Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You-Chapter 101: Come with Me

Sarah

I stop retreating. Something shifts inside me, a fierce protective instinct, not just for myself but for my baby. I stand taller, squaring my shoulders.

"I don’t remember anything and you are not welcome here."

He laughs. "Such spirit. You always had that, even as a little girl. It made things... interesting."

My stomach turns at his words, but I don’t let my disgust show. "What did you do to me, Rodrigo? Did you hurt me when I was little? Are you afraid now that I am older, I will tell my parents about that?" I ask.

Rodrigo’s smile falters, just slightly. He takes a step closer, but I don’t move. Not this time. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me scared.

"You don’t remember," he says slowly, almost thoughtfully. "But you feel it, don’t you? A pull. Somewhere inside, you know."

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to breathe steadily. "What I know," I say through clenched teeth, "is that I was a child. And you were a grown man who had no business being near me. So, if you did anything, you better start praying. Because I will not let you anywhere near me or my child."

His eyes narrow. "So dramatic. It wasn’t like that—"

"Then tell me what it was like!" I snap. "Because from what little I do remember, it was wrong. You were wrong. And if you think for one second that I’m going to be scared into silence, you’re wrong again."

Rodrigo’s face darkens. "You’re making a mistake, Sarah. You don’t understand the consequences of accusing a man like me."

"I don’t care," I say, voice low but steady. "I’m not that little girl anymore. You don’t get to manipulate me or threaten me."

He smiles slowly. "I never really got what I wanted back then. But it’s never too late, I think."

"You’re sick," I breathe, my voice shaking with rage.

He suddenly grabs my hand. "Come with me. I’d want nothing more than us to be together. You, me, and the baby," he says, eyeing my stomach.

I gape at him. Is he actually insane?

"Let go of me!" I yank my arm away, stumbling backward. My heel catches on a garden stone, and I nearly fall, catching myself against a tree.

Rodrigo’s face transforms, the charming mask slipping to reveal something dark and twisted beneath. "You don’t understand what you’re refusing, princess. I can give you everything—wealth, protection, a life of luxury. Better than anyone can."

"I’d rather die," I spit, fury replacing fear. I scan the garden desperately for a weapon, anything I can use. My eyes land on the garden shears lying on the bench a few feet away.

He follows my gaze and laughs. "Don’t be foolish, Sarah. You wouldn’t want to harm your baby with unnecessary exertion."

I edge toward the bench anyway. "I’m warning you, Rodrigo. Leave now, or—"

"Or what?" He lunges forward suddenly, grabbing both my wrists. "You’ll call the police? Tell them what? That a family friend paid you a visit? That you’re having delusions about your childhood?"

I struggle against his grip, panic rising in my throat. "Matthew will kill you if you touch me!"

"Matthew," he sneers, "is a boy playing a man’s game. He has no idea what he’s dealing with."

With a surge of adrenaline, I twist one hand free and slap him hard across the face. The crack echoes through the garden.

Rodrigo freezes, shock registering before his eyes darken with rage. His hand flies to his reddening cheek. "You shouldn’t have done that."

"Get out!" I scream.

He grabs me again, more roughly this time. "You’re coming with me. We have much to discuss about your future—about our future."

"There is no ’our’ future!" I kick at his shin, connecting solidly.

He grunts in pain but doesn’t release me. Instead, he starts dragging me toward the garden gate. I dig my heels into the soil, fighting him with every step.

"Help!" I shout. "Millie! Somebody help me!"

"Shut up!" Rodrigo hisses, clamping a hand over my mouth.

The taste of his skin against my lips triggers another flash of memory—being silenced this way before, in a dark room, tears streaming down my face. The recollection fuels my rage.

I bite down on his hand, hard.

Rodrigo howls, yanking his bleeding hand away. "You little bitch!"

He raises his fist, and I brace myself for the blow, turning to protect my stomach.

But the impact never comes.

Instead, there’s a sickening thud, and Rodrigo crumples to the ground.

I look up in surprise. "Josh? What are you doing here?"

Josh stands over Rodrigo, fists clenched. A heavy metal trowel dangles from his right hand, its edge stained with blood.

"I was in the neighborhood," he says, eyes flicking from me to Rodrigo’s limp form. "I heard you scream."

I stare at him, stunned, the adrenaline still roaring through my veins. "You... you knocked him out."

Josh looks down at the body. "I think so. At least long enough for us to get help."

Rodrigo groans faintly, his fingers twitching in the dirt.

Josh steps back, his expression sharpening. "We need to call the police. Now."

I nod, my legs trembling. Josh steadies me with one hand while pulling out his phone with the other.

The moment gives me a chance to breathe, and everything hits me all at once. The fear, the fury, the memory of Rodrigo’s hand over my mouth. I grip the edge of the bench to steady myself as my knees nearly give out.

Josh notices. "Sarah, sit. You’re shaking."

"I’m okay," I whisper, even though I’m not sure I believe it. "Just... get Matthew."

Josh presses a number on his phone. "I am calling him now."

Rodrigo stirs again, groaning.

I glance down at him, my voice shaking. "He was going to take me. He said there was a future for us. He is crazy."

Josh’s eyes narrow as he looks down at the man on the ground. "Who is he?"

I sit down slowly on the bench, my heart pounding so loud it’s all I can hear for a second. I swallow hard, feeling the tremble in my fingers as I press them against my belly, reassuring myself that the baby is okay.

"He’s Rodrigo," I say. "He...he is a friend of my father. Visited a lot when I was little. I think—" My voice catches. "I think he hurt me back then. Or tried to hurt me. And now he’s back, talking like we should be together. Like he owns me."

Josh’s knuckles whiten around the phone. "Jesus Christ," he mutters. "Sarah, that’s fucked up."

On the ground, Rodrigo groans louder, starting to shift.

Josh steps in front of me protectively, the metal trowel still in his hand. "We should tie him up. Can you find some duct tape or rope?"