be locked, the windows closed and the trellises unclimbed. Even if he did think of the servants passages, it would take him time to navigate them, and she’d have plenty of time to get out of the house before he could catch her.
Daphne eventually reached the steps, walking down them with a sense of glee, she was practically free, safe at last. When she got to the bottom of the steps she slipped her heels back on and pushed the door open. There was an issue however, at some point in her mental calculations of the map she had made an error. Daphne had taken a wrong turn at some point, and hadn’t ended up in the kitchen like she had expected, but the study, where her husband was currently nursing a glass of scotch.
Summary - Daphne and Titus move into their own house, and Ursula drops the bomb that exposes Titus’ whole plan.
Warnings (whole series) - sex, violence, gore, blood, mentions of satanism, themes of abuse and control
Ursula had made good on her promise to take Daphne shopping, and had dragged her around every designer shop she could name, even some she could not. Every time Daphne so much as took a longer glance at something Ursula was snapping her fingers, insisting she bought it. “Spend my brothers money” she would say.
Daphne had arrived to the Danforth estate later that night with a plentiful amount of bags, crammed full of clothes, makeup, shoes, bags and more, all of which she didn’t need, all costing a truly ludicrous amount of money. Daphne had stumbled through the doors, arms weighed down by bags, to find Titus awaiting her in the foyer. Piled near the door was a stack of black suitcases. Daphne dropped the bags down.
“Are you going somewhere?” She asked, rubbing her chafed fingers. Titus stood, walking towards her.
“We are.” He informed her, snapping his fingers to gain the attention of one of the house’s assistants. A young man in a black suit came running up, beginning to lug suitcases towards Titus’ Porsche. Daphne raised an eyebrow in prompt, “to my house… well I suppose now our house.” He guided her by the hand into the black door of the car, closing it behind her as he aided in loading what was left of their cumulative belongings.
The pair took off down the winding lanes of the Danforth estate, wind blowing in daphnes hair. She pulled the battered iPhone four out of her pocket and checked it again, confirming her parents hadn’t contacted her still. She hadn’t heard of them since they wished her a happy married life at the end of her wedding ceremony. She signed and dropped her head back against his pristine leather seat with a humph.
“Is everything ok?” Titus leaned over, eyes flickering back to the road.
“It’s fine.” She paused. “My parents still haven’t called me.” She waved her phone for dramatic effect. Titus locked eyes with the decaying gadget and bit his tongue.
“Well probably because they think you’re in Mexico.” He told her, causal, matter of fact. Daphne turned to him, prompting him to explain. “I told them we were on a week long honeymoon in Mexico, so they wouldn’t come visit you in case of injury or…” his voice trailed off but she knew what he was implying, her death.
“Right.” She nodded, the pair drove in silence for another minute until Daphne cracked. “Why aren’t we on a honeymoon in Mexico?” Daphne asked. Titus just laughed as his drove through the lanes to his own house.
“Because I have work to do.” He told her, she sighed. Daphne reminded herself what a honeymoon was all about, and then thought that she wasn’t really that bothered about it anymore. “Why do you still have that old ass iPhone.” He asked, breaking down into laughter. She frowned at him, holding her phone to her chest like it had feelings.
“Because it’s a good phone, and I don’t believe in spending my money on trivial things, when it could be put to better use.” She told him, sitting straight in her chair feeling high and mighty.
“Fair enough.” He agreed, before continuing “but you have my money now. So buy the damn phone.”she agreed and the conversation ceased. The rest of the drive was silence until they reached another pair of gates, smaller, but not too dissimilar to the black iron pair at the Danforth estate. Titus punched in a code and it opened, allowing the couple to drive through to his estate.
As they pulled up to his home daphnes mouth was agape. She had long been used to the vast manner of the Danforth estate, being that it was built on the same land as Americas most successful hotel companies flagship property. But Titus house was immense. It was smaller sure, but if anything more imposing, with slate grey stone, black trimmed windows, a minorly disturbing red door and freaky-looking gargoyle statues that “guarded” the door. Titus must have noticed her face, seeing as he chose to add more explanation.
“It’s Georgian.” He explained as he got out of the car, walking around to help her out. “It was my great-grandfathers. He lived in this house before he built the hotel. My grandfather then built Danforth manor, and my father thought this house was too ‘gaudy’ so I snatched it up.” He told had as he began to lug suitcases out the boot. She went to help him but he simply fished the keys out of his pocket, asking her to unlock it. “Ursula lived here for a few years while I studied in Boston, but she wanted something more modern.” He followed behind her as she pushed the cherry door open. Her amazement was dulled. The gorgeous exterior was paralleled with a… mediocre interior. The walls were white, plain with not a single photo on them. There was practically no furniture about the place, and every surface was covered in dust from not being covered. Daphne turned to look at her husband with confusion. “It hasn’t been decorated I know. I just never got round to it.” He informed her.
“Titus… there’s no furniture.” She said, face wrinkling in disappointment. “And you don’t have a cleaner?” She asked.
“Not yet, I had a temporary one come in once a week but I haven’t for a little while.” Daphne just shook her head, walking over to the kitchen. She fumbled around with the wall until she found the light switch. What should have been a beautiful vintage kitchen was barren, not even a toaster on the counter. She opened the cupboards to find nothing but a bottle of Macallan whiskey. Typical she thought.
“What the fuck do you eat?” She shouted round the corner. He laughed as he came to join her in the kitchen. She got down the whiskey and two glasses from the cupboards and poured them both a drink.
“Well I ate out mostly. But now that you’re going to be living here I suppose I should hire a chef.” He explained, finishing the whiskey and tipping his glass towards her, a silent ask for another drink.
