Chapter 44 The Only Way Out Is Through Me
Leitana paced outside the villa doors, then stopped again, pressing her palm to the cool wood as if it could steady her racing heart. Through the gap, she watched her mother, father, and sister talking. She couldn’t hear the words, but Charles’s face told her everything, jaw locked, eyes like steel. Whatever had happened in the dining room still hung in the air like smoke. His hands slashed the air as he spoke to Alyssa and Avery, furious and uncontrolled. Leitana watched from the shadows, guilt gnawing at her ribs.
She hadn’t said a single word while Ravial tore her family apart in that dining room. Not one.
And it wasn’t because she felt any need to shield Charles, God, no. She didn’t owe that man a breath of loyalty. He had proved exactly what he was the moment Avery stepped back into the picture: eager, almost gleeful, to shove Leitana onto the first boat back to Vanuatu like trash he couldn’t wait to be rid of.
Ravial hadn’t even needed to lift a finger; Charles had practically begged to hand her over.
So her silence hadn’t been about protecting her father.
It had been about the terrifying little spark inside her that didn’t want to be handed over at all.
And that was exactly what troubled her.
Why wasn’t she relieved?
Why, when her father said “pack your things,” had something inside her twisted and refused?
She knew why. Part of her, God forgive her, didn’t want to leave this place. Didn’t want to leave that person. She had always dreamed of seeing the world beyond the island, but after the terror waiting in her parents’ house, after everything… even the memory of Ravial’s hand around her throat hadn’t been enough to send her running. Not anymore.
She missed her people, her church, the salt wind and the hymns under palm roofs, yet something deeper whispered stay.
And that whisper made her feel filthy.
Avery had cried. Her perfect sister had cried because of this marriage that should have been hers. Leitana had sat on Ravial’s lap like a spoiled pet while he fed her and mocked her family, and she’d done nothing. Worse, she’d felt the heat of his thigh under her, the slow drag of fruit across her lips, and she’d stayed.
A cruel little voice slithered into her ear.
You didn’t stop it because you want him. Because you want your sister’s husband for yourself. The world has corrupted you.
“Not true,” she whispered aloud, fingers tightening on the door.
Oh, little hypocrite. When Papa said go home, why did your heart lurch? Why didn’t you fall to your knees and thank God for the escape? Because you’ve tasted sin now, haven’t you? You’ve had a man inside you. You’re spoiled fruit.
She shook her head violently. “Lies.”
You sat there purring while he fed you, letting him shame your blood in front of you. You don’t love God anymore. You’re just a greedy little fornicator who…
“Stop.” The word cracked out of her, raw and desperate.
Tears spilled hot down her cheeks. She looked up and met Charles’s eyes across the courtyard. The hatred in them was pure and sharp; it cut deeper than any blade. He turned on his heel, barked something at Alyssa, and stalked toward the car. Rain that had been a soft mist suddenly slashed down in sheets. Alyssa hurried after him. Avery stayed rooted on the stone steps, staring at the spot where the car had been long after it disappeared through the gates.
Leitana’s sob caught in her throat.
There is only one way to fix this, the voice crooned. End it. Give him back.
Avery finally turned. Their eyes met through the rain and the half-open door. Something shattered inside Leitana’s chest. She spun and fled, up the grand staircase, dress bunched in frantic fists, taking the steps two at a time, vision swimming.
She slammed into the master bedroom, chest heaving, and there he was.
Ravial stood in the center of the room, shirtless.
Scars and ink twisted over muscle like stories written in violence. His trousers hung low enough to reveal the carved V of his hips. Rain-light from the balcony doors painted silver across his skin. He turned slowly, head cocked, blindfolded eyes somehow still finding her.
The words tore out of her before her courage failed.
“Mi want to end our marriage.”
He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just took one silent step toward her. Then another. Until the heat radiating off his bare chest brushed her wet cheeks.
