Chapter 33: THIRTY-THREE

M A R K O V

The walk back to my car was a blur. The world around me dissolved into a swirl of gray shapes and muted sounds, all drowned out by the roaring in my ears. My mate hates me. The words were a physical thing, a shard of ice lodged in my chest, growing colder with every beat of my heart. I fumbled with the door handle, my fingers clumsy and numb.

Inside the confines of my car, the silence was deafening. I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white, the leather creaking under the pressure. I rested my forehead against the cool plastic of the dash, trying to anchor myself in the present, but my mind was a hurricane of memories and what ifs.

The image of her face, pure unadulterated fear was etched into my mind, and I was the cause. I was the monster hiding under her bed. The thought was so vile it made my stomach churn. I was supposed to be her safe haven, her protector. Instead, I had become the very thing she had run from.

A raw, guttural sound tore from my throat. It wasn't a word, just a pained, animalistic noise of despair. I slammed my fist against the dashboard. The sharp crack of plastic splitting did nothing to ease the turmoil inside me. The beast, which had been a simmering ember, now roared back to life, fueled by my self loathing. You are weak. You failed her. She is right to hate you.

I started the engine, the roar of the V8 a welcome distraction. I peeled out of the driveway, tires screaming on the asphalt, not caring where I was going. Anywhere but here. I drove recklessly, pushing the car faster, the wind whipping through the open windows a poor substitute for the shift I craved.

I needed to run. To shed this pathetic human skin and let the beast take over. To hunt. To kill. To feel something other than this crippling agony. But I couldn't. The beast was the problem. He had always been the problem. He was the reason for the pictures in that room. The reason for my rage. The reason she was hurt.

I ended up deep in the woods, miles from anyone, finally killing the engine. The sudden silence was jarring. I got out, kicking the car door, and stumbled into the dense undergrowth. Branches whipped at my face, tearing at my clothes, but I barely felt it. I was a man possessed, driven by a singular, agonizing thought: I had destroyed the only good thing in my life.

I fell to my knees, the damp earth soaking through my jeans. And there, in the solitary quiet of the forest, I broke. A leader, an Alpha, a monster… I crumbled. I pressed my fists into my eyes, but the tears came anyway, hot and shameful. They were tears of regret, of fury, of a love so profound it had curdled into poison in my hands.

How could I have been so stupid? How could I have let the past control me? She was just curious. She saw a door. Of course she opened it. That's who Jade was. Brave. Resilient. And I had punished her for it. I had locked her in my personal hell and run away like a coward.

I had created a prison, thinking I was protecting her from my monsters, but all I had done was build the walls around her myself. Mason, that fucking bastard, had treated her like property, and I had done the exact same thing. No, worse. I had pretended to be her savior, her sanctuary, only to reveal myself as the same kind of beast wearing a different face. Even worse.

The shame was crushing me. I couldn't go back. Not like this. Not until I could face her without the threat of the darkness spilling out. Not until I could look her in the eye and truly apologize, not with words, but with actions.

I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that I had to face the source of it all. I had to go back to the beginning. Back to the room where it all started. Back to the demons I had tried to bury.

With a new, grim determination, I pushed myself up from the ground. The sorrow was still there, a deep, throbbing ache, but it was now overshadowed by a cold, hard resolve. I would tear down my own walls, piece by agonizing piece, if it meant I could build a new one around her, a wall of trust and love. A wall that would actually keep her safe.

J A D E

The scent of lavender and chamomile filled the bathroom, something I never got to have in Markov’s house. I sunk deeper into the warm water, letting it soothe the ache in my bones. Ava sat on the edge of the tub, her expression a mixture of pity and anger that I couldn't quite decipher.

"They're going to be ugly for a few days," she said softly, dabbing a cool, herbal soaked cloth on the dark blossoms around my wrist. "But Tristin's poultice will help them fade."

"I'm fine," I lied, my voice hollow. I wasn't fine. I was shattered. Every nerve ending was raw, every muscle tensed for a fight or a flight. I stared at the bruise on my wrist, a perfect, angry ring of Markov's possession. It was a brand. A reminder.

"I'm so sorry, Jade," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "We never… we didn't think he would…"

"You didn't think he would what?" I turned my head to look at her, the water sloshing around me. "You didn't think he would lock me in a dungeon? You didn't think he would treat me like a prisoner? You all keep talking around something, Ava. There's a piece of this puzzle I'm not seeing, and I'm tired of being kept in the dark."

Ava flinched, her eyes darting away from mine. "It's not our story to tell," she murmured, looking down at her hands. "Markov… he has demons. Things he's been through. But that's no excuse."

"Demons?" I scoffed, the sound sharp and bitter in the small steamy room. "Everyone has demons, Ava. His don't give him the right to unleash them on me. You said it yourself. You and Tristin are hiding something. You're letting me suffer for a secret that isn't even mine. So, tell me. What is it that's so terrible that it makes locking me in a cellar acceptable?"

The front door opened and closed, the sound of Tristin's deep voice drifting in from the living room. Ava's shoulders slumped in relief. "Please, Jade. Just… rest. Let's talk about this later, when you're stronger."

"I'm not going to break, Ava," I said, my voice gaining a sliver of strength. "I've been breaking for years. I'm not fragile anymore. Whatever it is, I can handle it. I deserve to know."

She just shook her head, her silence a heavy blanket over the room. She helped me out of the tub, wrapping me in a thick, fluffy towel that smelled like her own comforting scent. She led me to a guest room, one that was warm and inviting, with pictures of her and Tristin on the walls. A real home. Not a fortress of secrets.

She handed me one of her soft nightgowns. I dressed up, my mind a million miles away. I lay down on the bed, the mattress dipping softly beneath me. exhaustion was heavy on me, but sleep wouldn't come. My eyes traced the patterns on the ceiling, my thoughts a chaotic storm.

He had left me there. In the dark. In the cold. The fear I had felt, so familiar and sharp, was a fresh wound. But it was the betrayal that cut the deepest. The hope he had so carefully cultivated inside my chest had been snuffed out, leaving nothing but a hollow, aching void. I had been so desperate to believe in him, in the life he offered. Desperate enough to ignore the red flags. The possessiveness, the rules, the way he flinched whenever I got too close to the past he refused to share. I had traded Mason's cage for Markov's, and I wasn't sure which one was worse.

At least with Mason, the bars were visible. With Markov, they were woven from lies and omissions.