“I can cook you know? There’s no use in hiring a chef for two people, especially if you’re going to be out all day.” She reminded him, shaking her head. Fucking rich people she thought.
“If you insist then sure.” He laughed then. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind cleaning either?” He asked, berating her. She scowled.
“A house this big, fuck off.” She laughed. “Speaking of… do you have the bedrooms made up?” She asked him, already knowing the answer. He looked at her confused.
“Bedrooms?” He asked, she nodded.
“We’re sleeping in the same room still?” She asked and he nodded.
“We’re married aren’t we?” She scoffed at that. Married couples that wealthy shared beds because they did nothing but fuck each other all night. And Titus hadn’t even kissed her on lips aside from the ceremony. They were hardly the fitting image of such domestic bliss.
“Well I will go make our bed up then.” She told him, pushing past to climb up the truly gargantuan stair case. She wandered through a few rooms, most empty, aside from a bathroom, until she found what must have been Titus’ room. The walls were of course white, the curtains didn’t look like they were from this century, and the dark wood of the king-sized bed frame was the most dramatic presence in the room. There were two doors at the other end of the bedroom, one led to a closet that was practically empty, and the other led to a bathroom. She walked out the room, eventually finding a linen closet and struggling to put the bedding on. She went to call him from downstairs but found him already stood at the door, startling her. “This house is so empty.” He nodded. Sitting down on edge of the bed.
“Could you decorate it? I would try but I don’t have the time nor do I think you would like my tastes.” He laughed. She joined him on the bed, sat about six inches apart, without acknowledging the fact he was probably judging she fell backwards, appreciating the soft comfort of such an expensive mattress. He turned back to her, eyebrows raised in amusement.
“I can decorate it yeah. It will give me something to do all day.” She agreed hands ruffling the soft cotton of the duvet cover, far nicer than the Walmart bedding she had used in her own bed.
“Just tone down on the pink and the frills?” He asked her as he stood, making his way to a dresser to grab out a pair of pyjamas. She laughed.
“There goes my plans for the living room.” She teased. It was moments like this where her an Titus were perfect, when they could laugh with each other. There was a lot of intimacy in the way they always sat, so close together but never quite close enough. Daphne stood up, walking over to where Titus stood by the dresser, only to remember everything she owned was packed in a suitcase downstairs in the foyer. “Fuck.” She muttered quietly, he heard her anyway.
“Just wear one of my t-shirts it’s fine.” He pulled open the third drawer and then walked away to change. Daphne picked out a navy t-shirt, the cotton impossibly soft. She slipped out of her own clothes and pulled it over her own head. She relished in how comfortable it was as she climbed into their bed.
A week later
Daphne ran to the door as she heard it ring, paint covering her jeans and shirt. She hoped it was the delivery man with her new couch. It was not. When she opened the door she found her sister in law, dressed up, with a disappointed look on her face.
“You forgot?” She asked. For a moment, Daphne felt guilty.
“No I just lost track of time. Give me five minutes to change.” She begged, practically running up the stairs. “Oh and don’t touch the walls they are wet.” She shouted from the top. When she reached Titus bedroom she cursed. She had completely forgotten. Ursula had invited her a week before to dinner, to celebrate her impending wedding. Ursula joked that she would ask for wedding advice, none of which Daphne could offer. She wandered into the wardrobe, pulling down the first thing she found, a flowing lacy dress, white. Maybe not that she thought. The next was a black dress, with beaded flowers decorating the trim and neckline. She pulled out a black cardigan too. Daphne pulled it on with great difficulty. Finding a pair of black shoes to match and reaching for the first bag she could find. Luckily the paint disaster had avoided her face and hair, and so she simply applied some red lipstick and took her hair down. She was still a bit underdressed, but she looked a whole lot better. She ran back down the stairs, heels clipping on stone, as Ursula waited in the lobby. At that moment Titus came bounding in from his office, most likely due to the commotion.
“Ursula?” He asked as he walked up to her. “What are you doing here.” She scowled at him then, realising he had forgotten.
“Taking your wife out to dinner.” She told him, Titus only nodded. He spotted Daphne then as she walked up to the twins.
“What am I going to do about dinner?” He asked her. Daphne rolled her eyes, slipping her new phone into her bag.
“Order in?” She asked him. He grunted at that, and placed a kiss to his cheek for the benefit of Ursula and the women left the house. Daphne turned back to look at Titus and his face said enough. ‘Don’t you dare’ was etched in the scowl he gave her. She turned back, a cold shiver running down her, now very tense, spine.
Daphne and Ursula chatted aimlessly about wedding details and honeymoon locations throughout their dinner. It was when they got to dessert that Ursula dropped the bomb on her.
“I suppose it’s a good thing that my only real worry about about this wedding is the consummation clause.” She laughed, taking a bite out of her tiramisu. Daphne looked up at her, confused.
“What consummation clause?” She asked. For a moment Ursula looked at Daphne like she had grown a second head, and then she smiled.
“I suppose Titus didn’t really need to tell you.” She laughed. “Our friend, he likes to see that marriages are consummated quickly in order for them to be binding. Once they are consummated the bride or groom is protected. With all these hunts, he introduced the spousal rule. That so long as a marriage is consummated, spouses cannot kill each other.” She laughed as she explained it, talking about ancient tradition, and family dynasties. Daphne heard nothing. Ursula’s wedding was just over a week away, and she was yet to consummate with Titus, meaning when that hunt happened, he could kill her and the secrets she knew, protecting himself.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck
That was all Daphne could think the whole way home. As she climbed the stairs to the couples bedroom she accepted that she needed to get it over with and fuck Titus, so he couldn’t kill her at the next “family event.”
