Chapter 56

I felt myself gradually regain consciousness, as if I had been asleep for weeks. I opened my eyes, but the light was too bright, forcing me to close them again. After a few minutes, I tried again, slowly adjusting to the brightness. Looking around, I realized I was in my room in the Silver pack. For a fleeting moment, I almost believed everything that happened was just a dream. I desperately hoped it was a dream.

But then, vivid memories flooded back. The knife in my hand, the overwhelming rage and anger I felt at the time, and the lingering helplessness that gnawed at my mind. I remembered their screams, and with that, a sharp pain shot through my head, making it all too real once more.

My hand instinctively reached for my head, trying to massage away the throbbing headache that was building up. When one hand wasn't enough, I tried lifting the other, but it wouldn't budge. Something was holding it in place. I turned to my side and found my hand was gently captured, held between his palms. The soft warmth from his touch seeped into my skin, bringing a surprising comfort. That's when I realized that the memories had made me shiver.

Looking at him, I saw him sleeping in an uncomfortable position, his head resting on my bed while the rest of his large frame was awkwardly sprawled on a chair. There was a peacefulness in his expression that made me feel something I couldn't quite explain. Despite the chaos in my mind, his presence was a balm, soothing the chaos within me.

His black hair looked unruly, as if he had repeatedly run his hands through it in frustration. Was he worried about me? The thought struck me deeply, sending a ripple of emotion through my chest. Perhaps I had caused this concern, and the idea that he cared for me kindled a fragile hope within. These were the thoughts I wanted to entertain, even though I knew they were delusional. Why would he be worried about me? I was nothing to him, merely an assistant who worked by his side. Just the thought of how he might perceive me made my heart ache with a longing I struggled to suppress. I didn't want to get ahead of myself and raise my hopes for nothing. I didn't want to experience crushing disappointment if my feelings were not reciprocated.

I wasn't being harsh, just rational. He could never be mine, of that I was sure. I should merely use him as I had intended—to punish my sister. I needed his power to destroy her, to bring her to a point of no return. I wasn't interested in an apology; I was consumed by a thirst for revenge, a desire to see her suffer as I had. The flames of anger and betrayal burned fiercely within me, fueling my resolve.

However, as I watched his sleeping form, my heart began to race in a way that felt almost traitorous to my cause. Why did I want to brush the hair away from his face, to see his features more clearly? His peaceful expression tugged at something deep inside me, a warmth that conflicted with my burning desire for vengeance. Damn it! I was being delusional again. My mind waged a war between my emotions and my rational thoughts, leaving me feeling more confused and vulnerable than ever.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the sight of him sleeping so peacefully, despite his uncomfortable position, only intensified the turmoil within me. His presence was a comfort I hadn't expected, a reminder that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as alone as I thought. But I couldn't let these feelings distract me. I had a mission, and I couldn't afford to let my guard down. Yet, in this quiet moment, I allowed myself to feel, to acknowledge the flicker of hope and the warmth of his touch, even if it was just an illusion.

Like the fool that I was, I continued to stare at him until he started showing signs of waking. Panic surged through me, and I quickly closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep.

"I know you're awake," he whispered, his tone filled with amusement.

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, hoping to maintain the ruse, but my efforts were in vain. His laughter soon filled the room, a sound so rich and beautiful that it took my breath away. I had never heard him laugh before, this was the first time. It was a melody that made my heart flutter. He should laugh more often, I thought, savoring the rare moment despite my embarrassment.

I slowly opened my eyes and pretended to yawn, trying to make it look convincing. Sitting up in the bed, I leaned against the headboard, aware of his eyes on me the entire time.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his tone now serious, a stark contrast to the amusement from before.

"I guess I'm fine," I answered, my voice uncertain. His intense gaze lingered on me, making me feel increasingly uneasy. An itch on my arm provided a welcome distraction. When I moved my hand to scratch it, I noticed the red lines on my wrist.

Huh! So it wasn't a dream. It actually happened. The reality of the situation hit me like a tidal wave, and I felt a mix of emotions—fear, confusion, and a lingering sense of anger. The marks on my wrist were a stark reminder of the events that had unfolded, pulling me back into the present moment with a jolt.

My eyes fixated on the marks left by the tight ropes, each line a cruel reminder of the harrowing ordeal I had endured. A vivid memory of me tugging desperately at those ropes flashed through my mind, igniting a surge of anguish within me. I began gently tracing my fingers over the red skin, the texture a tangible manifestation of the pain I had endured.

But as I traced the lines, a sense of desperation overcame me. The need to erase the evidence, to rid myself of the haunting memory, consumed my thoughts. Without realizing it, my gentle touch turned into frantic scratching, my nails digging into my skin with a passion fueled by anguish and desperation.

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision as they cascaded down my cheeks in a torrent of emotion. The weight of the trauma I had endured crashed over me like a relentless wave, threatening to pull me under. I was drowning in a sea of fear, pain, and helplessness, unable to escape the suffocating grip of my own memories.

Lost in my torment, I didn't hear my name being called out in the room, nor did I register the urgency in the voice that called to me. All that existed was the overwhelming anguish that consumed me, driving me to the brink of despair.

Then, suddenly, two hands grabbed mine, jolting me out of my distressing reverie. "Zendaya! Stop it! Now!!"