𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

“He claims to hate her, but his obsession says otherwise. A deadly game of spite and desire unfolds as enemies collide, and lines between hate, love, and possession blur in the most dangerous ways.”

Yandere! Divorce Attorney : Skin of the Saint – Part 7

Word Count: 2,487 words

The slap came fast.

Not fast enough.

Your hand met his cheek in a sharp, echoing crack that reverberated through the quiet of the church. He didn’t flinch. He barely moved, only allowing his head to turn slightly with the force of it, like a man indulging in the strength of a child’s blow.

You’d never hit someone before.

He could tell.

Your palm lacked the intent to hurt, the weight behind it more shock than fury. It was adorable, really. A sorry attempt at defiance. His lips twitched into a slow, deliberate smile as he looked back at you, letting the heat of your touch simmer against his skin.

“Was that supposed to scare me?” His voice was velvet over steel, quiet enough to make you strain to hear it, but edged with the kind of malice that made your stomach tighten.

You were trembling, the remnants of your anger dissolving into something far colder—fear. The clarity in your wide eyes betrayed you, mingling uneasily with the blush that still painted your cheeks. That kiss had shaken you, more than you wanted to admit, more than you could control.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice fragile but firm. “Don’t touch me again.”

His smile widened.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, leaning in just enough to make you step back. His hand didn’t leave your neck, his fingers curling possessively against the curve of your skin. “You don’t get to make demands. Not with me.”

Finn took a hesitant step forward, his youthful bravado betrayed by the nervous set of his shoulders. “Hey—hey, stop that! You’re scaring her!”

He chuckled, low and dark, the sound wrapping around the room like smoke. “Am I?” His eyes flicked down to you, taking in the way your body stiffened, the way your breath hitched every time his grip tightened. “She looks fine to me.”

Finn bristled, his voice rising despite the tremor in it. “Let her go. She doesn’t want this—”

“Doesn’t she?” He interrupted smoothly, his gaze never leaving yours.

And then, without warning, he dropped the bomb.

“We’re getting married anyway.”

The words were a low drawl, as casual as discussing the weather, but they hit the room like a gunshot.

Your breath caught in your throat, your body going rigid against his touch.

“W-what?” Finn stammered, his expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

You managed to find your voice, the icy calm you usually wore cracking under the weight of your anger. “What are you talking about?!”

His fingers flexed against your throat, a silent warning to keep your tone in check. “It’s all very simple,” he said, his free hand reaching into his coat. He withdrew a neatly folded document, the thick paper crinkling softly as he spread it out on the altar. “See for yourself.”

Your eyes darted to the paper, your heart sinking as you scanned the official-looking script. A marriage certificate. Names, dates, signatures—all meticulously prepared.

Finn’s brows furrowed as he leaned in to inspect it. “This… this can’t be real,” he muttered, doubt lacing his voice even as his face betrayed his growing uncertainty.

But it was all there. The seals. The signatures. The vows.

“You forged this,” you said, your voice trembling with barely contained fury.

He tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Forged? That’s quite the accusation, wife.” He let the word linger, watching the way your composure faltered further under its weight.

“I’m not—” you began, but he cut you off, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as he murmured, “You are. And you have been for some time.”

The paper was thick in his hands, its weight purposeful, deliberate. He unfolded it with the kind of care a predator shows its prey, the crinkling sound amplified in the church’s oppressive silence. He smoothed it over the altar, each motion slow and intentional, drawing your eyes to the stark black ink against ivory parchment.

The marriage certificate itself was immaculate, the script meticulously penned with an authenticity that defied scrutiny. Your name was there, bold and undeniable, paired with his own in a grim parody of unity. You couldn’t breathe as your eyes skimmed the ornate seals, the signatures that you’d never given, the dates that bound you to a lie you hadn’t chosen.

“This is unreasonable,” you managed to choke out, your voice thin and trembling.

He smiled, the kind of smile that chilled the blood, his fingers tracing the edge of the paper like it was a piece of art. “Unreasonable? No, my dear. This is art. A masterpiece, really.”