He had done it on purpose, she realised. All that bullshit about wanting to fuck her when she wanted it, it was a load of crap. He was just holding out long enough, until he could get to Ursula’s wedding. That was why he’d been so devoted and caring, why he hadn’t bothered teaching her anything to help her survive the next hunt, because he was going to kill her himself.
a/n - slightly filler chapter if I’m being honest but the drama is going to kick of in the next chapter.
Summary - Daphne decides her plan for her new marriage, and befriends the one person Titus does want her too
Warnings (whole series) - nudity, smut, violence, blood and gore, death, abusive themes, references to satanism
She had ran, bare feet scratching on the sticks and rocks that littered the floor of the woods. The Danforth cousin was running behind her, knife brandished high up in the air as he laughed with bloody malice. Daphne just kept running, hoping for safety, hoping for Titus to find her. He did. She collided with his chest, the rough cotton of his black shirt like sandpaper on her scratched skin. He held her there, celebrating his victory. She relished in his warmth and his sent, for once, comforting. His squeeze began to be too tight, crushing her slightly. Daphne coughed, straining to alert him.
“Titus.” She croaked out. He let go of her embrace, blood soaked hands reaching up to cup her face. He squeezed again, lifting her off the ground. Daphne choked, coughing desperately as she tried to get air to her lungs. He smiled at her, and she saw the blood around his sadistic mouth. He kept squeezing, until she couldn’t see him anymore, just a blur of red and black. And then… nothing. 
She awoke with a jolt, a thin hand on her arm. As Daphne opened her eyes she was greeted with a pale, blonde face. Ursula Danforth, sat in her pristine Prada suit, was perched at the end of her and Titus’ bed, watching her with intrigue.
“I didn’t startle you did I?” She probed, voice sweet like honey. Daphne shook her head no. She looked beside her, only to find Titus’ space empty, bed cold and messy. “Oh he’s in the study. I thought I’d come check in on you, get to know my new sister.” she explained, although Daphne could see the falter in her eyes as she had said it. Daphne pulled the covers up to her chest, suddenly aware of what she was wearing, Ursula studied her face then, looking at her lips that had been bitten red, the dark circles under her eyes, the bruise on her forehead and the scratches that littered her face. For a moment she looked to Daphne with pity, sorry for the hurt that her family had caused her, just for a moment. And for that moment, there was a brief window where Daphne thought she might not be so alone after all. But then she saw Ursula’s face return back to normal, and thought better of it. Ursula pressed on, “I was impressed with you last night, not many could adapt so quickly to their surroundings, although your shot leaves something to be desired.” She chuckled, Daphne feigned a smile. The attempt at lightheartedness was appreciated, the topic however was not.
“I’ve never shot a gun before.” She explained, voice quiet. Ursula nodded, perhaps realising, just for a second, that her way of life wasn’t exactly typical, that most people weren’t accomplished hunters by aged ten.
“Well I was impressed anyway.” She smiled, the warmth struggling to reach her eyes. “You know… with the business of the wedding you and I never got to talk. I’ve been dying to know how you and Titus got together in the first place, Titus isn’t really one for romantic stories.” Daphne noticed it then, the flicker in her eyes, the same one she had seen in Titus’ before he had tried to murder his father, the gleam of someone about to win.
A dark thought crossed her mind then, she could tell Ursula the truth, rat out her husband’s miss-deeds, give him the revenge he so clearly deserved. But then another angle entered her head, she could tell Ursula nothing, and watch Titus sweat. She could befriend his sister, know it would drive him mad, making him feel as powerless as she had felt last night, make him feel the pain that rippled through her body. And in that moment, Daphne became a new woman, a tired nurse, saved by her charming prince, a wife so devoted and so in love, no one would question it.
“We met at your father’s birthday last year.” Daphne began. “He had seen how tired I was and had snuck me a drink, hoping to ease my attention. He began to visit mr Danforth often, and would ask after me, waiting until your dad fell asleep to try and get to know me. It was sweet really, watching him so… awkward.” Daphne giggled, watching as Ursula raised a brow, whether it was shock at her brothers’ “kind” heart or disbelief at their love story she wasn’t sure, rather hoping it was the former.
“How did he propose?” Ursula probed further, look in at her mothers diamond ring, the one that was sat on daphnes finger.
“He came to my house. I got home from work to find him talking to my father, asking his permission. Titus told me he was a very traditional man. He proposed to me in the living room that night. I know it wasn’t very grand, but it was the sweetest thing Ti had ever done for me.” Daphne had impressed herself with that story, the nickname adding further depth to their ‘love’. Ursula seemed unimpressed at that, clearly hoping for more, something Daphne couldn’t give her, not yet at least.
In the near year that she had looked after Chester, he had told her much about his children. Mostly about who he wanted to make heir, a constant battle of who he thought was better. He would tell Daphne of Ursula’s determination, her strong leadership, but also of her faults, in her need to control people, and in her heart, too soft for what she needed to be. Then there was Titus, bold, strong-willed and dedicated, but too far gone. Titus needed to be “reigned in” Chester would tell Daphne, that he was too hotheaded and needed more reason in his life. That was all Daphne had to be, the reason. She was perfect for the role, the poor girl, well accustomed to the struggles of life, who would round Titus out.
Ursula had left not long her that, promising her a shopping trip to get her some new clothes, and wishing her good luck in her marriage. The pity in Ursula’s eyes had hit her at that, and for just a moment a sense of worry washed over Daphne. But she just relied on Chester’s words, thinking of the part she was playing and how it would all work out for her in the end.
