A groan left my mouth and pain wrapped around me like an old, familiar shroud, something that felt like my body had been stung by thousands of needles. I didn't need to see the bruises blooming across my skin to know they were there, didn't need to touch the tender, aching spots to feel the damage beneath.
It was as if I'd been shattered and the pieces of me scattered were irreparable.
For a momentary second, I clung to the hope that it was just a nightmare-some twisted figment of my imagination. But the cold, stark reality settled in like ice in my veins as I felt soft velvety sheets under me. Cold air hit my skin and the more I tried to open my eyes, the worse my headache got.
To my terror, my surroundings were suffocatingly quiet, the kind of silence that pressed down on your chest until you could barely breathe.
My body screamed with every subtle movement, muscles stiff and brutally torn protesting even the smallest shift.
With difficulty, I pried my eyes open and the ache in my body dragged me back to reality like a hook in my spine. I was sprawled on my stomach, face angled toward the tall window. From where the sunlight poured in, thick and warm, almost suffocating in its brightness making everything feel too real, too harsh.
It had to be late afternoon-the kind where the light starts to get that hazy, burnt orange tint.
I pushed myself up, a low groan slipping out as every muscle protested. The sheets slid off, cool air hitting my skin, and I forced myself to look down. Bruises bloomed across my flesh like twisted bites, angry and dark marks of his. My jaw clenched, fury bubbling up inside me, mixing with the pain until it was all I could feel.
Tears threatened, but I swallowed them down, refusing to give in to the weakness.
The monster had been brutal last night, too cruel, pushing me past every limit until I was nothing but a broken shell. All I wanted was to get out of here, to put as much distance between me and him as possible.
That was the plan-I was going to make a break for it, no matter how much it hurt.
Bunching the sheets, I pushed myself off the bed.
But as I turned around, a scream ripped from my throat.
My eyes locked onto his, and the breath caught in my lungs. He was there, watching me, sitting on the edge of the couch like he owned every part of me. The pale eyes made my blood freeze. I halted, terror, rooting me to the spot as I recalled every lick, bite, kiss and a wicked smirk curled at the corners of his lips like he was daring me to try and run.
Everything felt distorted like time had twisted itself into knots.
The demon wore nothing but a pair of boxers, his broad shoulders making the couch look small in compared to his larger-than-life body. My eyes fixated on the glass of alcohol in his hand and I swallowed hard recalling how he forced me to drink last night. There was a storm behind his gaze and I didn't know how could a man look the definition of terror.
He looked dangerous. The kind of mad that doesn't come with loud shouting or wild gestures but with a quiet, suffocating force. The kind that stripped away my defences and left me bare, exposed, with nowhere to hide.
My eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything, but all I saw were the remnants of the night-my torn clothes scattered across the floor. My throat tightened, and I felt a desperate urge to cover myself, to reclaim even a shred of dignity. I tightened the sheets around myself.
"Don't."
One word froze me in place.
My heart pounded in my chest as I slowly lifted my head to face him. His eyes made me want to disappear.
"Come closer."
It wasn't a request; it was an order, and I knew better than to defy him. My body moved on autopilot, driven by a survival instinct I barely recognized. I stopped a few feet away, my breath catching in my throat as his eyes raked over me, assessing, calculating.
He held out the glass he was drinking from and the amber liquid glowed like poison. "Drink."
I stared at it, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts, none of them coherent. The defiance was on my tongue but I held back knowing there was no choice, not really.
With trembling hands, I took the glass from him and brought it to my lips. The alcohol burned as it slid down my throat, harsh and unforgiving, and I almost choked on the bitterness of it. Tears welled up in my eyes, spilling over, but I swallowed them down, refusing to let him see just how deeply I was breaking.
Or maybe he had already broken me?
"I…" I whispered visibly shaking noticing the wild glint in his eyes. "I can… go now, right?"
He tilted his head, his long fingers played with the light stubble on his chin and I realised he had a mole under his lips. It struck me then, how deceptive beauty could be. His face, with its sharp angles and shadowed dimples, was a masterpiece painted in lies. But it was just a mask.
His beauty was nothing but a mirage. Superficial. Empty.
Judas Romanovski wore darkness with pride like a second skin. A darkness that had wrapped itself around me, suffocating, consuming, until there was nothing left but the void he'd pulled me into. That darkness was real. Tangible. I felt it seeping into my bones, staining me with the same cold cruelty that lived in his eyes.
I couldn't look away. Couldn't move.
He didn't say anything and the more silent he was, the louder my heart raced. Shifting on my feet, I opened my mouth again but he beat me to it.
"Who is Ivan?" Words hit me like a slap and my breath caught in my throat. Eyes widened and I quickly swallowed.
How did he know? Panic flared, and I fought to keep it at bay, to keep my face blank, neutral.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," I stammered, the lie tasting like ash on my tongue and I knew he sensed it too cause the next second he sighed like I'd just confirmed every terrible thing he thought about me.
Without another word, he tipped his head back and downed the rest of his drink in one go. The glass clinked against his teeth before he hurled it to the ground. It shattered into pieces.
I flinched watching with saucer-eyes as the shards glint in the light.
I gulped not understanding why he suddenly wanted to know about Ivan, or why he was doing this and turned around to meet fiery cold eyes. That promised destruction.
"Clean it up."
He commanded and I contemplated. Every single cell in my body wanted to resist and then my eyes found his cane lying on his side and fear gripped me. I didn't want him to spank me again with it, I could still feel the burn and definitely didn't want him to… penetrate me with it.
And my body moved before my mind could catch up, driven by the instinct to avoid whatever wrath might follow. I dropped to my knees, ignoring the way my muscles screamed in protest, and reached for the broken glass with my fingers trembling.
I heard shuffling behind me and before I could pick up a single piece, his foot came down on my hand. The glass dug into my skin, slicing through flesh, and I gasped whimpering with sudden pain. The blood pooled quickly though it was a small cut, but the pain was sharp.
My head snapped to him and I glared at him. Now he was going to drop this low to control me? Now he'd bleed me like this?
Monster. He was a damn bastard!
"Lie to me again," The psycho muttered dangerously softly, "and I'll have to use my blade."
I looked up at him, terror gripping my chest and his foot pressed down on my hand pinning me to the ground. His eyes were dark losing the paleness. There was no escaping this, no escaping him. I was caught in his web, trapped by his will, and no amount of begging would save me now.