Chapter 42: The Monster and the Maiden

Chapter 42: The Monster and the Maiden
AVA'S POV

Silence. Heavy, stifling silence. The house had been a mausoleum since Julian's cold precision and Marcus’s weighted exit. Julian's kiss still clung to my lips – a mark of possession and fake remorse. And Marcus's eyes. God, those eyes in the doorway. Not fury. Not desire. Broken glass. Glinting with my own pieces. And under it all, a voice that would not stop: Mother. You failed her. Played with monsters while she fights for each breath.

The air suffocated me. It stank of them. Julian's perfume, sharp and overwhelming. Marcus's fading warmth on the blankets, now tainted into betrayal. Caleb's emptiness, a painful gap in the room. And my own shame, thick and bitter. This wasn't home. It was a gold-plated cage built on rubble. I couldn't breathe.

Panic set in. My hands moved faster than my mind… grabbing clothes, shoving them into a suitcase. Tears blurred the marble floor, the fine artwork, the bed on which we'd broken each other. No note. What's there to say? Gone to face reality? Gone to be a daughter, not a tool? They wouldn't care. They'd only see defiance, another possession to own.

My fingers brushed against leather under a pile of Julian's neat financial notebooks. A sketchbook. Thick, high-quality paper. Curiosity, sharp and unwanted, cut through my fear. I opened it.

My breath stopped.

Me. Page upon page. Not posed. Not ideal. Me sleeping, hair tousled on a pillow, moonlight over my shoulder. Me laughing, a rare, careless moment I barely recalled. Me staring out the window, lost. Each of them drawn with incredible detail, rough and delicate lines. The last page showed me in morning light on the terrace, almost serene. Hopeful. Underneath it, in Julian's crude handwriting: "The only light in this cursed place."

The book fell from my hands. Light. Cursed place. Beautified lies from a man who lived to control. Did he draw me while scheming how to shatter Caleb? How to manipulate Marcus's strings? How to manipulate me? The softness in the lines didn't make him better… it made him worse. I dropped it on the ground and fled.


Sterling Med's chill hit me like a slap at leaving the heavy air of the villa behind. The constant beep of machines was the sole sound in Mother's room, a persistent beat against the pounding in my chest. I pushed open the door, readying myself for her pale immobility.

I wasn't expecting him.

Marcus. Hunched in the chair next to her bed, head lowered. Jacket thrown off. Dark stubble on his jaw, deep furrows carved by exhaustion. One massive hand enveloping hers on the blanket. The guardian on duty. Guilt struck me.

"What are you doing here?" My voice came out grating, raw, accusatory.

His head jerked up. Bloodshot eyes glared at me. Not shattered now… flicking with fire. He stood in one sudden movement, the chair squealing.

"Where else would I be, Ava?" He spoke sharply, deeply. "With my wife? Your mother? Waiting for you to finally stop running?"

The words cut. I stumble back. My eyes dart to Mother.. still white, still… still. "Running?" I whisper, my fight crumbling into dread.

Marcus settled in, making the small area seem even smaller. "She squeezed my hand today," he whispered, his tone softer yet no less intense. "Twice. Reacted to light. The coma… it’s starting to lift.”

The world whirled. Walls blurred. My knees gave and I descended into the wall, dropping onto chill tile. Tears ravaged me… torn relief and guilt. She's struggling. She's coming back. And I was… God.

Marcus was there at once. Not soft… firm. His fingers locked around my arms, pulling me up with ease. My body collided with his. Warm. Familiar. Possibly fatal. His grip did not relax, holding me in place… or maybe holding on to himself. My breath caught.

"I didn't say," he told me, his face inches from mine, eyes raking mine, "because last time… when the news was bad… you shut down. I couldn't allow that again. Not when she needs you here."

His hands. Too warm. Too right. The heat and rage radiating off of him, the way he anchored me… it was a lifeline and a shackle. A thought swept through the chaos: I want this. His tempest. More than Julian's cold domination. More than Caleb's fire. I want Marcus's tempest. What does that make me? 


He didn't let me go. He took me out into the faintly lit corridor. Rain pounded at the tall windows, shadows shifting across the walls. The hospital felt the edge of something dangerous. Suddenly he spun me around. My back hit the wall beside a fire extinguisher. One hand was against my head, the other still around my arm, his warm body pressed against mine. The air between us sparked.

"You kissed him." He spoke low, his voice rough, shaking with emotion. His eyes flamed into mine. "At the estate. After everything. After last night. You kissed Julian. To hurt me. Admit it."

Anger blazed, hot and hard. I held his gaze. "I kissed him," I told him, "because you look at me like I’m water in hell… and you’re dying of thirst." His eyes blazed with something animal. "You look at me like that… and then you look at her…" I nodded my head towards Mother's room. "And you leave. Every damn time."

A slow, thudding rhythm. Our breaths mingled in the charged air. Rain pounded against the glass. His eyes never left mine, a storm of guilt, hunger, and anguish in their depths.

"I'm your stepfather, Ava." The word crashed like a boulder. "I gave my word. To protect her. To love you." His grip on my arm tightened. His other fist curled into the wall. "And I'd kill for you. And then I'd take you to my bed and worship every broken piece of you." His voice was a lashed whisper. "That's the monster I am. That's what you want."

The dam inside of me broke. The tears piled up and overflowed… hot and quick..  not only for Mother, but for him. For us. My arms clenched around his shirt. "I know," I said, the words ripping free. "I know. And I need you, Marcus. All of you. The protector. The monster. The man who loves her too." My voice shook. "It frightens me. This need. What it does to us."

He did not answer. He just took my hand and pulled me deeper into the quiet corridors. We reached a pair of wooden doors. A chapel. Empty except for dark rows of candles and a pair that glowed in the vicinity of the altar.

He let go of my hand and proceeded to the front. Then he dropped to his knees. Back bent. Head bowed. The picture stole my breath.

"I loved Isabelle once," he spat, his throat constricted with grief. He stared into the fire. "She was… all that was fine." He looked at me, eyes ruined. "Now… God save me… I love you." It came out like a curse and a prayer., spewed out like that. "How do I survive it? How do I look her in the eye? Look at myself?"

I moved forward. I didn't kneel. I loomed over him and carefully touch the scarred knuckles of his hand.

"You don't," I whispered. "You don't mend it. We drown in it. Or swim. But we do it together."

His fingers closed over mine, his thumb outlining my lower lip… Julian's sign, my own stress-bite. A shiver ran through me, not of fear, but submission.

This is not forgiveness. This notion seared in my mind. This is surrender. To him. To the storm. To the pull that could destroy us all.

In the flickering light, the monster and the maiden braced for the flood.