That evening she had been ushered by Titus into the dining hall, it was 9 at night and he had only just acknowledged her existence. He sat across from her at the table, practically miles apart. They ate dinner in a quiet hum, rarely talking, mostly Titus talking of himself, but he eventually asked about her.
“How was your day?” He asked, placing down his fork to take a sip of red wine. She smiled, seeing her opportunity for torture.
“It was good.” She paused, taking a bite of food “your sister kept me in great company.” She smiled, innocently, like there was nothing wrong with that statement, because of course there wasn’t. Ursula knew nothing, but Titus didn’t know that. His hand paused in mid air, looking at her with dark eyes, something which unsettled Daphne.
“When was Ursula here?” He asked, a demand in the back of his words, he looked panicked, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Daphne shrugged, feigning a bone chilling casualty.
“This morning?” She looked at him like he’d grown a third head, Titus didn’t like that. “She said you were in the study, I assumed you knew she had come over.” Daphne kept eating, not daring look up at him. She could already tell what his expression would be, what thoughts would be behind his eyes, first the fear of getting caught, and then the rage of a man getting played.
“And what did you talk about?” He promoted, voice ice cold. She looked up at him then, and the man she saw looked the same has he had that night he’d caught her, the same cold-blooded rage that she’d seen when he’d found her in the woods.
“How we met, how you proposed. Just… girl stuff.” Her voice was sickeningly sweet, Titus didn’t like that answer, but before he could muster any words, she calmed him down. “I didn’t tell her” his face fell into a state of calm, she heard his sigh of relief from across the table. “But I could…” he stood up then, walking around to her and pulling her up by her arm.
“You don’t fucking tell her.” He growled, face inches away from hers, she could smell the sweetness of his red wine on his breath. “Do you understand.” She tugged her arm away.
“I won’t tell her.” She started, taking a step back to gain some distance “as long as you treat me right. You married me, I’m your wife now. Something you begged for, so you should treat me as such.” He looked at her then, impressed, he clearly hadn’t expected that. He walked back to her again, hands grabbing her face, but unlike her dream, his grip had stayed soft. His head leant down to hers, lips brushing hers, as he whispered to her his promise.
“If that’s what you want. I did promise you I’d make sure you want for nothing.”
Titus had left roses at her bedside table that next morning, a note placed along side them asking her to breakfast with him in the drawing room. When she entered she was met with the first glimpse of her new domesticity. Titus, in his casual hunting clothes was sat at the round table, newspaper in one hand and coffee in the other. He looked up when he heard the soft pattering of her feet, looking her up and down. Daphne was still wearing that nightgown he had bought her, the most comfortable item of clothing she had ever worn. She sat down opposite him, immediately helping herself to the arrangement of breads, pastries, fruits and yoghurts that lined the table. She groaned at the taste of warm, fresh, bread and his eyebrows raised.
“Hungry?” He asked with a soft laugh, she cleared her throat apologising. “No don’t be sorry, it’s good for you to eat something.” She had barely touched a slice of toast since her wedding day, wrought with grief and agony, but today was a new day, with a new, satisfying perspective to see her life from.
“I haven’t really been hungry.” She told him. He nodded, intrigued at her perspective. To a man who had been raised as a killer, hunts were thrilling, a chance for him to show off his prowess. Their wedding hunt had been his favourite, getting to claim his new bride, his new leverage, and eradicate a cousin he hated was a cause for celebration. To Daphne however, it had been a sadistic murder spree, that had ended with her covered in blood, only half of which her own.
“You need your own security.” He started, taking a sip of black coffee. She dropped the toast she was munching onto the fine china and looked at him, dark eyebrows scrunched. “To feel safe, in this house, and anywhere else.” She nodded at that, she would love to feel safe again, to sleep through the night, to not look over her shoulder constantly, to face the gardens she had once loved but was now terrified of.
“How?” She asked, maybe he would suggest some form of martial arts, a body guard or something even more far-fetched.
“A gun.” He told her. Daphne shook her head, she didn’t want a gun, and wouldn’t be able to shoot one even if she did.
“I can’t shoot.” She reminded him. He laughed at that.
“Yes I am aware you aren’t the best with aiming. Poor cousin Charlie still can’t walk.” He laughed at that, smiling at her. Daphnes face was twisted in guilt, something which Titus did not agree with. “Do not feel guilty. If you hadn’t shot him he would have killed you. You saved yourself.” His comfort was brutal, honest, but it worked. She agreed with him then, that her shot was self-preservation, that she hadn’t even really damaged him, what was a shot leg to death really? “If you want the nightmares, the paranoia and the palpitations to go away, then you need to feel like you can defend yourself.” She wasn’t aware he had noticed that, but perhaps the fear on her face was just too hard to conceal.
“You don’t know that.” She told him, hands fidgeting on her lap, running her fingertips over the coarse lace trim of her nightgown.
“I do.” He told her “it worked for me.” It could have been the soft morning lighting, but Daphne could have sworn she saw some vulnerability in him. For a brief window he was no longer the all-powerful Mr Danforth, but Titus. A man who had saved her, who had placed delicate kisses to her forehead, who had promised her the world. That was the man she had agreed to marry, and the man who would be the easiest to control.
“Ok.” She had said, voice not much louder than a whisper. He had nodded at her, telling her to get dressed after breakfast so he could take her to pick out her own gun.
