Chapter 79: Confrontation

Chapter 79: Confrontation
Samora’s POV
The words keep replaying in my head, over and over, until they’re not just echoes but shackles.
“Control her firmly, Adrian. Forever.”
The rasp of Harrison’s words has remained stuck in my brain since they were uttered, causing havoc and tearing my heart to pieces. It’s in the back of my throat, raw and bitter, every time I swallow. I can still see the flicker of firelight on Adrian’s face, the sharp lines of his jaw, the shadow of his hand over his glass. And that wasn't the worst part. The silence was. The way he didn't deny it, they way he didn’t defend me, didn’t even blink. He just sat there, carved out of marble and secrets, while I burned.
I’ve been walking these halls long enough to know where he hides when he doesn’t want to be found. His office. Always his office. Dark wood, cold leather, and walls lined with books he probably never reads but likes to look at. It’s his fortress, his room of control, the place where he is mostly untouchable.
But tonight, I don’t bother to care about his sanctuaries. Tonight, I pick myself up to his fortress, with the intent to burn it down to the ground.
My steps echo like gunshots down the hallway. When I get there, I don’t knock. I slam the door open, hard enough to rattle the frame. The heavy wood crashes against the wall, and the sound reverberates through the room. Adrian looks up sharply from behind his desk, his eye brows drawing together, in a flicker of something I couldn't tell right away. Annoyance or shock flashes across his face before it hardens again.
His tie is loosened, his hair slightly mussed, but his eyes are still as cold steel when they finally lock on mine.
“Samora,” he says, measured and controlled, as if me storming in is nothing more than a minor inconvenience. As if the walls aren’t already cracking.
I don’t give him a chance to set the tone. My voice comes out raw and shaking, but sharp enough to cut.

“Was I ever more than a weapon to you?”
His hand stills on the glass of brandy at his desk. For a moment, just a moment, the mask cracks, barely visible, but there. Then he leans back in his chair, tilts his head, and feigns indifference.
“You were necessary,” he says flatly. “You are necessary for me to own and control. Don’t romanticize it.”
The words slam into me harder than any blow could. My heart lurches. The room feels smaller, the air heavier. Rage burns through the hurt, and my hands curl into fists at my sides.
“Necessary?” I spit, stepping closer. “Is that all I am to you? Something to use and control?”
His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking at the corner but he doesn’t blink.
“Don’t twist this, Samora. You were always part of the plan. I spelled it out to you before the documents were signed. You knew what this was.”
“No,” I hiss, my voice rising. “I didn’t know. I thought maybe—” I stop, because the truth feels too dangerous on my tongue. That maybe the nights he stayed by my bedside, the way his hand hovered over mine before pulling back, the moments he held Silven with something close to tenderness, I thought those were real, at least they felt real to me. I thought that maybe the kiss in the hospital wasn’t just another manipulation. That he had finally changed and was beginning to see me as more.
But if I don’t say it now, when will I?
“I thought maybe I mattered.”
For the first time, his composure falters. He pause, then slowly stands, moving around the desk until he’s in front of me, his height tqowering. His presence is suffocating, the smell of his cologne and brandy sinking into my skin. His eyes burn, but it isn’t anger. It’s something more tangled, more dangerous.
“You matter more than you should,” he growls, and the admission sounds like it costs him something. “And that exactly is the problem.”
My breath catches, because it’s too close to honesty, too close to the truth I’m desperate for. But then his face hardens again, the walls slamming back into place.
“You are leverage,” he says, voice low and merciless. “A reminder to your father. A lesson to anyone who thinks they can take from me. Don’t confuse survival with love.”
The words are knives now, each syllable cutting, deep and clean until my chest feels hollow. He wants to wound my fragile heart, and he succeeds. My vision blurs with unshed tears, but I don’t let them fall. At least not here in front of him.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to stand taller. “I gave you pieces of myself I didn’t even know how to name,” I whisper, voice trembling but steady. “And all this time you were counting them like coins, spending them like they meant nothing.”
He flinches, just barely, but it’s there, a flicker in his jaw, a crack in his armor.
“You think I don’t know what I’ve done?” he snaps suddenly, voice rough. “You think I don’t wake up at night, wondering how far I’ve pushed you? How much of you I’ve broken?”
For a second, it’s like the air shifts between us, as if the monster I’ve built in my head is suddenly a man. But then he drags a hand down his face, and when he looks at me again, the monster is back.
“This is the world we’re in, Samora,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “Softness gets you killed. Love makes you weak. I can’t afford to be weak.”
I step back, my heart beating so loud I can hear it in my ears. “Then you’ve already lost,” I say softly.
He stares at me like he’s never seen me before. Like he wants to reach for me but knows he can’t. His fists curl at his sides, knuckles white, but he doesn’t move.
“I will never forgive you,” I say, every word carved from the raw pain inside me. “I will never forget your words that you've spoken to me today. I promise you.”
My words drops and is greeted with silence. A heavy, suffocating silence.
My footsteps echo as I turn on my heel and walk out, the echo of my words hanging in the air like a curse neither of us can escape. My hands shake, but I keep my head high. For the first time, I don’t just feel like a prisoner.
I feel like a woman planning her freedom.
And somewhere behind me, I hear the sound of glass shattering. To me, it's the sound of man who’s finally realizing what he’s lost.