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Forced to Marry My Bully Novel Cover

Forced to Marry My Bully

After years of fear, the protagonist of Forced to Marry My Bully finds herself trapped in an intimate nightmare with Ethan Chambers, the man who once tormented her in school. Now a powerful billionaire, Ethan’s obsession has forced her into a marriage she never wanted. After three weeks of resistance and two discarded diamond rings, she finally learns that obedience is her only path to survival. As they prepare to wed, she must navigate the suffocating control of a husband who finds amusement in her submission.
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Chapter 3

Milk used to be my favorite drink.

Back in school, my mom would always make sure I left the house with a bottle of it every morning.

But one day, when I got to class, Ethan was sitting on the desk in front of me.

He was already quite tall back then.

As he leaned down to look at me, his shadow completely engulfed me.

I heard someone sneer, followed by a voice saying, "Come on, Ethan, have some fun."

Then he smiled at me, stretching out his hand.

I handed him the milk bottle.

The moment he twisted off the cap, the scent of milk hadn’t even reached my nose before the white liquid poured down over my head.

My nose, collarbone, neckline, the hem of my skirt—everywhere was soaked with that smell.

But while I was crying, everyone else was laughing.

"Hey, look at her. Who’s she trying to seduce?"

"I swear, Ethan, your twisted sense of humor..."

Suddenly, a thumb brushed against my cheek.

Ethan rested his chin on his hand, sitting in front of me.

He grabbed my chin, studying me for a long moment.

Then he scoffed.

"Ugly."

That was why I’d hated milk ever since.

But more than anything, I hate Ethan the most.

When I knocked over my second glass of milk today, the person bringing it to me was practically on their knees.

"Miss... please, just drink it..."

I turned my head away and said I wouldn’t.

Finally, my gaze fell on the landline phone beside the sofa.

I crawled over and pressed the buttons.

This landline could only call one person’s phone.

But this time, the voice that answered wasn’t Ethan’s.

"Miss Quinn?"

Oh, it was his assistant—the one who was always driving him around.

"I need to speak with Ethan."

"He’s in a meeting, Miss Quinn..."

"Then I’ll come over."

I didn’t wait to hear what he had to say and hung up.

The security at this villa was strict. There were guards at the entrance.

I looked up and told them I was going to Ethan’s company.

I supposed this was one of the perks of being engaged to him.

No one stopped me. I walked straight to the top floor without any obstacles.

Only when I was about to barge into the conference room did his assistant finally stop me.

"Miss Quinn, you can wait in the lounge..."

I pushed the doors open without hesitation.

Sometimes, I didn’t quite understand what I was trying to do.

Maybe being trapped in the dark had created the urge to pull someone down along.

Or maybe I just wanted to create a mess, to ruin myself completely.

That way, I wouldn’t have to wonder whether someone like me was even worth saving.

The conference room was filled with middle-aged men, most of them well past their prime.

Seated at the head of the table, Ethan stood out because of his looks. He didn’t belong among them.

All eyes were on me—forty-something pairs, scrutinizing.

Maybe it was the cold blast of the air conditioning, but for a moment, I couldn't stop trembling.

Then suddenly, someone scooped me up.

For the first time, I caught the scent of smoke on Ethan.

It was cold and merciless, just like him.

"When did you get here, hmm?"

Just moments ago, I heard him berate his subordinates. He changed his tone so fast.

Now, speaking to me, his voice was soft.

…

Because of my intrusion, the meeting was abruptly cut short.

By the time I snapped back to my senses, I was already in his office, still in his arms.

His office was spacious, sitting at the very top of the building, with a view of the towering skyline below.

Standing at such a height, looking down, it felt as if the people rushing about below—their entire fates—could be grasped in the palm of his hand.

As if crushing an ant like me would take no effort at all.

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