Four hours later, the Danforth’s were zipping down the lanes of the estate. Titus drove fast, concentration painted on his face. Daphne was in the passenger seat, enjoying the way the breeze rippled through her woody hair. In the back of Titus’ vintage car was a shotgun that had cost more than her old car, when it was new. He had told her in the gun shop that a Beretta was a quality gun, that would look after her well, that it was light, making it easier for her to use. Daphne had just nodded along while he had picked it out for her, paying an absurd amount of money like it was nothing. Titus had even had them engrave it, reading “Daphne” along the sleek wood of the comb.
He’d taken her shooting the next day, to the small shack at the edge of the Danforth property. Inside was a row of human silhouette targets, and markers for her to stand. Clearly Titus had frequented here often. He moved Daphne to stand on the marker, repositioning her stance and gun. His body was against hers, warm and dominating, his hand rested on the small of her back for her first few shots. It had taken a while, but after a few rounds Daphne was an excellent shot, hitting the bullseye every time. When they were done Titus had ripped the silhouette off the wall and given it to her, telling her he would frame it if she wished.
Summary - the dreaded wedding finally takes place, and Titus shows his new bride the reality of her new life, and the challenges she’ll face even surviving her first night
“No” she had chanted, begged, yelled, wailed. He stood there, still dressed in his wedding suit trying desperately to reason with her. “I’m not fucking doing that.” She looked up at him, the glam of her bridal makeup ruined with tears. He walked down towards her then, kneeling on the floor beside his, their, bed. She sat on the edge in a crumpled pile of lace and silk, hair beginning to spill down onto her shaking shoulders. He had pulled her straight up to the room after their vows. Daphne thought he had more dubious intentions but instead he had warned her, of just who his family is and the task she would have to complete.
“You have to. Now listen to me. You’re going to hide round the back of the house when the whistle blows,theres an old storm shelter no one else will know about. Once it’s dark you can sneak into the woods, but stay to the walls and stay quiet. You’re going to hide in the woods, and you’re going to be silent. All you have to do is wait ok, I’m going to come find you and as long as I find you first nothing happens. Don’t come out of your hiding place unless you hear my whistle.” He grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look down at him. “Do you understand?” He asks her. She nodded, sobbing as she game to grips with her new reality. He pulled her inside of his gargantuan wardrobe then, to a safe full of weapons, he gave her a gun and a spare round of ammo, telling her to use it if anyone comes near her. She shook her head, telling him she wasn’t a killer that she wasn’t like him or his depraved family. “I know Daphne.” He had soothed as he put his suit jacket on her, slipping the gun and bullets into the pockets, chucking her old Hokas at her. “That’s why we’re going to win.” He placed a kiss to her forehead murmuring “don’t fuck up” against the sweaty skin and turned on his heel, beckoning her to follow.
They entered the now deserted reception hall to find 7 people awaiting them, Chester Danforth, Ursula Danforth and five of their more distant relatives, all dressed in their wedding clothes, a morbid dread painted on their face. All except Chester, who was too old and sick to participate, had weapons. Ursula had her gun and the cousins all had knives of various calibres. Titus joined them, his black axe swung over his shoulder. He nodded at her as his father sounded the whistle, giving her 10 minutes to hide from them.
She rounded the corner, booking it for the exit, legs wobbling from the fear and adrenaline as she left the house. She remembered Titus’ instructions and went round the back of the house, finding an old storm shelter, covered with grass and ivy from years of abandonment. She climbed down to find the room empty and pitch black, she turned on the torch on her phone and found nothing but cobwebs, she walked to the wall, feeling its cold embrace and slid down onto the floor. From the small gaps in the door she could see the beam of sunlight, glowing orange as the sun fled the sky, a wise decision, Daphne thought. She turned her phone off, thinking of the battery, and left herself to her thoughts in the dark.
Daphne thought mostly of her new husband, a man she barely knew. She thought of when she caught him that night, the fear as she ran from him and the thrill as he chased her. She then thought of his consoling her, preparing her, the slight, brutal softness he had delivered her, the promise of saving her. She thought that he must rather like saving her, that Titus loved the hunt and loved the thrill. And maybe, deep down, a part of her loved it too. The jumping of her heart at the rustle of birds, the comforting weight of his engraved pistol in the pocket of his suit jacket slumped over her shoulders. She thought of his cologne, the slight smell of his shaving foam, the scotch she had knocked all over him as he tried to calm her down.
It must have been the crying that had tired her, as at some point Daphne had dosed off, she opened her eyes to complete pitch black. Night had fallen. Remembering her husbands instruction, she climbed back up the ladder, and quietly pushed the hatch door open. She pulled herself out and scanned, the gun resting in her pocket, reminding her of that dark possibility. She saw and heard nothing, and so began to walk down to the woods, hand skimming the cruel, cold grey of the wall that marked the end of Danforth house. She had probably walked a mile before she heard it, the sound of footsteps in the distance. She pressed herself to the wall, scanning with terrified eyes to see who was there, praying it was Titus. It wasnt. It was one of his younger cousins, around her age who hadn’t yet spotted her, typing furiously on his phone. She remained still, grabbing onto the gun in her pocket, as she waited and prayed for him to move. After what could have been a minute or an hour she took the risk and took a step. The sound of a twig snapping was like the sound of a car alarm in the middle of the night, the cousin saw her then, lunging toward her, knife in hand. She pointed Titus’ gun and shot, watching as the man fell to the ground groaning and clutching his thigh.
Daphne knew the noise of the gun shot would draw attention and so she ran, blindly toward the woods, hoping she wasn’t being spotted in the gaps between the hedges, the thorns ripping the shivering skin of her legs. She made it to the woods, and just kept running. The Adrenaline had taken over, and her legs moved of their own accord. She stopped as she tumbled over a fallen tree, knees biting the ground, face falling into dirt and leaves. She crawled behind a large oak tree and began to wait for her rescue. The gun rested in her lap, fingers idly stroking the wood, feeling the ridges of his initials, T.D.
