Chapter 75 ( the end)

Chapter 75 ( the end)
It's been a month since Adrik brought me back to this cage. At first, I thought he'd destroy everything — that the storm in his eyes would finally consume me. But he didn't. Not in the way I expected.

He didn't shout. He didn't touch the walls or throw anything. Instead, he simply closed the door and locked it. And since that day, I haven't stepped beyond it.

I spend my hours staring at the ring on my finger — the same diamond I had once thrown away in desperation. I remember the way it hit the floor and rolled, how sure I was that I'd never see it again. But somehow, it's back — glittering mockingly under the faint light that slips through the curtains.

The doctor came earlier today. He spoke softly, almost carefully, as if afraid that his words might set something off. He confirmed what I already suspected — that I was pregnant.

It explained the sickness, the dizziness, the sudden waves of exhaustion that had been haunting me. But when Adrik heard, he smiled — really smiled. It wasn't the smile of a man hearing good news. It was the smile of someone who had won.

The sound of his laughter still echoed in my head long after he left the room. I could hear it through the walls, a low hum of satisfaction that made my skin crawl.

Now, the silence has returned, heavier than ever. I press my hand against my stomach, not out of love — but out of fear. Because I know this is what he wanted. I know this is why he wouldn't let me go.

Even when the nights stretched on endlessly and my body begged for rest, he was always there — watching, waiting, reminding me that escape had been nothing but a cruel dream.

And now... now I'm tied to him in a way I can never undo.

I didn't notice the door open at first. I was still sitting where Adrik had left me, staring at the rain dripping down the window, each drop blurring the world outside into a gray haze.

Then came the soft sound of heels against the marble floor — slow, deliberate. The faint scent of roses filled the air, sharp and sweet.

"Joy," a voice said gently.

I turned my head just enough to see her — Sofia — standing by the doorway with a bouquet of red roses in her hands. Her hair was pinned perfectly as always, not a strand out of place. Even her smile looked practiced, shaped by years of keeping it steady.

"I brought these for you," she said softly, stepping inside. "To congratulate you."

I said nothing. My eyes went back to the window, to the storm that refused to stop.

She sighed, setting the flowers down on the small table near the bed. "You should be grateful, my dear. Not everyone is given a second chance in this family."

I almost laughed — but it came out as a sharp breath instead. "A second chance?" I whispered. "Is that what you call this?"

Sofia walked closer, her heels clicking faintly. "It's better than what comes when you keep fighting."

Her tone was calm — too calm. The kind that didn't need to raise its voice to be terrifying.

"You don't understand," I said quietly, still refusing to meet her eyes. "He's not—"

"I understand perfectly," she interrupted, her voice low but steady. "I was you once."

That made me turn. She was standing near the foot of the bed now, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. There was something in her eyes — not cruelty exactly, but resignation, the kind that comes from years of being caged beautifully.

"I fought too," she continued, her gaze never leaving mine. "I screamed, I begged, I even tried to run. And do you know what it brought me?"

Silence.

She smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it. "Pain. Loneliness. Regret. And in the end, I learned that the only way to survive men like them is to accept them."

I shook my head slowly. "You call that surviving?"

Her eyes softened — pity, or perhaps warning. "No, my dear. I call it existing. Survival comes later... when you learn how to live in their shadow without losing yourself entirely."

She turned to the roses, adjusting one of the stems that had bent slightly. "You have a child to think about now. That means you don't get to be brave anymore. You get to be smart."

The words hit harder than she could've known.

She picked up one of the roses, its red petals trembling as she held it out to me. "You'll come to understand," she said softly. "This life isn't a prison if you stop trying to leave it."

I stared at the rose but didn't take it. My fingers clenched tightly against my dress, my breath uneven.

Sofia sighed again — the kind of sigh that carried years of buried sorrow. "You still have some fire left," she murmured, almost wistful. "Hold onto it while you can. They always take it eventually."

Then she turned and left, closing the door behind her with quiet finality.

The night felt heavier than usual. The rain had stopped, but its scent lingered through the open window, mixing with the sweetness of Sofia's roses. I sat there for hours, staring at them — their red too rich, too alive, mocking the dull ache in my chest.

Her words wouldn't leave my mind.

"This life isn't a prison if you stop trying to leave it."

At first, I wanted to hate her for saying that — for giving up. But as the silence stretched, I began to wonder if she was right. Maybe freedom wasn't something I could touch anymore. Maybe it was something I could only imagine, quietly, without drawing too much attention.

I was tired. So tired of running in my own head.

When I finally heard the sound of the front door opening downstairs — the distinct, measured footsteps I'd learned to recognize — I felt my stomach twist. Adrik was home.

The door creaked open moments later. He stepped in, his dark coat still damp from the rain, his expression unreadable. His eyes found me instantly.

"You're still awake," he said quietly, shutting the door behind him.

I nodded, my hands gripping the edge of the blanket. "I was waiting."

He raised a brow, walking closer. "For me?"

"Yes."

Something in his posture softened — slightly. He removed his coat and set it over the chair, his movements slow and deliberate, the way they always were when he was trying to keep control.

"What is it?" he asked, voice low.

I looked up at him, my throat tight. "I'm done fighting," I said, barely above a whisper. "I... I'm ready to accept this. You. Everything."

His eyes darkened — not with anger this time, but something deeper, heavier.

He studied me for a long moment, his gaze searching my face for lies. When he finally spoke, his tone was softer, almost reverent. "Good girl."

He reached out, brushing his fingers along my jaw, tracing the line of my face as though memorizing it anew. The touch made me shiver — not from fear this time, but something far more complicated.

He smiled faintly, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. Then he kissed me — slow, possessive, final. And as his arms wrapped around me, I felt the last bit of resistance inside me fade like smoke.

Maybe Sofia was right. Maybe survival meant surrender.

And so I let him hold me, his breath warm against my neck, while the storm outside started again — quiet at first, then louder, as if the world itself was mourning what I had just given up.

He pulled back slightly, his hand still resting at the side of my face. His eyes lingered on me with an unreadable calm.

"I'll let you see your grandmother and mother tomorrow," he said quietly, as though it were a gift — as though he hadn't just stolen years from me.

I froze, my heart tightening in my chest. For a moment, I almost didn't believe him. But his gaze didn't waver; he meant it.

Then he leaned in, pressing a slow kiss against my lips — not rough, not demanding this time, just... final. The kind of kiss that seals a promise, or a sentence.

When he pulled away, I stayed still, my eyes closed. Maybe this was how it ended — not with freedom, but with acceptance.

Maybe one day I'd escape.

But for now, I'd play safe.

I'd smile when he looked.

I'd breathe when he allowed it.

And I'd see what life with him truly was.

For now... I had no choice but to survive him.

The End.