I woke up to the sharp and excruciating pulse coursing through my body.
It would sound exaggerated but every inch of me was screaming in protest and my muscles were trembling beneath my skin as I tried to shift on the bed. My breasts ached at the foreign sensation of metal o my skin. Reminding me how mercilessly he had taken what he wanted.
There was no part of me left untouched by his brutality. My throat felt raw, my skin marred, bruises blooming in violent shades of purple and blue. All that belonged to him.
I winced as I sat up. My legs refused to cooperate. Even breathing hurt, he was like a beast that had ravaged me last night. To my relief, the room was empty and the bed sheets were twisted and soaked in his scent.
Tears welled up, unbidden, and rolled down my cheeks in silent despair. How cruel could he be?
It wasn't enough. It would never be enough for him.
My chest tightened and a sob threatened to escape, but I swallowed it down. He couldn't hear me now. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction. Instead, I forced myself to stand, my legs trembling beneath the weight of the pain. Each step was like I was getting ready for some kind of battle, but I had to keep going. I needed to get away from him.
I stumbled toward the bathroom, gripping the doorframe to keep myself upright. The mirror reflected a woman I barely recognized-wild hair, bruised lips, and eyes swollen with tears. My body was marked by him, claimed in the cruellest way possible. I leaned over the sink, gripping the cold porcelain as nausea twisted in my stomach.
It was his plan all along, wasn't it? To break me down until there was nothing left. To make me feel like nothing but his possession. He had succeeded. My fingers curled into fists as anger surged through me, but beneath it all was something deeper. A cold, simmering hatred that I never knew I was capable of feeling.
Goddamn, man-child. He acted like a kid even though he stood six foot two.
A nightmare covered in flesh and bones with no heart.
It fit him perfectly. He was nothing more than a man-child, driven by his anger and insecurities, taking it out on me because he couldn't understand himself. I hated him. More than I hated anyone in my life.
I turned on the shower, stepping under the cold spray even though there was two degrees outside, my body shivering as the water hit my skin. Every bruise. Every bite mark. Each broken piece of me screamed his name. He didn't just touch my skin, he shattered me. Piece by piece, he tore through my soul. And I let him.
I let him cause my hands were tied.
My hands gingerly washed away the traces of last night's horrors. But no matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn't erase his touch. It was as if he had himself tattooed on my heart.
I couldn't let him in. I couldn't keep him out. I couldn't trust myself. I was a fool for falling right where he wanted me.
Now, I moved like a ghost, mourning what was gone, of what he took.
Piece by piece, I was fading, and there was nothing left to save.
It took every ounce of strength to dry myself off, to pull on clothes that felt too tight against my aching skin. I chose something simple-a plain black knitted sweater that covered most of my bruises and sweats. But even the fabric brushing against me was ghost of him.
My hands shook as I gripped the door handle. I wasn't ready to face him, but I had no choice.
It hurt everywhere. Not just my body-my heart, my soul. Pain was all I knew. It became who I was.
I hated him. But that hate was laced with something more dangerous. A need to understand. A need to make sense of why someone could be so heartless.
Gathering every bit of courage left in me, I stepped out of the bedroom and headed toward the dining room. My legs wobbled, my body protested, but I pushed through. The anger inside me fueled me. I wouldn't let him break me. Not completely.
That's not who Seraphina Rosewood was.
Just as I neared the dining room, I heard his voice. Deep, commanding, as if nothing had happened. As if I wasn't shattered into pieces because of him. He was sitting at the head of the table, his broad back to me, phone pressed to his ear.
I froze for a moment, watching him. He looked calm. Unbothered. The same man who had torn me apart the night before now sat there like a king, ruling over his empire, while I stood on the brink of collapse.
He was filled with poison, but blessed with beauty and rage.
He was my poison. My destruction. But I wouldn't let him see me break again. Not today.
I stepped forward, the sound of my footsteps barely audible over his conversation. He didn't turn to look at me, didn't even acknowledge my presence. As if I was nothing. As if last night hadn't happened. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms. How could he be so cold? So detached?
I wish his indifference didn't cut so deep. But it did. I wanted him to look at me, to see the wreckage he left behind. To know he had ruined me. And I hated that I still cared.
My eyes stung with tears, but I blinked them back. I couldn't cry. Not now. Not in front of him. He didn't deserve my tears.
I hated him.
With every fiber of my being, I hated Judas Romanovski. His name was carved into my soul like a scar, but it would not define me. He would not define me.
Just as I was about to shift, he ended his call and finally turned, his cold, calculating eyes meeting mine. There was no apology, no remorse. Just that same piercing gaze that had haunted me for so long.
"You're awake," he looked down at me and tilted his head ever so slightly, as if we were discussing the weather. "Good."
I didn't respond. I couldn't. My throat was too tight, my body too broken. Instead, I stared at him, hating every inch of his composed demeanor.
"Come sit," he commanded with his same sharp voice leaving no room for argument. But I didn't move. I couldn't move. My feet were rooted to the ground, my body trembling under his scrutinising gaze.
When I didn't move, his eyes darkened. "You're testing my patience, ptichka."
The nickname made me flinch. Little bird. The same bird he had crushed under his fists and teeth last night. I swallowed hard, my breath shaky as I forced myself to speak. "I hate you."
He raised an eyebrow, as if my words were a mild inconvenience. "Do you?"
I nodded, my voice shaking with fury. "More than you'll ever know."
His lips curled into a cold, humorless smile. "Good." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "That makes two of us."
I felt my heart drop at his words, but I didn't show it. I couldn't let him see how deeply they cut. He wanted to hurt me. He wanted to see me break. But I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
I was tired of feeling like I was fucking crazy…I was tired of driving till I saw stars in my eyes…All I've had got to keep myself from falling… was a read bare hope-barely enough to keep me standing.
I was done. Done with him. Done with his games. I didn't know how, but I would find a way out. To break free from his grip.
I used to be naïve, easily swayed by just one look. Vulnerable. Not anymore.
Before either of us could react, I grabbed the nearest thing I could find-a porcelain plate-and threw it across the room. It shattered, pieces flying everywhere. Judas barely flinched. But I did, as a shard cut deep into my fingers. I didn't care. I grabbed the largest piece, my hand trembling, and pointed it at him.
My breathing came in ragged gasps, tears burning hot down my cheeks.
Every dam inside me broke.
My demons were freed.
My anger, wild and untamed, surged, and without thinking, I pressed the jagged edge against his throat.
I didn't realize I had just crossed a line I could never return from.