She heard it then, the sound of footsteps, but these weren’t Titus’ they were softer, more unsure. Another cousin. Fuck, Daphne cursed in her head, gripping the gun tightly, praying the cousin wouldn’t find her. She slowly stood up, rounding the tree. She consoled herself in the knowledge that the cousins had knives, so they had to be close to her, and as long as she kept her distance she was safe. She waited until the cousins had turned their back completely to start walking on the tips of her toes, she then realised her shoes were the issue. The squeaking of foam and the crumpling of dirt underneath them would give her away. With a silent squeal she pulled her shoes off, shivering as her bare feet touched the cold, damp soil of the forest. She ran again, closer to the edge of the woods, hoping with everything in her that Titus was coming to find her. Thankfully he was, she collided with his chest, immediately feeling the silk of his black shirt against her bruised face. He grabbed her then, not hugging her, just… holding her. He had won, that smugness he was relishing in, she was too. She was safe, or at least safer than she was.
The cousin however, had noticed, and was running toward the pair at speed, knife brandished in the air. He pushed her behind him then, barking at her to turn around as she heard a gruesome cracking, squelching noise, followed by the sound of a thud. He dropped his axe beside the now dead cousin and went to her, seeing the state of her, the mud and blood and bruising that littered her skin, he smiled softly.
“Well done Mrs Danforth” he congratulated her. She didn’t react, the pain and cold was hitting her now, and she could only shiver and sob. Titus saw the scattered shoes in the distance and picked Daphne up, carrying her, like the bride she was, towards the house. There was a distant sound of that horn blowing again as Daphne shook. When they reached the house, Titus didn’t go to brag, or show her off, he just carried her straight upstairs to their room. He placed her on the floor, the chill of the hardwood rattling her feet. He guided her to their en suite, motioning to the bath that had been drawn from her, steam rising from the bubbling water. “I’ll see you in the bedroom” he told her, hands slipping away from her waist to leave, closing the door over behind him.
Daphne stared at herself for a moment, thinking of how beautiful she had looked earlier. How elegant and white her dress had looked, how regal her hair had been styled. She thought of how she looked now, her white dress stained with mud and the crimson splatters of blood. She noticed her hair, matted and damp and ruined. She stripped down then, hair falling over her now bare shoulders. Daphne climbed into the bath, squealing as the hot water lapped at the cuts all over her body. She spent 20 minutes scrubbing herself until the water ran brown and cold. She sat there for a moment, looking at the state of the bath, what state she had been in. Daphne glanced over at herself wedding dress, torn, filthy and disgusting. Just as she felt. There was a night gown hung on the back to the door, a soft pink adorned with lace. She pulled it over her head, glad to be in something clean and waddled out of the bathroom.
She found Titus laid in bed, glasses on as he read a book, nursing a glass of scotch. He put his book down to look at her, scanning her body. He got up then, grabbing an old leather doctor’s bag. “Sit on the bed.” He ordered her, pulling out a few rags and a bottle of sterilising alcohol. He started with her hands, and she winced at the sting of the alcohol. He was oddly gentle as he cleaned her, and she acknowledged his skill, cleaning her like he was a nurse. Her legs were the worst, covered in nicks from the thorn bushes and a particularly bad gash in her thigh. There was an odd intimacy in the air as he knelt between her legs, cleaning her. The pain was too bad and the writhing was distracting him so with one hand he had pinned her down, palm resting on the bottom of her stomach. Perhaps she should have felt lucky that the Titus Danforth was caring for her, or maybe angry at his duplicity, but she felt nothing, numb. Titus motioned for Daphne to stand and wrapped a clean, white bandage on the wound.
He remained on the floor for a moment, staring up at her, and Daphne can’t even begin to understand what it means. She expects him to bury his mouth between her thighs, or for him to push her back on the bed, climbing over her to claim his prize, but he doesn’t. He stands back up again and helps her into bed, taking his place next to her, he offers the scotch sat next to him and she downs it, hoping to drink the pain away. He laughs at that and places the glass back down on the bedside table. Darkness falls as Titus clicks the lamp off, the two lying still in the pitch black. Feeling the burning of the scotch she feels bold enough to ask him a question.
“Are you not going to…” she asks voice soft and confused. For a moment she thinks he is ignoring her questions but then he turns to face her.
“Fuck you? Not tonight. I don’t want you like this, quivering and pained. I will consummate this marriage when you beg me to, because you will beg me to.” Daphne doesn’t dare move, mulling over his words. That smug cunt she thinks, I’ll never touch him. It’s a promise to herself, a way to stay grounded in her new life. If Titus Danforth saw her as a challenge then she was going to make sure he lost.
Summary - Titus gets caught in a very bad situation by his elderly father’s nurse, and attempts to buy her silence.
Warnings - smut, violence, gore, (slightly) abusive behaviour, weapons, talks of pregnancy and motherhood, minors DNI
The night before a wedding no sleep was expected. It was the giddiness of a new life and a promising future, or the worry of an incorrect seating chart that kept expectant brides tossing and turning. But Daphne had no worries of her seating chart, after all she had only invited two people, and she wasn’t giddy at all, horrified instead. She wasn’t marrying charming mr right, not looking forward to a life full of love and happiness. She was marrying Titus Danforth, and his money and his homicidal tendencies. She thought back to before that day, where Titus was her boss’ charming and entitled son. Where she could roll her eyes at his greed but appreciate his looks. And every time she looked at him now, she wished she’d never gone back for that stupid bag, never seen what she saw, and never agreed to what she had.
