Chapter 11 Confessing to Her with These Marks
Chapter 11 Confessing to Her with These Marks
Pain.
It was everywhere—every bone, every muscle, every nerve screaming at once.
Alexander's movements were merciless, each thrust calculated to shatter her will, to take control of even the rhythm of her breathing. There was no tenderness, only the cold precision of domination, the relentless drive to break her.
She had no idea how long it lasted. Time inside that car dissolved into a blur of heat, violence, and humiliation. When it finally ended, the drug in his system hadn't burned out—or perhaps he simply wasn't finished with her. He dragged her, half-conscious, back to the apartment.
And then he took her into the master bedroom—the one room she had never been allowed to enter. Edith's dream room. A sanctuary she had only glimpsed from the threshold. Now it became the stage for another act of possession, stripped of love and drenched in hate.
Caroline remembered only fragments: expensive silk sheets twisted under her body, the chandelier's crystal light stabbing at her eyes, the sheen of sweat on Alexander's back, the sharp mix of desire and loathing in his gaze. And his voice, low at her ear, repeating the same name over and over.
"Edith..."
Every time he spoke it, every brutal movement, was like a freight train plowing through her chest, grinding her already broken heart into dust.
When it was over, she was barely conscious. She had no idea how many times she had begged, how many tears she had shed. There was a moment she truly believed she might die there, in his bed.
Alexander moved suddenly.
A sharp yank on her arm tore her from the sheets. She blinked against the haze, her vision swimming, and found his face above her—cold, severe.
"Get up. Get dressed."
She tried to speak, but her throat was raw, her voice gone. She couldn't even lift a finger without pain screaming through her body.
He pulled her off the bed, hard. She hit the floor and cried out, the sound ripped from her lungs without thought.
Alexander grabbed a robe, threw it over his shoulders, and stepped into the hallway. His voice was flat as he addressed the maid.
"Change her clothes. Clean the room. No..."
He stopped, his tone sharpening.
"Throw everything out. Replace it exactly as it was."
Caroline lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, her eyes empty.
He thought she was dirty. He wanted every trace of her erased from Edith's room, replaced with something untouched, something pure.
She was handled like a doll with broken joints—washed, dressed, and pushed into the back seat of a car. He didn't explain where they were going.
But as the streets rolled by, the scenery became familiar.
"The... cemetery?" Her voice trembled.
"Yes." His eyes cut into hers like blades.
"Edith's cemetery. You drugged me. You made me touch you. Now you'll stand before her and repent. Every mark I left on you... you'll wash them away with your tears."
His mouth curled into something cruel.
"And if you think that's not enough, you can kneel there and polish her headstone until it shines. Inch by inch... until I decide your sincerity is worth something."
Her breath caught.
To stand at Edith's grave, marked and bruised by him, and kneel in front of the stone... It was worse than any physical pain he could inflict.
An hour later, she followed him like a shadow into the private cemetery at the edge of the city.
The headstone stood in a quiet corner, white granite kept spotless, engraved with Edith's name, the dates, and set with a ceramic photo—her smile frozen in its brightest moment.
Caroline's vision blurred instantly. Five years. Five years since she'd last come here. Her mother had forbidden it. Alexander had hated every step she might take toward this place.
Whenever the longing for Edith cut deep enough to ache, she had hovered outside the gates, never crossing them.
She remembered the fastest route from the apartment, the two plane trees outside, even the chipped paint on the wrought-iron gate that had been repaired last year.
But this was the first time she had stood before Edith's grave.
"Kneel."
Her legs trembled as she sank onto the stone steps. The rough surface bit into her knees, waking the pain from last night. She gritted her teeth, silent.
"Clean it." Alexander tossed a white cloth at her feet.
She picked it up. It was soft. Clean. Like Edith.
Her hands shook as she looked up at her sister's smile.
"Edith..." The name broke from her lips, tears falling hard onto the stone.
"I'm sorry... I'm here... I came to see you..."
She lifted the cloth and began to wipe the edges of the headstone, slow and careful, as if afraid to disturb the sleep beneath it.
Each stroke was a knife to her own heart.
The sun climbed higher, burning the back of her neck. Her dress clung to her skin with sweat, outlining the bones beneath. Her arm wounds reopened, bleeding slowly. Her knees had gone numb. Her stomach clenched with hunger—she hadn't eaten since the night before.
But she didn't stop.
Alexander hadn't told her to stop.
Time dragged. At some point, he moved to the shade of a nearby tree, his back turned, watching her from a distance.
Her vision swam. The headstone twisted in her sight. She thought she heard Edith's voice.
"Caroline, I'm cold..."
"Caroline, why did you wait so long to come?"
"Caroline, what's that smell on you? It's awful..."
It was Alexander's scent. The scent of lust. The scent of guilt.
"I'm sorry, Edith... I'm sorry..." Her voice broke. The cloth slipped in her hands.
Sweat stung her eyes. She blinked hard, trying to see Edith's smile, but it drifted farther away...
"It's my fault. I shouldn't be here. I should be gone..."
"Edith, take me with you. I'm so tired... so tired..."
Darkness closed in.
She woke to the jolt of movement. She was lying in the back seat of an old car. The driver was a wrinkled man in work overalls—the cemetery caretaker.
"You're awake?" He glanced at her in the rearview mirror.
"You collapsed out there. Heatstroke? Your forehead's bleeding... Want me to take you home? Where do you live?"
Alexander hadn't even stayed.
Caroline pushed herself upright, pain stabbing her skull.
"I'm fine..." she said weakly. "Please take me to Rosewood Park West Avenue."
The caretaker turned the car.
She leaned against the seat, watching the city slide past. Her heart sank into a void.
Alexander had left her there.
The caretaker pulled up outside her building. He offered to help her upstairs, but she refused.
Her steps were unsteady as she entered the lobby. The security guard's eyes followed her, puzzled. She took the elevator to the top floor.
The apartment door was ajar.
She pushed it open.
Alexander stood in the middle of the living room, his back to her, listening to one of his men report. He turned when he heard her.
After a pause, he waved the man away.
They were alone.
Caroline steadied herself against the wall. She opened her mouth, but no sound came.
Alexander walked toward her, stopping close.
"Fainted?" His tone was mocking.
"At Edith's grave? Caroline, your performance is getting better. A perfect little ploy. Even the caretaker was moved enough to drive you home."
Cold washed through her.
He knew. He knew everything. And he had still left her there.
"I didn't..." Her voice scraped out.
"Didn't?" His laugh was low, sharp.
He grabbed her collar and ripped it open. The fabric tore, exposing her collarbone and chest—marked with bruises from the night before.
"Look at yourself!" His voice rose.
"You took these marks to Edith's grave, playing the victim. Who was it for? The caretaker? Anyone passing by who knows you? You wanted them to see how I've ruined you?"
His gaze pinned her like iron.
"Caroline, I underestimated you. You think this will win sympathy? Make me the villain in their eyes? Reduce your guilt? Dream on."
He released her. She fell hard to the floor.
"If you love acting so much... if you're so good at playing the wounded woman..."
He paused, his voice turning to ice.
"Then go to the basement. Put on your show all you want. This time, you don't step out without my permission. I want to see who you think you can play to down there."