by Lylah James
The door opened, and she walked out. I closed my eyes with a tired sigh.
“I also hope you find a good woman. One who will not make you so heartless anymore. A woman who will actually teach you to be good and how to show compassion.”
My eyes snapped open, but I didn’t catch a final glimpse of her before she closed the door with a soft click.
Her words left a gaping hole in my chest, and they rung loudly in my ears.
I pinched my eyes closed, fighting against the pain in my heart. I never realized that words could actually hurt this much.
Shoot me in the ass and I could bear it.
Shoot me in the heart and I would smile.
But those words…they haunted me.
It hurt so much, knowing that I did find that woman.
Only difference…she wasn’t mine.
“Fuck this shit! Fuck my life! Fuck my whole fucking existence!” I hissed, dropping more f-bombs than I could count.
Punching the mattress, I pulled the comforter over my head, still swearing loudly.
It appeared that sleep wasn’t going to come easily.
Chapter 3
Her
My fingers froze when I saw the doorknob turning. The sunlight was bright in my eyes as I looked outside, not blinking, completely frozen.
It was still too early.
The sun was still high up in the sky. Darkness hadn’t covered the city yet, so why was he coming for me?
I was supposed to still have some time. I was supposed to have time to prepare myself for tonight.
But the plans had changed. He didn’t care.
And now I had to bear it.
The pain. The endless tears. The unspoken words. The unleashed screams.
The newly given scars.
I had thought my body would grow numb over time, but it hurt to realize that you could never go numb.
Every pain was made to be felt.
Over the years, I had learned my lesson. I found a way to fight him. Not physically. Just mentally.
The door opened, and I sucked in a deep breath, waiting for the unexpected. Because with him, it was always unexpected. It was always something new that I had to grow accustomed to.
He always found new ways to defile me. New ways to hurt me.
Sometimes my body. Sometimes my heart. And other times, my mind.
He played me masterfully. He knew every button to push that would lead me over the edge, hanging over the cliff, falling yet not reaching the bottom.
Hurting but not dying.
Tears but no sound.
Everything was silent in my world. Silent and dark.
Sometimes, I wished he would kill me. Death would be easier, but funnily, I was scared of death.
So I fought for each breath I took. It was a battle I won every day he would come into our bedroom.
My body might not have been numb to his games, but my heart was.
It was unfeeling.
My heart would beat to a rhythm. Thump thump. Thump thump.
I was alive. But that was all.
Just breathing. My heart just beating.
He molded me, creating a shell out of a living person. One who once knew how to laugh, smile, and talk. But now…while looking inside, you would find it empty. A dark pit of emptiness that would lead you to a road map of nowhere.
From the corner of my eyes, I saw his feet coming closer. One step at a time. One step closer with each passing second.
Thump thump. Thump thump.
My heart continued beating. I inhaled. I exhaled.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Another step forward. Another step closer to me.
Another step that reminded me of my lack of freedom.
Freedom.
A foreign word to someone who had none. It held such little power to those who had it. But to the ones who didn’t, it was something we could only dream of. A wish made to a flying star in the darkness of the night.
To us, it was only a fading hope.
He paused at my chair, waiting, soundless. Always silent.
In some ways, that was my power. My hidden strength. One he couldn’t take away from me.
The silence was my gift.
Once upon a time, I hated it. And now, I reveled in it.
I stayed still, my fingers still wrapped around the knitting cloth and needle. My eyes stayed fixated on the window, watching the blue sky, a beautiful sight that reminded me of what I had lost.
The clouds moved just as the seconds ticked by. The sun shined, casting the breathtaking glow around the lands.
In some parts of the world, some people were enjoying the sun. Loving it. Praising it.
Other parts, we were trapped inside with just a glimpse of it. It was not ours to feel and breathe in.
His movement caught my eyes again. He moved away from my chair, walking toward the bed. Closing my eyes, I continued to breathe.
Thump thump. Thump thump.
I counted the seconds in my head.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Five seconds was all he gave me. Five seconds to prepare myself. Five seconds to wish for my death. Only in those five seconds I always wished for my end.
But as soon as those five seconds were over, the steel cage around my heart came back up, folding and molding. Protecting me in the only way it knew how.
My five seconds were over.
It was time for his entertainment and my ruination.
Standing up, firm, stiff, and poised, just like I had been taught, I placed my knitting materials on the chair.
Shoulders back, head up but eyes cast down, I walked toward him.
My thoughts flew elsewhere. Like always. Like right now. My gaze tracked the floor, and I was thinking how ugly the carpet was. It was brown, and the woven wool was almost coming apart. I dug my toes into it, feeling its softness on my bare skin.
It was a lesson learned.
Sometimes, the ugliness in the world could bring softness and gentleness.
Other times, the most beautiful and captivating thing could bring pain and tears.
Something we all needed to remember but always forgot. A long time ago, I forgot too. I fell into a dark trap by a beautiful, captivating thing.
