Chapter 17 Helpless in His World
I don’t open my mouth. I just stare, lost somewhere between fear and disbelief.
I wipe my tears away with my eyelashes. My heart feels unbearably heavy, but at this moment helplessness is stronger than hunger. Slowly, I bend forward, pick up a bite, and put it into my mouth without looking at him. A soft sob escapes my lips, yet I steady myself and begin to chew. My hands tremble slightly, but I say nothing.
Then I sense his hand moving toward me again. Another bite. I don’t lift my eyes quietly, obediently, I eat that too. With every bite, my breathing grows faster, as if the air in the room itself has turned heavy.
While chewing, my gaze suddenly lifts and fixes on the door in front of me.
Diana is standing there.
Anger, jealousy, and hatred burn together in her eyes. I’m stunned. She had gone out of town for work yesterday… then when did she come back? A cold shiver runs through my body.
He looks at me, then follows my gaze toward the door. The moment his eyes fall on Diana, he pauses in shock and asks, “Diana? When did you come back?”
Diana strides inside, her voice dripping with poison. “I came to spend some time with my future husband,” then she stops and looks straight at me, “but it seems there’s a very different kind of entertainment going on here.”
He snaps angrily, “Shut up. Think before you speak.”
But Diana’s fury only intensifies. She yells, “Why shouldn’t I speak? I’m your fiancée! Have you ever fed me even a single bite with your own hands?” Her finger points straight at me. “Tell me what is it about this bloody bitch that I don’t have?”
The room falls completely silent. She suddenly stops mid-sentence. I look at Mr. Wilson. His face has turned red with rage, his jaw tightly clenched.
Suddenly, he shouts, “Guards!”
At once, his bodyguards rush in through the door. Diana’s arrogance shatters in an instant. Her voice begins to tremble. “No… no… Michael…” She keeps screaming, but the guards grab her and drag her out.
I freeze where I am. My soul trembles from within. Only one thought keeps spinning in my mind, What will Mr. Wilson do to her now?
In the middle of that fear, I suddenly feel warmth around me. Mr. Wilson opens his arms and pulls me forcefully into his embrace. I gasp in shock. My face presses straight against his chest. My heart is pounding so loudly it feels like he can hear it.
He watches me closely and asks in a calm, steady voice, “What are you thinking?”
I lower my head, my fingers twisting together in my lap, and say nothing. Silence stretches between us. He studies my face again, as if trying to read what I’m hiding, then asks softly, “Are you in pain?”
I lift my head and look at him with confusion, not fully understanding his concern. He continues, his tone quieter now, almost thoughtful. “I was drunk last night. I must have been rough with you. That’s why I’m asking.”
My throat tightens. I give a small nod, barely moving my head, a hesitant yes. He exhales slowly, as if blaming himself. “It’ll get better,” he says. “You didn’t take a hot bath. Come on, take one.”
Before I can react or refuse, he bends down and lifts me into his arms. I stiffen in surprise, but my body is too tired to resist. He carries me inside, his steps firm and confident. The bathroom is warm, filled with soft steam. He sets me gently into the bathtub, still fully dressed, the water rising around me.
Then he turns and leaves.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Slowly, I pull my knees to my chest and rest my head against them. The warmth of the water seeps through the fabric, easing the ache in my body. For the first time since morning, I feel a hint of relief. My muscles loosen, my breathing steadies, and my racing thoughts slow down.
Minutes pass—ten, maybe more. I close my eyes, letting the silence wrap around me.
Then I hear the door open.
I look up, startled, and see him standing there again. My heart skips. I hadn’t expected him back so soon. I want to say something, anything, but my courage fails me. My voice feels trapped somewhere deep inside.
He steps closer, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he reaches down and lifts me out of the bathtub, water dripping onto the floor. I gasp softly, gripping his shoulder instinctively. He carries me a few steps and sets me down on the counter beside the tub.
I stare at him, shocked, my mind struggling to keep up with his movements. He begins to help me out of my wet clothes, carefully, methodically. I freeze, unsure whether to stop him or let him continue. My heart pounds loudly in my ears.
He doesn’t rush. His hands move with unexpected restraint, as if he’s trying not to scare me. Still, the closeness makes my breath shallow. I feel exposed and strangely small beneath his gaze.
My thoughts spiral, fear mixing with confusion, dependence tangled with helpless trust. I want to ask him why he’s doing this, what he wants from me, but the words won’t form. My lips part, then close again.
He pauses, glancing at my face, as if checking whether I’m okay. That brief hesitation softens something inside me. I realize he’s not acting out of anger or desire alone there’s control in him, yes, but also awareness.
The steam thickens the air. My skin prickles, not from the cold, but from the intensity of the moment. Everything feels suspended, like time has slowed just for us.
I sit there silently, caught between exhaustion and alertness, my emotions knotted and heavy. I tried to stop him, but it was useless; he had already understood my helplessness.
TO BE COUNTINUE...!!!