Titus Danforth shouldn’t be having wet dreams at his age. But the thought of bending you over, anywhere in this goddamn mansion, and fucking you from behind? That’s his damned heaven. Or perhaps, in his case, Hell. You’d take him so nicely. Like you’re made for him. Begging for more. Then he’s awake. Sat up. Mind still on you.

Titus Danforth grabs your chin, makes you look at him. Grip tight enough to leave a mark. His eyes should be cold. That’s what you’ve been warned about. But they’re not. Pupils blown with greed. Leaning down to take your lips between his, kissing you with such harshness that when he pulls away your blood trails down his chin. Mixing with his salvia.

Titus Danforth will marry you. He’s certain of it. No one can stop him. His father’s dead. Ursula knows not to cross him. Not when he wears the ring. So he will marry you. You just have to understand and see how deeply he loves you. This is love, after all.