When my feet finally came a stop, I closed my eyes for a brief second. A sharp pain in my ankle brought me to my knees.
A reminder to kneel down. So I knelt down with my thighs slightly spread apart.
My eyes opened at the feel of his feet pushing my legs wider. I did as I was silently commanded.
Always listen, even when the words are not uttered. Always listen, so it will hurt less.
My mother had whispered into my ear before. The last time I had seen her.
At first, the words were forgotten. And now, those words were my mantra to staying alive.
A small tap on my head brought my eyes up to meet his aging ones. Dark brown eyes with deep wrinkles around them, a sign that he was getting older. Already old.
My gaze traveled south, wanting to escape the sight but couldn’t. When my eyes landed on his lips, I waited.
He waited too, dragging out the suspense. Forcing me to feel it. Little did he know that I had mastered this game.
It was a weak ploy to weaken me. But I had learned how to use his game on himself.
He thought he was dragging out the suspense. For me, I was just using each passing second to strengthen myself against the pain I knew was coming.
“Come here,” he finally said. Snapping his fingers with the words, he only stared at me. Emotionless. Just like the heartless man he was.
I moved forward, crawling closer between his legs. My body tightened in disgust, hating every moment of this. My skin itched with the urge to hide and run away. To fade away into nothingness.
He grasped my chin, pulling me closer. “I said come here.”
Pushing myself up, I crawled on his lap. With my thighs on either side of his hips, I straddled him, waiting f
or his next command.
“You have been spacing out a lot lately,” he continued, his eyes roaming my face diligently.
Only so I could escape you.
But even in my dreams, he was there. Always haunting me. Always making me cry soundless tears.
I shook my head mutely, and his eyes narrowed. His fingers dug into my thighs, slowly pushing my long dress up.
The hem grew closer and closer to my crotch, bunching tightly around my middle. Every time he touched me, I wanted to return the touch.
But in a different way. I wanted to claw his eyes out and watch his blood drip around us. I wanted to slice his throat open.
I wanted to stare into his soulless eyes.
His touch made me violent. Only problem was…the violence only existed in my head, buried deep inside. If only I could unleash it, then maybe I would get the taste of freedom.
But my freedom was a craving that would never be fulfilled.
His fingers inched closer, following an upward path. I trembled slightly but such a small shiver that even he missed it.
I am strong.
A soft whisper in my head resonated through my ears. I am strong.
Taking a deep breath, I released it quietly. Just as he touched me there. His thumb pressed harder, a slightly painful pressure. But not one I couldn’t bear.
I had been through worse than that.
Suddenly, he moved. And then I was under his body. Underneath him. Like always.
His body pressed against mine, trapping me into the soft mattress. His lips moved over my neck, placing kisses as he went. Biting softly and then harder.
Hard enough to break skin. He left his mark there as my blood slid down my neck in a single trail. Like a tear falling down your cheek.
Disgust filled me to full capacity, but still, I was frozen.
His wet kisses continued down to the valley of my breasts. He paused before slowly pulling away. My dress was ripped apart in mere seconds.
I blinked, waiting for this to be over.
Thump thump. Thump thump.
More kisses…more claiming. More marks on my body. His marks.
I had to bear them with pride, for they were my crown. My title. They showed who I belonged to.
I laid naked under him, my body bare to his pleasure. So he played me however he wanted. Pulling whatever strings he desired. Pressing whatever notes he wished.
My eyes widened at the prickling feeling in my arm. It was sudden, harsh, and then gone just as quickly as it came.
A few seconds passed before he propped himself on his elbows, hovering above me. His hardened bulge pressed against my core as he circled his hips, a tiny smirk on his face.
My eyes fluttered closed as I realized his game.
Forced pleasure.
He was going to make me crack under his hands. And like the whore I was…I was going to crack. Like every time he had played this game.
My jaw clenched as his hand traveled south between my legs. I refused. My body refused. My mind roared. My heart cracked a little.
But no matter how much I hated it, refused to want it, he made me want it.
My body might give in, but my soul was intact. He would not feast on my soul and heart. They were mine to keep.
His fingers invaded me, and my teeth snapped together, pressing hard, fighting against the invasion.
He pressed deeper. Another finger, opening me wider.
My eyes snapped opened as his other hand gripped my breast hard, pinching the nipple. “You are responding to me, just like the little whore you are.”
I hate you.
His thumb pressed over the tiny nub, circling over and over again, dragging a pleasure from deep within me. My thighs trembled in the effort of keeping my dignity.
My chest heaved with each breath, my vision clouding with unshed tears. The pressure of his fingers intensified, forcing me to feel it.
I hate you.
The tears trickled down my temple, soundlessly.
I hate you.
His fingers moved roughly inside of me, stretching me, hitting spots that jolted my insides. I clenched around him, my body wanting what he was giving but hating it at the same time.