Finn stepped closer, his confusion now joined by growing horror. “You can’t expect anyone to believe this,” he said, though his tone lacked conviction.

“Why wouldn’t they?” His tone was light, conversational, but the edge beneath it was razor-sharp. “Everything is in order. The signatures, the dates, the witnesses.”

“There are no witnesses!” you snapped, the sharpness in your voice surprising even yourself.

He tilted his head, amusement glittering in his dark eyes. “Aren’t there? Look closer.”

Your gaze flicked back to the document, to the names scrawled in elegant handwriting. People you’d known, trusted. Names that made your stomach churn.

“They didn’t—” you began, but he cut you off with a soft laugh.

“Of course they didn’t. But how would anyone know that?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “A forged signature looks just as real as the genuine article. And if someone were to dispute it, well…” His hand slid down to tap the bottom of the page, where an official-looking seal gleamed. “Good luck arguing with the courts.”

Finn’s face paled further, his hands clenching into useless fists. “This is fraud. It’s criminal. You could go to prison for this.”

He turned his gaze to the younger man, his expression one of exaggerated pity. “Oh, Finn. Naïve Finn. Do you really think anyone would question this?” His eyes shifted back to you, dark and glinting. “Do you think she will?”

You glared at him, your trembling hands betraying the defiance in your eyes. “This won’t hold up. I’ll dismantle it. This isn’t real.”

His smile widened, sharp enough to cut. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.” He flipped the paper over, revealing a second page, dense with legal jargon. He slid it toward you, his fingers brushing yours as he did. “This,” he said, his voice soft but filled with quiet menace, “is very real.”

Your eyes scanned the text, the words blurring together in your growing panic. Clauses, liabilities, penalties—all woven into an airtight web designed to trap you. Each line was more damning than the last, outlining the consequences of disputing the marriage, of breaking the “sacred bond” it claimed to uphold.

At the bottom of the page, a single clause stood out, the words bold and cold and final:

Any attempt to annul, void, or dispute this marriage will result in the forfeiture of all personal assets and the assumption of any and all debts accrued by the involved parties.

Your chest tightened as you read the following lines:

Additionally, failure to comply with the terms of this contract will result in the dissolution of all affiliated organizations, including but not limited to charitable entities, religious institutions, and educational programs.

He watched you, his gaze heavy, unrelenting, as the weight of his words sank in. “You see,” he murmured, his tone almost gentle, “this isn’t just about you. It’s about everything you hold dear. Your little church, your precious charity work, the people you claim to care about. They’ll all pay the price if you even think about defying me.”

“This… this is monstrous,” Finn whispered, his voice shaking.

“No,” he corrected, his smile returning. “This is meticulous. Thoughtful, even. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

You tore your eyes away from the paper, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. “You can’t do this.”

He stepped closer, his presence suffocating, his shadow swallowing the light around you. “Oh, but I can. And I have.”

His hand reached for your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “So, you see, little Church Girl, there’s no point in fighting. You can hate me all you want. You can cry, scream, pray to your God for deliverance.” His lips brushed against your ear, his voice dropping to a low, mocking whisper. “But in the end, you’ll still be mine.”

The room felt too small, the walls closing in as his words wrapped around you like a noose. He straightened, his expression softening into something almost tender as he looked at you.

“You’ll thank me someday,” he said, his thumb brushing over your trembling lower lip. “For saving you from a life of mediocrity. For giving you purpose. For making you mine.”

────────────

The church was silent, a hollow expanse of shadow and failing light. Stained glass windows filtered in faint beams, casting ghostly patterns over cracked wooden pews and worn stone floors. The air was heavy with the faint tang of incense, long burned out, a haunting reminder of devotion now displaced. The old church was a sanctuary—your sanctuary—but tonight, it felt like a trap.

His hand was still on your throat, possessive, commanding. The way his thumb brushed the pulse beating just beneath your skin was maddeningly deliberate, a soft counterpoint to the tension that coiled between you. His eyes—dark, bottomless pits of control—bored into yours with an intensity that burned through the icy veneer you so desperately clung to.