One month ago
Daphne had nearly finished her day, she had given mr Danforth his final medications for the night, watched the evening news with him while he complained of an ongoing conflict in the Middle East and was just about to take him upstairs to bed when she heard the stomping of an all too familiar pair of boots. Titus Danforth rounded the door into the living room, an odd glimmer in his opal eyes. Chester, the elder Danforth, made little reaction to his son, awaiting whatever demand Titus was about to make. Chester pushed himself out of his ornate arm chair, turning towards his son.
“Get on with it Titus, I’d like to retire to bed” he mumbled out, throat hoarse with age. Titus chuckled, checking his Rolex to confirm that it was in fact 8.30 at night.
“Perhaps I just wanted to see my father, in fact why don’t I take you up to bed, give Delilah an early night” Daphne fought the urge to correct him, to remind him that he knew her name, or to tell him it was her job to see Mr Danforth to bed at promptly 8:30, but that wasn’t her place. Chester nodded solemnly, patting Daphne’s hand to bid her goodnight. Titus walked over then, taking his father’s arm to guide him upstairs, she caught a sent of him, his Tom Ford cologne and gun powder from his daily hunt. Avoiding his eyes, she whispered a “goodnight” and then all but scampered away. Daphne got to her car, exhausted and began to drive the battered Ford down the winding roads of the Danforth estate. She had reached the gates when she remembered her bag, full of her medications, that sat in the living room of the Danforth estate. With a guttural groan she turned her car around. Driving up to the front door, she ran back inside the house, not even bothering to announce herself and wandered straight into the living room, but her bag was missing. She stood for a second, eyes scanning the room full of monitors and screens, but her bag was not to be seen.
With a shudder she turned back around, climbing the ornate marble stairs that led to Mr Danforth’s bedrooms. She got to the door and heard a rustling, followed by an almost panicked “Titus”. Without thinking, Daphne barged in, the scene in front her devastating. Chester laid in bed, weak terror in his eye, while his son, held a syringe to his neck. Titus glanced behind him to see Daphne stood there and dropped the syringe. He looked to his father, and then to her, and took a step. Instinctively, Daphne ran, sprinting down the west corridor while Titus stomped behind her, with all the cockiness of a man who would face no consequences. She lost sight of him as she rounded a corridor and slipped into Chester’s old study, hiding under the desk. She panted, heart full of panic as she thought of what would happen to her, would he fire her, or hurt her, tell her it never happened, knowing no one would ever believe her. She heard his whistle next, with a singing tone of “Daphne” calling her to him like a dog. She stayed quiet as she heard the door handle to the study click open. His boots kissed the ground with every step he took, patrolling in the cabinets and checking behind the door. she heard him grab the golden handle, his signet ring hissing as metal clanged against metal, but he did not move. Instead, he let out a chuckle, like the growling of a wolf who had got its prey, as he walked back towards the desk. Leaning over, he reached a hand underneath the desk, pulling her out by the sleeve of her scrubs, tearing them in his cocky rage. He laughed as she whimpered, salty tears streaming down her face.
Titus dragged her down the hallway, walking past where his father resided and throwing her onto the floor of a bedroom she quickly realised was his from his childhood. With a fate-sealing click the lock turned, the key dropping into the pocket of his navy hunting trousers. He turned to look at her on the floor, hands trembling, eyes red. Titus’ head tilted, sighing as he watched Daphne sob.
“What you saw, it never happened. Are we understood?” he told, voice gruff. She just about squeaked out a yes, but that wasn’t good enough for him. His pulled her up, with his other hand gripping her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Is that understood?” He repeated, voice firmer.
“Yes mr Danforth” she cried, shaking. He mused at that.
“Good girl” she trembled, body convulsing in disgust. “My sister especially can not know I was here. If she does…” he paused, voice dropping to a whisper “it will not end well for you” he let go of her then and she stumbled back, steadying herself on his black cotton bedsheets. “Now go back to my father and make sure he’s ok” she nodded and scurried past him as he twisted the key back in the door.
When she reached Chester’s room she found him asleep, snoring loudly. She pulled out her pink Littman stethoscope from her bag and checked his heart, beating in the same pace as it always did. She then rummaged in her bag to see what Titus had tried to use and found the tiny glass bottle of Morphine empty. For a moment she panicked, but then she picked the still full syringe off the floor and discarded of it, relieved and regretful she had caught Titus in enough time. As she packed up her bag she heard a shuffling at the door, turning to find Titus leant against the frame, eyebrows raised expectantly.
“He’s fine” she said, looking him in the eye, full of anger and fear. He nodded, looking disappointed.
“Then there is definitely no reason to tell my sister” he reminded. “Now run along home”. She hesitated, not trusting him. He chuckled, turning out the door and walking down the stairs. She hung back behind him, watching as he strolled casually out the front door as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just tried to kill his father. When Daphne left the house she saw him staring at her car, chuckling to himself before strolling away. He climbed into his Range Rover, his “hunting car”, that was in pristine condition and loaded full of guns that were definitely not regulation.
A week later, Daphne had come home to find him sat in her living room. Titus Danforth was in his nice suit, chatting politely with her father, the Eden family “fine china” in his large hands.
“Daphne” her father beamed, “Mr Danforth has come to sing your praises” Titus’s cheek twitched, and she avoided his penetrating gaze. Her mother waddled out of the kitchen then, holding the tea pot, weak hands trembling as she carried it. Daphne reached out to grab it from her mother, ushering her to sit down. “Tea mr Danforth?” Her father offered. Titus held his cup to her, hazel eyes burning into her nervous face as she served him.
