Forced To Marry Harry Styles

Harry Styles is the leader of multiple managements, regarding a large variety of selections. His most famous and most known is Modest Management.
Mr. Styles holds a contest to find his new wife. Meant to be a housewife, to be controlled and give pleasure, Anastasia Crew has no choice but to enter. She lives on the streets, and she's too hungry to say no.
When Anastasia is chosen to be Mr. Styles future wife, she will have to face the vile, but luxurious life of being Anastasia Styles.


2. Chapter 1

The limo pulled up to a large mansion, crowded with servants and waiters hauling food up the smooth steps. The house was clouded with giant windows littering the gold walls towering over the limo driver and I.

"Mrs. Anastasia Styles," The driver, Samual, opened the sleek, black door and bowed his waist towards me.

"Oh, no, my last name is Crew." I mutter, eyes wide. I step out awkwardly and look around me. I almost bump into a woman holding a tray filled with Shrimp. She glares at me as she passes and I hunch my shoulders forward in embarrassment.

"Mrs. Styles, Crew is no longer your last name. You are to be officially married to Mr. Styles by the end of the month. You will carry his name unofficially until then, as requested." Samual offered his arm to guide me into the mansion.

"What?" I felt my heart racing in my churning stomach. "The end of the month? That's so soon!"

"Yes, Mrs. Styles, it is." Samual gave a long sigh, annoyance masked in the sound. I blushed and tucked my arms behind my back.

"So, I... Live here now? I'm... Going to be married to Harry Styles?" I ask quietly, staring at the mansion in front of me. Waiters pass by, ignoring me, or not knowing who I was.

"Mrs. Styles," Samual breathed and finally locked his eyes with mine. "If you are too be Mr. Styles wife, there are rules to know. You just broke multiple of them. Now, take my arm and follow me to the dining room." His voice was heavy and tight. Scared, I give in and take his elbow with mine.

He leads me through the large, wooden doors filled with strange patterns. The hallway is covered with soft, red carpet. Samual instructs me to take off my shoes. I somewhat unwillingly slip my combat boots of my feet. A maid suddenly appears and takes my shoes from the floor, and disappears into the next hallway.

"Hey, miss," I call, but Samual gives me a sharp glance. I stay silent and follow him into a room, with a fancy, wooden table filling the centre, chairs surrounding it. He guides me to a chair, bigger than the rest. I sit down and watch silently as Samual leaves the room.

I'm left alone in the empty room. I feel like I'm going to puke. Here I was, giving my whole life away to a man I didn't know. My eyes started to burn, and tears rolled down my cheeks.

"My dear, why are you crying?" A voice, like honey, fills my ears. I freeze and turn my head towards the voice.

"Harry." I whisper. My voice is strained and cracks pathetically. I feel more tears silently roll down my puffed cheeks.

"Anastasia." Harry cocks his head to the side, a smile lighting his face. His teeth are so white it hurts my eyes.

"Harry," I breathe in to prevent a sob. "Harry, I don't want-"

"Anastasia." His voice suddenly darkens, filled with hate. "It's too late for that." Harry strides over to me, his emerald eyes almost as dark as his voice. He snatches my arm and forcefully lifts me to my feet. I gasp in surprise, letting out an embarrassing cry.

"If you didn't want this, you shouldn't have entered." He grabs my chin. His movements are suddenly soft and overflowing with love. "Anastasia, my love, you were living in the streets. You were fighting for food, while I throw away my meal if I don't like it. Fate brought you here, baby girl. Fate decided we were meant to be. And I agree, Anastasia."

I finally lock eyes with my future husband. His eyes are light again. They stared deep into my own baby blues.

"Anastasia, my lovely, you belong here. You will be my wife. You will be Mrs. Styles. You will be treated like royalty, and you will be fed only the finest of meals. The maids will dress you in the prettiest dresses." My sobs catch in my sore throat.

"Harry..." I don't know what to say. I'm giving my life away, my freedom, my soul.

This man, whom I've never met, a man I'll never truly love, will be my husband. I'm being forced to marry, all so I don't starve to death on the streets.

