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“You will look him in the eyes when he speaks to you and address him as Doctor, got it?
Those were the last words you heard from your father before you were marched down the aisle to the imposing stranger who was to be your new husband. His name was Stephen Strange, or rather Doctor Stephen Strange, as you had been instructed to call him. He was a prominent leader in the Mafia, and you had been sent as a gift to secure the rocky alliance between him and your father. You shuddered at the thought of what ‘securing the alliance’ would entail, but you had no other choice than to obey. In reality, nothing had really changed for you; you were just being passed from one pair of cold hands to another. Some of the other bosses’ daughters lived luxurious, pampered lives, but you were not so fortunate. On the contrary, your father only saw you as a pawn that could be used to expand his criminal empire.
You knew almost nothing about your new husband, other than that he was infamous for his cold and calculating nature. Aside from that unsettling fact, the only other information you could gather came in the form of numerous rumors, each one more disconcerting than the last. You overheard other men in your father’s employ saying he called himself Doctor Strange because he could break every bone in a person’s body while stating the proper anatomical name of each structure. Victims who were lucky enough to be returned to your father alive claimed that his preferred instrument of torture was a scalpel that he wielded with surgical precision. Some men scoffed in disbelief at that notion – how could he perform such a task when his hands were scarred and mangled beyond belief?
You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a sharp exhale in a feeble attempt to rid yourself of those horrible mental images. Much to your relief, the master bedroom in which you were currently standing was anything but hostile. The king size bed in the middle of the room featured a rich red bedspread adorned with golden accents. There were matching silk pillows, and the sheets were made of crisp, white cotton. The plush, cream colored area rug extended to each corner of the room, and your eyes were immediately drawn to the window which spanned the entire far wall. You had to admit that Doctor Strange did have good taste, even if he was a monster on the inside.
The lights were dimmed for nighttime, and the light of several tall candles cast a warm glow throughout the room. You were so taken aback by the elegance of the place that you almost missed the set of lingerie hanging on the back of the vanity chair. Your heart sank as you slowly moved to pick up the delicate ensemble. Both pieces were dark navy-blue and trimmed with soft lace. The bra closed at the front and featured the wings of a butterfly on each cup. Beautiful as it was, there was not a single cell in your body that wanted to put it on. It could only mean one thing – your new husband expected to consummate your marriage tonight. You mentally berated yourself for thinking otherwise, but there was no use in hoping now. You looked about the room and listened for the sound of approaching footsteps. All was quiet except for the ticking of a small antique clock on one of the dressers. You let out a shaky sigh and began the ordeal of taking off your wedding dress.
~
When you stood in front of the full-length mirror, you could hardly believe the reflection you saw was your own. The lingerie fitted you perfectly, hugging your curves in all the right places. You would have been a vision to behold if it were not for the anxious expression on your face and the way your body shook like a leaf in the wind. You sat down on the bed and tried to take a few deep breaths to calm your racing heart, but to no avail. The house was utterly silent, and it only served to emphasize your loneliness. Your father had never once spoken a kind word to you, but you couldn’t help but long for the familiarity of your old home, even if it was far less refined than this one. You pulled your knees up to your chest and sat against the headboard uncertainly.
Just when you started to think that you might be left in peace for the night, you heard the bedroom door open. There was your husband, still fully clothed in his tuxedo from the wedding. However, he didn’t waste any time in removing a handgun from inside his suit jacket and placing it on top of one of the dressers.
“Hello, Y/N,” he said before he turned toward the closet. His tone was neutral, so it was impossible for you to read his emotions (if he had any).
You didn’t reply, but dared to look up from your knees while his back was turned. He wasn’t all that bad-looking, but what struck you the most was his height. He was so much bigger than you, and the definition of his muscles became increasingly apparent as his layers of clothing came off. When you squinted, you swore you could see specks of blood on the cuffs of his shirt.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting for so long,” he said as he turned to face you. “There were some … Loose ends that needed tying up. How are you this evening?”
Your eyes were wide with fear and you couldn’t do more than stare at him like a rabbit ensnared by a wolf. You hugged your knees a bit tighter as he sat down on his side of the bed. There was no doubt in your mind that all of this – the romantic atmosphere, the empathy, even the bouquet of roses on your nightstand – was a ploy to lull you into a false sense of security. Sooner or later, the monster was going to bare his teeth. For now, you just thanked the universe that he was still wearing his dress shirt and pants.
“You are beautiful, my dear,” he murmured and gently began to move your hands away from your knees. “No need to be shy,” he encouraged. “Let me see you.” His hands started roaming across the curves of your body.
“Y-yes, Doctor,” you managed, face burning with embarrassment at being so exposed in front of him.
“Oh, none of that,” he said. “Stephen, please. You are my wife, after all, and lucky for you, I know all of the ways to make a woman feel good.”