“Say that again,”
Tears still rolled. “Mi… mi wan dis marriage ended.”
He corked his head, studying her.
Silence stretched, thick, suffocating.
Then he lifted his hand and caught a tear on his thumb. Without breaking what little space remained between them, he brought it to his mouth and tasted it.
Goosebumps raced over her skin.
“And why is that, little lamb?”
“Yu… yu s’posed to be my sister’s husband. Not. .” The last word died. Not mine. She couldn’t force it out.
His lips curved, faint and amused. He leaned in until his breath ghosted her ear, then lower, dragging his nose along the column of her throat. She swayed, dizzy.
“There’s something you need to get through that pretty head,” he said, teeth grazing her pulse. Then he bit, hard. A shocked cry escaped her, half pain, half something shameful and molten. He soothed the mark with his tongue, smiling against her skin because he knew exactly what he’d done to her body.
“You can tell yourself whatever helps you sleep or ease the guilt,” he growled. “But you are mine.”
He pulled back just enough for cold air to rush between them and cool the brand he’d left.
“You think you can end this?” His voice dropped to a predator’s purr. “You are mine. Not because some priest’s words. Not a ring. Not a useless piece of paper.”
His hand collared her throat gently, no pressure, just possession.
“You are mine because I decided it the moment you trembled under me. Because every time you cry, I want to taste it. Because even now, soaked in guilt and tears, your pulse racing like a rabbit, you’re still here.”
His thumb stroked the tear track on her cheek, smearing it like war paint.
“Say you want to leave again, little lamb, I dare you.”
His hand slid from the delicate column of her throat to the nape of her neck, fingers spearing through her damp hair. He fisted it (not gently) and yanked her head back, forcing her to stare up at.
“Because I decided it the first time I tasted you,” he said, voice low and husky, the kind of sound that crawled straight between her legs.
He leaned closer, breath hot against her ear.
“Every moan you give me is mine. Every tear. Every sweet, shiver when I’m buried so deep inside you that you forget your own name, forget your God, forget everything but the way I stretch you open.”
A dark, humourless laugh vibrated through his chest.
“You think you can end this just because your sister showed up crying in our home?”
His grip tightened until her scalp stung and sparks danced behind her eyes.
“I knew who you were the second you walked down that aisle, little lamb. I knew you weren’t Avery.”
His lips brushed the shell of her ear, a mockery of tenderness.
“I married you anyway.”
The confession landed like a blade.
“I married you because you were what I wanted. What I’d craved for years, watching, waiting, starving for.”
He pulled back just far enough to admire the fresh crescent of teeth marks blooming angry red on her throat. Satisfaction curved his mouth (slow, wicked, savage).
“You want this marriage ended?”
His thumb pressed hard into the bite until she whimpered, the sound embarrassingly needy.
“Then kill me.”
The words were cold calm .
“Because that’s the only way you leave this house. This life. Me.”
He released her hair only to drop both hands to her hips, hauling her roughly against him. Hard muscle seared through wet fabric; the thick, rigid line of his cock pressed insistently against her belly (proof he was already aching).
“I don’t share. I don’t trade. I don’t give back what I’ve taken.”
His mouth hovered a breath from hers, close enough that every exhale became hers.
“You can cry all you want. You can pray until your voice gives out. You can hate me until it burns.”
A faint, cruel smile.
“But you will never be free of me.”
Then he kissed her, slow, filthy, punishing, swallowing every protest, every shred of willpower, until her knees buckled and the only thing keeping her upright was the iron grip of his hands branding her hips.
When he finally tore his mouth away, her lips were swollen, her lungs empty, and the word “ended” tasted like the flimsiest lie she’d ever spoken.
He smiled against her tingling mouth, lazy and victorious.
“Good girl.”
His palms slid down, fingers hooking under the hem of her dress.
“Now take this off and get on the bed.”
His voice dropped to a growl that promised wrecking.
“We’re nowhere near finished talking.”