But, I know deep inside, that I can't do it. I can't marry I man I don't love.

"Harry, I can't. Please, set up a cab-" before I have time to finish, I feel a sharp pain on my cheek. Harry had slapped me. I can't help it, a start sobbing, the stinging of my cheek only making me cry harder.

Harry roughly grabs the collar of my shirt, pulling me close to his angry face. His forehead his creased with rage, his lips pulled tight.

"Anastasia. How naive of you." My wide eyes meet his. "You don't have a choice anymore. You did this, you entered the stupid contest, and you aren't leaving. Ever."

My eyes are burning. My breathing is shallow, my neck tight from my collar being pulled against it. I feel my heart constrict in my chest.

"You're my wife now, Anastasia. You will marry me, you will love me, you will give me pleasure when I want it. You are here to service me. You are here to give me what I want. It doesn't matter what you want, this is not about you." He finally lets go of my collar. I stumble back in surprise, almost falling over. I mange to steady myself and look back up at Harry.

"Now, Anastasia," he smiles and crosses his arms behind his back. "Smarten up, follow the rules, and that," he gestures to my rumbled collar, "doesn't have to happen again."

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I clear my throat and try again. "The rules. What are the rules?" I ask weakly. My voice is small and scared.

Harry grins. "Good question, love. Sit down." He points to the seat I had been crying in. I follow his instructions, too scared to disobey him. Harry sits beside me, facing me.

"Rule number one: never disobey me." He smirks and leans back in the chair. "As I'm sure you've learned by now what happens when you do. You do as I say, and you do it beyond the limits you're capable of."

"Rule number two: you will never say no." He licks his lips. "No matter the request. I'm sure," his eyes darken, "you can figure out what I mean by that."

"Rule number three: you will eat when I say, and not otherwise." Her gives me a once-over. "You're very skinny right now, but the chefs food is quite delicious. And, well, we don't want you becoming- well I'm sure you understand."

"Rule number four: no drinking unless permitted by me." He gives me a stern look. "If caught, you will face severe punishment."

"Rule number five: you will wear only what I pick. No jeans, no t-shirts, no sweatpants, no flip flops- you get the idea. You will wear dresses, or, if I choose, you will wear something," his lips raise into a grin, "something sexy for me."

"Rule number six: you will not leave this mansion unless you are being chaperoned by me or Samual. It is unprofessional for a woman to roam on her own, and dangerous, considering the size of the city."

"Rule number seven: no phone calls or emails unless given permission by me. Though," his eyebrow arches, "I'm sure you don't have many people to call anyway."

"Rule number eight: no cleaning, cooking, bathing, or dressing on your own." He chuckles at my horrified face. "Yes, lovely, I'm serious. It's unprofessional. The maids will do it for you. Or, if I'm not busy," he smirks, "I'll be happy to bath and dress you."

"Rule number nine: you will have a strict sleeping schedule. You will go to sleep at nine pm, and wake at nine am. There is only one exception," he crosses his fingers, "of which you can sleep in late if we have had sex the night before." I feel my cheeks blush a deep crimson. He laughs, throwing his head back.

"And, rule number ten." He leans forward, pressing the palm of his hands against the smooth glass table. His face is hard and serious. "Whatever happens, happens." I give him a confused face. He sighs and leans back into his chair. "Some girls I've been with have claimed abuse, and, well, to put it frankly, rape." My jaw drops. He continues, ignoring my reaction. "But none of that matters. I will hit you if necessary, but if you follow the rules, that won't happen. And, well, you belong to me, Anastasia. I will have sex with you weather you are in 'the mood' or not. There will be no police calls, and no complaints to any maids or any one in this mansion, or out of it."

He stares at me, long and hard. "Are we clear, Anastasia? Is it clear you will follow each and every one of these rules, no matter the price?"

My heart falters. My vision is lost from the tears. I hadn't realized I had been crying through the whole speech. This was it. This is what my life was now. I belonged to this man.

"Anastasia." His voice snaps me out of my thoughts. "Are we clear?"

I nod.

"Yes, Harry."

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