Chapter 326 326. Olena - Ashamed 1

Chapter 326 326. Olena - Ashamed 1
After I get out of the shower, I wrap a towel around myself and step in front of the mirror, forcing myself to look at my reflection.
My stomach churns as I take in the bruise on my neck, spreading across my skin in angry shades of purple, reminding me that no matter how hard I try or how fast I run, I’ll never be truly free. Then, I look at my shoulder and study the bite mark for a moment, but it doesn’t bother me as much as the one on my neck. Maybe because I can cover it with clothes and pretend it’s not there.
Vasiliy and Artemiy know. Hiding something this big from them is impossible, and they know me well enough to have figured it out right away. After how things went at Florencia’s house, I half dreaded leaving her family’s place, imagining all sorts of questions the guys would ask me. Yet, once we were home, they didn’t ask me a single question about it. Part of me is relieved because I wasn’t—and still am not—ready to talk about it. But, on the other hand, I’m sure they’re not going to let this go, and I’m scared they’ll end up getting hurt once they go after him. They don’t know him the way I do, and even if I explain, they’ll most likely refuse to listen or believe just how dangerous he is.
I get dressed before doing my hair and makeup, but the bruise keeps staring back at me mockingly, never letting me forget that he is somewhere nearby, waiting for the right opportunity to get me back. Because people like him think women are property—something to be owned.
This is why he marked me—to make sure I’ll never forget that I am his. But the ones I belong with are Artemiy and Vasiliy. Not because they have some right to me, but because they love me. Because when they look at me, they see me, flaws and all, not some distorted version of me that they want to control and use however they please.
Before I go down to the kitchen, I wrap a scarf around my neck.
As I walk down the stairs, the folded blanket and pillow on the sofa remind me that I told Artemiy I would prefer to sleep alone because I wasn’t feeling well. He simply told me to get some rest before heading to the living room. As he closed the door, taking one last look at me, it had been impossible for him to hide his concern for me—or the hurt of being kicked out of the room. I wanted to call him back, to beg him to stay, but I couldn’t sleep next to him when I bore another man’s mark on my body.
It made me feel filthy, ashamed, used.
Even now, I can still feel him on my skin, and I hate it. It makes me want to go back into the shower and scrub myself until I feel clean once more.
“Hey,” I rasp as I step into the kitchen.
Artemiy is leaning against the counter, his hair all disheveled, wearing a flannel shirt and a pair of faded jeans that fit him perfectly—and which I bet make his ass look great—with a mug of coffee in his hand. My heart does a weird flip because he looks so good, and I want to run straight into his arms, but I can’t. Not until all those awful bruises are gone from my body.
He takes a slow sip while glaring at my scarf. “Why are you hiding what he did to you?” he demands as he puts the mug on the counter, making my blood turn to ice.
I head over to the fridge, and as I pull out the orange juice, I say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I don’t know why I lie, why I can’t face the truth. Maybe because I’m scared that if I allow myself to be vulnerable, I won’t be able to stand the pity in either Artemiy’s or Vasiliy’s gaze—or the anger that will inevitably follow.
It’s not pity I need, nor their anger or desire for revenge, but their quiet strength.
“Olena.”
The sound of my name on his lips makes me flinch. Maybe it’s because of the harshness in his tone, making me think that he blames me for what happened. Maybe he’s even thinking that I might have liked it.
And why wouldn’t he think that? If I had screamed for help, things might be different now.
“Look at me,” he demands.
His tone has lost its usual gentleness and now has steel in it.
I place the juice on the counter, close the fridge, then slowly turn around, my gaze stuck to the floor.
“I said look at me,” he growls.
My heart sinks because, more than ever, I’m convinced he thinks I’m to blame for what happened.
Maybe I am.
My gaze lifts to his, and for a moment, air refuses to enter my lungs as I see the anger simmering in his blue eyes.
His next command is, “Remove your scarf.”
My hands come up to my neck. “Please,” I whisper, hoping he will understand why I don’t want him to see.
His eyes turn a violent shade of red. “My demon has been on edge since last night,” he reveals as he grips the edge of the counter. “He wants the blood of the one who hurt you, who dared to touch you.”
I shake my head. “Can’t we forget about this incident and go back to how things were before last night?”
An inhuman sound leaves him, making me back away as he moves closer, his face contorted with rage. My back presses against the fridge, and as he stops in front of me, a whimper escapes me.
He presses his forehead against mine as his palms come to rest on my waist. “Each time I close my eyes, all I can see is your face when we found you. Don’t ask me to forget, because it’s impossible,” he tells me. “When he decided to touch you, to hurt you, he took away not only your right to consent, but your peace and your power as well. But more than that, he has made you scared of Vasiliy and me, made you wary of our touch.”
“That’s not true!”
“Then why are you scared of me?”