“Y-yes, Stephen,” you said timidly.
“Would you like some wine?”
You nodded affirmatively as fast as you could; maybe getting wasted would make this nightmare easier to survive. You downed the glass as soon as Stephen put it in your hand, much to his concern.
“Hey, slow down!” your husband said, startled by your reaction. He quickly reached out to take the glass from you, but you instinctively flinched and evaded his hand, expecting to be struck.
“Y/N, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise … I’m not that kind of man.”
Something in the sadness of his eyes or the empathetic tone of his voice made you crack. You were forced to be strong all day, but now you were exhausted and your defensive walls were crumbling down. When you looked at him again, tears were spilling from your eyes and washing clean tracks down your face. Little by little, bruises that were previously hidden by layers of foundation became more visible.
“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Stephen soothed and gathered you into his arms.
Your mind reeled in confusion. The Doctor – no, Stephen, was nothing like what you expected him to be. He was warm in all of the ways you thought he would be cold and distant; tender in every way you imagined he would be strict and ruthless. You didn’t want to trust this man, didn’t want to be his wife or love him, but it was impossible to deny that he genuinely cared about you. Part of you wanted to shove him off of you and run away, but the other half of you readily accepted the comfort he was offering you.
“Oh, what did they do to you?” Stephen put his hand up to your face to wipe away your tears, but revealed more bruising in the process. “Does that hurt, dear?”
You gave a tearful nod ‘yes’ and watched as his sympathetic face contorted into an angry expression.
“Who did this to you?” he asked again, this time much more insistently.
“M-my father,” you whimpered as you looked up at him. “F-for stealing h-h-his money and t-trying to run away.” You cried harder upon recalling the painful memory.
Your husband’s arms tightened around you protectively. Stephen knew your father was a mean old bastard, and he had seen the way he abused his men. It never occurred to him that he would treat his daughter with the same derision. He felt ashamed for expecting so much from you on your first night as a married couple, but he hoped he could make it up to you now.
“Poor thing,” he soothed. “You’re under my protection now, and I will personally make sure this never, ever happens again – and god forbid it does, I’ll make the one who did it wish they were never born.”
His words sent a chill down your spine, but you remained huddled up against his chest anyway. Nobody had ever cared about you so much, and your body and soul were soaking up the affection like a desert absorbs rain after months of drought.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we’ll go to bed, okay dearest? We don’t have to do anything until you feel ready,” he said and sealed his promise with a kiss on your temple. “Hold tight to me, alright?”
Stephen cradled you in his arms and carried you into the bathroom bridal style. He placed you down on the counter and gave you a cold, damp towel to hold over your bruised eye.
“This will help the swelling go down, hm?”
You nodded and sniffled quietly, grateful that your tears had slowed but still felt drained. The bathroom appeared to be just as luxurious as the bedroom, but it was hard to tell through your bleary eyes. You took comfort in knowing that you would have many more chances to appreciate it once you recovered.
Stephen carefully cleaned the rest of your face and any other parts of your body that were covered by makeup. You saw him scowl a few times at your improperly treated wounds, but he made quick work of patching them up. You were always denied professional medical care after a beating, but you could explain that later. For now, you just wanted to revel in the feeling of being cared for.
You studied your husband as he diligently tended to you. He had crystalline blue eyes that became even more stunning when he focused on fine details. His skin was so fair that he looked almost ethereal when the light shone on him in just the right way. The graying hair at his temples was very handsome, and his high cheekbones gave him a regal visage.
“Should have cleaned this first … Could have gotten infected … Probably heal in a week or so …”
Stephen was so busy at work that he didn’t notice you appreciating his fine features. Both of you blushed when he finally looked up to announce that he had done all he could for tonight.
“All set. Much better now, right?”
“Mm-hmm,” you said and gave him a shy smile.
“Let’s go to bed … You must be exhausted, poor girl.”
You felt your eyes closing as he carried you back into the bedroom. When he laid you down under the covers, you immediately missed the security of his arms around you. You made a sleepy noise of protest when you heard him walk away from the bed, but he returned only seconds later with a set of silk pajamas. You were vaguely aware of him dressing you, but sleep was claiming you quickly. There was a brief silence, then the sounds of rustling fabric and candles being blown out. The bed dipped next to you, and you heard the swish of the sheets as Stephen pulled them over both of you. He cocooned you in his arms just as before and kissed the top of your head.
“Stephen?”
“Yes, my dear?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Going into doctor mode for me.”
“Of course! What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t take care of you?”
“Goodnight, Stephen.” You nuzzled deeper into his embrace.
“Goodnight, Y/N. Sleep well,” he whispered.
Even if the rumors about Stephen’s life as a mafia boss were true, you decided having a doctor for a husband wasn’t so bad after all. You didn’t know what he did in the shadows, nor did you wish to. Knowing that he was your first step on the road to healing was more than enough.