“I just came to say, on behalf of the Danforth family, thank you to your daughter for the incredible care she gives my father” he smiled at her, crooked and wrong, taunting her. Daphne dared look him in the eye then, hoping for something genuine, but it was lacking. She wasn’t stupid, she knew what he was doing, buttering her up with praise, soon it would be money or gifts. Anything he could do to buy her silence. Her parents looked at her with raised eyebrows, prompting her.
“Thank you, Mr Danforth. You are… too kind” he smirked at her false praise, delighting in the way it slipped between gritted teeth.
There was another half hour of meaningless chatter, as Titus acted nicer than he was and her parents acted better than they were. Daphne just sat there, thinking about how to save herself from the situation in front of her, but when her mother extended Titus’ welcome to dinner, that window slammed shut, latched clicking with a taunt.
“If you could so kindly show me the bathroom so I can wash up?” He prodded at Daphne, who nodded. She stood up and wandered down the hallway, standing outside the door to let him past, only for his calloused hand to grab hold of her wrist and drag her in with him.
“So…this is where you live” he probed, nosying around the bathroom cabinets, eyebrows raised at the sheer volume of her mother’s medications.
“Yes mr Danforth” he turned back to her then, stepping towards her in the tiny bathroom so his chest was practically flush with hers.
“It’s so small.” His face wrinkled in disgust. “You can’t possibly enjoy being 25 and living with your parents?” She avoided his gaze as it burnt a hole through her head. “Why would you live with your parents at your age? Unless you’re a carer for your mother as well?” She shook her head.
“I don’t… care for my mother but I help out. Cancer treatment is expensive, with all the medication she’s on, and my father couldn’t afford to look after her and work enough hours to even cover a quarter of the costs. Living here is cheap, which means I have better means to contribute toward my mothers care.” She explained, voice shaky with embarrassment, explaining money troubles to the man in the thousand dollar suit, his soft leather shoes probably a months wage for her. She watched as he bit his lip, brows furrowing in thought before he just said it.
“Marry me.” He asked, a demand really. Daphne coughed, choking on the air in her throat as she looked at him, mouth open and eyebrows creasing. “I could give you all the power in the world” she shook her head, arms crossed.
“I don’t want power.” She whispered at him, hand reaching for the rusting door handle.
“But I bet you want money” she paused, palm faltering. He smirked. Bingo. “If you were my wife you would want for nothing. Your mother could receive the best treatment money could buy, you could move out and be waited on hand and foot.” While the thought of being Mrs Titus Danforth was a repulsive one, her mother needed better care, she needed to take her pain meds every day, not just when it was “bad” in order to make the prescription last longer. He studied her face as she mulled over what he had just said, hazel eyes flickering with hopefulness.
“Why do you want to marry me?” She asked him. He leant back against the sink, legs crossing, coated in Armani.
“My sister is engaged, soon to be married, and if she bears a child then she gets named heir of everything my father has. I don’t like that, I deserve to be heir. So if I marry you and produce my own heir, I get what I rightfully deserve” he explained, a veiny hand reaching up to ruffle through his curls.
“I understand that.” She nodded. “But why me?” He looked at her then, like she was a bug beneath his boot.
“You are the only woman my father would approve of, if I brought anyone to him he would know my intentions and wouldn’t approve it, and dad has to approve any engagements.” He stepped back toward her again, hands finding her flushed face. “But when I told him that we fell for each other, that I would visit him just to see you, that you would hope every visitor was me… it nearly brought a tear to his eye.” Her face dropped, he had already told his father, he was so sure she would say yes. And if she didn’t, Chester would most likely fire her for rejecting his son. He had her. “Give me a child and I’ll give you everything. I think it’s a fair deal.” His thumb stroked her face, gleaming at the tears welling in her eyes. The second his hands dropped, Daphne ran out of the bathroom, locking herself in her room to change and hyperventilate.
He sat opposite her at dinner, staring at her the whole time expectantly. He fiddled with his signet wring, and Daphne realised that was probably the first time a woman hadn’t accepted his advances. The thought of it brought her joy, but when she watched her mother’s trembling fork, she realised what she had to do.
He left promptly after dinner, claiming important business the next morning. Daphne offered to show him out, they walked in silence, the air heavy with expectation and dread. He stopped when he reached his car, turning around, awaiting her acceptance.
“If I marry you.” She started. “You will give my mother the best care, make sure she gets better. And you will stay out of my way.” He nodded.
“Well I’ll have to see you for one purpose.” He reminded her, she shuddered. She nodded at him, coyly accepting his proposal. His eyebrow raised, expecting her verbal answer.
“Yes.” Was all she could muster, voice a soft whisper. He stepped towards her, planting a taunting kiss on the cheek, stubble scratching at raw skin.
“I’ll bring you a ring tomorrow.” Was all he said before he climbed into his car and drove away.
Daphne cried herself to sleep that night, accepting her fate, that she had sold herself to a dangerous, despicable man.
Titus made good on his words, bringing her a beautiful gold band with a large clear diamond attached. He told her it had been his mother’s ring, and as he slipped it on her finger, the colour drained from her face.
A month later Daphne Eden became Mrs Daphne Danforth at a small ceremony held in the Danforth family estate, and Daphne realised the gravity of what she had just done.
I can’t hate Bella Swan. She is too relatable. She is just an insecure with low self esteem and a little bit awkward teenage girl who suddenly happens to be in a love triangle with a hot vampire and a hot werewolf. All of her actions are justified. I would’ve done exactly the same.