I felt betrayed, like always. I loathed myself.
I hate you.
He pressed his body over mine, his hips thrusting against me with the movement of his fingers.
“I want to hear you scream.”
I won’t.
The torture continued, and I knew he wouldn’t stop until I let go. So I did.
I let go, letting my mind open to feel whatever he was giving me. Bile made its way up my throat and I fought against the urge to vomit.
Don’t.
My lips trembled as more tears fell, the pillow now wet with my pain.
Finally, my body spasmed, my legs shaking and my mind shutting.
I gave him what he wanted.
I hate you.
He smirked, licking his fingers. “Perfect.” His eyes went between my legs, watching.
I let out a small breath, feeling my shame dripping down the inside of my thighs.
It was all that was left of me.
Shame.
I hate you. But I hate myself too.
I laid there, letting my mind swirl with dizziness. Black spots appeared in front of my eyes, and I tried to shake it away.
His body covered mine again as I stared up at the ceiling. He entered my body with a single hard thrust. Hard enough to hurt, my body jolting with agony.
He thrust in and out, not for my pleasure. But his.
And I let him.
I surrendered underneath my husband.
Time passed, the seconds flew by, the minutes crawled, and finally, he fell beside me. My eyes closed, knowing this was the end.
I hate you.
Relief filled me when I felt him getting up. The bed shifted and then nothing.
I waited as my body ached. So much pain. My thighs hurt, and my core felt like glass was cutting through me. The marks over my body left a dull pain, one that was still vibrating through my mind.
When my eyes opened, he had already left the room.
Relief. Tears of relief and happiness.
Even with my body violated and my soul tortured, I cried silent tears of happiness.
He took something, but in the end, I had won.
I didn’t scream. He didn’t hear my screams.
He lost yet again.
I hate you.
Finally pulling the courage deep within me, I got off the bed. My legs shook, my body almost falling to the floor.
Holding on to the bed, I steadied myself, but it hurt too much. My knees met the ground as my body weakened.
I crawled to the bathroom, each movement causing jolts of agony through my body. My muscles protested, but I still crawled. In the bathroom, with the help of the counter, I stood in front of the mirror. I wasn’t surprised with what I saw.
It was a sight I saw every day.
Teeth marks. Hand marks. Marks that looked like he had clawed at my skin. Some were deep red. Others already turning purple.
Blood dripping from open wounds that he left with his teeth. Blood coating the scratches left on my body.
My eyes drifted lower, following every piece he left me. My gaze stopped between my thighs.
Blood.
My panties were in shreds, bloodied. He made me bleed. He left me bleeding. It wasn’t new. Just another day living my nightmare.
The red represented my humiliation. A fitting color.
I hate you.
Refusing to look into the mirror anymore, refusing to face my shame any longer, I walked into the shower.
Sitting against the wall, I curled into myself, letting the raining water wash away my shame. After a long time, I walked out.
My body was sensitive to the towel, and I winced as my long dress covered my body. My skin felt scratched raw, my body aching with every step as I walked out of the bathroom.
Another beauty…in the darkness of my world.
The tears were long gone as I sat down, holding my knitting cloth and needle in my hand. Watching the sunset, I resumed my knitting.
As if nothing happened.
As if everything was perfect.
I was the perfect wife.
He was the perfect husband.
We were a perfect lie.
Chapter 4
Konstantin
My men followed me out, their steps close to mine but still behind. Just the way it should be. The harsh winter air hit me hard in the face, and I winced.
Fucking Russia and its winter.
“Are you ready?” Valentin asked, his voice ruining my mood further. Always yapping. Maybe I should shut his mouth for him. Shove a block of snow in his face or something.
Keep dreaming, the devil currently perched on my shoulder laughed. My lips curled up in distaste, and I almost shooed him away, but that would look weird.
Shooing away something that wasn’t even there. My men would think me crazy.
Maybe I was. Living with Valentin Solonik for a year had driven me crazier than when I was living with Alessio.
Crazy to say, but I almost missed the poor bastard.
You can’t miss your enemy, the devil laughed in my ears.
Another reminder of what I had to do. What I was actually born to do. My legacy. Those years spent with the Ivanshovs, I was on borrowed time, living a life that wasn’t mine.
A character who was made up. A killer who was dancing to someone else’s tunes.
Little did I know, I was born to lead a family. I was born to have everyone else bowing to me.
I was born to succeed Valentin Solonik.
“Konstantin, are you listening to me?”
His voice broke into my thoughts, and my head snapped up, regarding him with a glare. He swallowed and smiled, almost nervously.
“What?” I asked, my legs moving again. He matched my steps, following next to me.
“The estate is ready for your arrival. One of my men will lead you through and show you around, just to get yourself familiar. I have to stay behind and take care of some club business,” he answered, almost robotic, like he practiced it.
“I don’t need anyone to lead me around.” With a raised eyebrow, I waited for his answer.