Chapter 59 BREWING FEELINGS
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
SAMANTHA’S POV
I finally found my voice.
“Good evening, Master.”
He did not answer immediately. His eyes stayed on my face. Then they shifted to the bruise on my cheek. Slowly, Then to my hand where the skin was scratched and red.
Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before I could understand it.
“Come with me.”
He turned away without waiting for a response.
I knew better than to argue. Arguing had consequences. Speaking too much had consequences too
So I followed.
“Walk fast. Will you?” he barked.
I flinched immediately. My body reacted before my mind did. Fear had trained me well.
He turned back, irritation clear on his face, and grabbed my injured hand. Pain shot up my arm and into my chest, but I refused to make a sound. I swallowed it. I swallowed everything.
I followed him down the corridor, my thoughts drifting despite myself.
I remembered the first day he carried me to his room after I tried to escape. The way my body trembled in his arms. The confusion. The strange warmth that crept into my chest even though I was terrified. That was the day something inside me shifted, and I hated myself for it.
I would be a fool to believe anything good could exist between us.
He pushed open his bedroom door and dragged me inside.
I stumbled, landing on the edge of the bed.
I sat upright immediately, heart pounding. My mind raced ahead of reality. I prepared myself the only way I knew how. If he wanted something from me, I would give it. Resistance only made things worse. That was something I had learned painfully.
He walked toward his cabinet. I watched him carefully, bracing myself.
Instead of what I expected, he pulled out a first aid box.
For a moment, I thought I was imagining it.
He came back to me and pulled me toward the small door Abel had once opened in this room. The hidden painting space.
He pushed it open, then we walk down to the underground building
“Sit.”
I sat immediately.
He crouched in front of me and took my hand. His grip was firm but controlled. He began cleaning the scratches carefully, applying antiseptic.
I flinched weakly when the liquid touched my wound.
His eyes lifted to mine.
“Stay still.”
My fear deepened. The gentleness confused me more than anger ever did. Anger I understood. This… this I did not..for fhe second time even.
His fingers were precise as he wrapped my hand. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to mute the pain so he would not think I was weak.
“You do whatever I tell you to do,” he said calmly, not looking at me. “No one’s word supersedes mine. If anyone gives you an order that conflicts with mine, you ignore them. The day you forget that will be the day I get you killed.”
My breath caught.
“Yes, Master,” I whispered.
“Good.”
He stood and tilted my chin upward, examining the bruise on my cheek. His thumb brushed lightly against my skin, and I tensed automatically.
He noticed.
His jaw tightened.
Without warning, he began unbuttoning my blouse.
My entire body went rigid.
I shut my eyes again, forcing myself not to shake. I knew what came next. My body remembered before my mind could block it out. The guilt. The shame. The unwanted anticipation mixed with fear. It disgusted me that my body sometimes reacted even when my heart was terrified.
He removed my blouse and bra. I stood there breathing shallowly. He slipped the skirt from my waist, and I felt exposed, vulnerable, small.
When I was completely naked, I waited.
My heart pounded violently against my ribs.
But he did not touch me.
He stepped back instead.
“Go have your bath,” he said flatly. “I will send clothes to you. You are staying with Micky tonight.”
My eyes flew open.
For a second, I thought I misheard him.
With Micky?
Relief crashed into me so suddenly my knees almost gave out.
He was not going to touch me.?
He was not going to touch me.?
“Thank you, sir. Thank you, sir,” I said quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush.
He scoffed softly and turned away.
“Wait.”
My heart stopped again.
“Stand still.”
I froze, instinctively covering my chest with my hands.
He walked toward the other side of the room where his painting materials were arranged neatly. Brushes. Canvas. Colors.
The last time I stood like this in his room, everything had gone wrong. I had trembled. He had interpreted it as rejection. Anger had taken over. That night still lived in my bones.
My breathing became uneven.
“Stand still. Do not move,” he said without looking at me.
He sat down and began sketching.
I did not know what he was drawing.
Time stretched painfully. My arms ached from holding myself still. My legs trembled slightly, but I locked them in place. I would not move. I could not risk repeating history.
Every second felt like a test.
I watched him carefully through half closed eyes. His focus was intense. Controlled. He was not looking at me the way a man looks at a woman. He was studying lines. Shadows. Angles.
I realized then that he was not undressing me for desire.
He was undressing me for art.
That realization both comforted and unsettled me.
Fifteen minutes passed. Maybe more. My body hurt from standing still, but I refused to shift.
Finally, he leaned back and exhaled.
A small smile touched his lips.
“You can go have your bath.”
That was all.
No anger. No force. No hunger.
Just dismissal.
I grabbed the nearest cloth and hurried into the bathroom before my legs betrayed me. The moment the door shut behind me, I slid down against it.
My heart pounded wildly.
He did not touch me.
He did not touch me.
He did not touch me.
Tears filled my eyes, but this time they were not entirely from pain. They were from relief. From confusion. From something fragile and dangerous growing quietly inside me.
I did not understand him.
And that frightened me more than anything else.
GENERAL POV
Savy stood by the window of his room, a glass in his hand, eyes cold.
“Were you able to kill Kane?” he asked without turning.
The man behind him shifted nervously. “No. He escaped.”
The glass shattered against the wall.
“That son of a bitch,” Savy muttered, rage tightening his voice.
He turned slowly, his expression dark and calculating.
“It is only the beginning,” he said quietly. “He thinks he can invade my territory and walk away? I will strip him of everything.”
His lips curved into a cruel smile.
“I will bring him down to nothing. Take his power. Take his family. Break him slowly.”
He paused.
“And then I will have Samantha.”
His eyes gleamed with obsession.
“This war has just started.”