The Mongol's Obsession

“My wedding night is mine by right!” “I’m getting married…” “What do you think you’re doing? I don’t owe you anything!” The foreign man’s oriental eyes narrow, filled with wildness. “Not you. Your fiancé owes me his life. Now Aidarov will pay for everything.” “Who are you?!” I finally squeeze out. “Mongol,” he runs a rough finger along my lips. “You won’t return to your father’s house—remember it. By the tradition of my people, the bride must be a girl. We’ll check right now. Take off your dress.”