“Do you think I don’t see it?” he murmured, his voice a dangerous melody that reverberated in your chest. His lips hovered close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against your cheek. “The way you look at him.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The words lodged in your throat like glass, cutting every time you tried to summon your defiance.

Finn. Always Finn. The bright-eyed priest who spoke of salvation with a conviction that never faltered, even when the world around him crumbled. The one person who made this hell feel bearable.

His grip tightened, dragging you from your thoughts, forcing you to face the man in front of you—the man you hated, feared, and yet couldn’t seem to escape.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice low and venomous. When you didn’t obey fast enough, his other hand shot out, gripping your jaw and forcing your face toward his. The strength in his fingers was unrelenting, a reminder of just how easily he could break you. “You don’t get to ignore me, wife.”

The word felt like a slap, sharper and more cutting than any physical blow. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. And yet, the evidence lay spread across the altar, black ink sealing a fate you hadn’t chosen.

“Let her go!” Finn’s voice cut through the tension like a lifeline, his tone firm despite the quiver of fear he couldn’t quite mask. He took a step forward, his hands clenched at his sides, and for a fleeting moment, you saw the same resolve in him that had drawn you to his sermons. “You’re nothing but a coward if you think this is love.”

The man’s lips curled into a slow, wolfish grin, his eyes glinting with amusement as he tilted his head toward the priest. “A coward?” he repeated, his tone dripping with mockery. “That’s a bold accusation coming from someone who doesn’t even know what it means to protect what’s his.”

Finn didn’t falter, though his eyes flicked nervously to the hand still wrapped around your neck. “Love isn’t about control. It’s about trust, respect—”

“Spare me the sermon,” he interrupted coldly, his gaze snapping back to yours. “Tell me, little wife—” His thumb pressed harder against your throat, making your breath hitch. “Do you trust him to protect you? To keep you safe from me?”

You wanted to speak, to say yes, to scream it, but the weight of his presence smothered your words. Instead, your silence answered for you.

His grin widened. “That’s what I thought.”

Finn’s anger flared, his voice rising. “You’re sick! She doesn’t belong to you—”

“She belongs to me in every way that matters.” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, the amusement fading as something darker took its place. “And if you keep pushing, priest, I’ll make sure you understand exactly what that means.”

The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Finn hesitated, his righteous fury dimming as fear took hold. He knew it wasn’t an empty warning.

You wanted to cry out, to beg Finn to leave before this man turned his wrath on him. But before you could act, his grip on you shifted, pulling you closer. His lips brushed against your ear, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine.

“Kiss me back,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Or I’ll start with him.”

Your stomach twisted, a mixture of fury and despair boiling in your veins. You tried to pull away, to shove him off, but his grip was unyielding. His other hand slid to the small of your back, yanking you flush against him. The hard press of his body left no room for denial, and your heart pounded in your chest as his lips claimed yours in a kiss that was anything but tender.

It was possession, raw and unrelenting, his teeth nipping at your lower lip until the metallic tang of blood bloomed on your tongue. His mouth moved against yours with brutal insistence, his hands roaming with a hunger that bordered on violent.

Your fists clenched, your nails biting into your palms as you fought against the wave of helplessness that threatened to swallow you whole. The cold rage bubbling beneath your fear found an outlet, and before you could think, your teeth sank into his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood.

He pulled back, a low, pained chuckle rumbling in his chest as he wiped the crimson streak from his mouth. His eyes burned with something wild, something unhinged, as he looked at you with equal parts admiration and fury.

“There it is,” he murmured, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. “That fire. That’s what I want.”

You glared at him, your defiance tempered only by the icy rage that burned in your veins. “You insult my God, my faith, and expect me to kneel to you?” Your voice was sharp, cold, but he only smiled.

“I don’t expect you to kneel,” he said, his fingers brushing over your lips, smearing your blood with his own. “I expect you to break. And when you do, you’ll realize there was only ever one altar worth worshiping at.”

His hand slid lower, possessive and unrelenting, and your stomach churned at the weight of his promise. Finn’s horrified gaze burned into you, but you couldn’t look at him. Not now.