I was bound to a chair in a dim room where the air was thick with the scent of damp concrete, fear, and dried blood. My wrists screamed in protest, rubbed raw from the coarse rope. I could make out looming shapes—men, faceless in the dim light—laughing in low, cruel tones.
No explanations. No mercy.
They demanded money. Said they wanted a ransom. But even after that, they didn’t stop. No, they had something else in mind.
Pain.
I begged, pleaded until my voice cracked and my body trembled. Their laughter drowned out my cries. And then came the knife.
I remember the cold steel sliding across my cheek—the sting, the burn, the fire that seared into my skin. I can still feel it. Their amusement rang in my ears louder than my screams. They didn’t care. They wanted to leave a mark. A permanent reminder.
When I thought it was over, when I had almost faded into unconsciousness from blood loss and fear, someone burst into the room.
Marcus.
Fury fueled his fists as he took each man down with a brutality I had never seen before. He looked like a fallen angel—raging and merciless, blood staining his knuckles, fire in his eyes. He found me, cut the ropes, and held me as I collapsed into him, shaking and sobbing. His arms were warm, strong. Comforting.
“You’re safe now,” he whispered. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”
And I had believed it. Every word. I believed in him.
I loved him.
But now I saw the truth for what it was.
He hadn’t saved me. He had orchestrated everything. He had watched my pain. Planned it. And afterward, he swooped in like a hero just to gain my trust… just to hurt me even more.
I trembled as the memory ripped through me. Tears welled in my eyes, blurring the scene before me, but I held them back.
I wanted to shout. Ask him how he could kiss me, hold me like I was precious, whisper promises into my ear—all while knowing he was the reason behind my scars. I wanted to make him feel just a fraction of the agony I carried every day.
But I stayed composed. Silent.
Then it happened.
My fingers lost grip, and the glass I had been holding slipped from my hand, crashing to the floor. Water soaked into my dress, and the sharp sound shattered the moment like glass under pressure.
The room froze.
Marcus' and Xavier’s heads turned toward me instantly.
“You okay?” Marcus asked, his tone dripping with concern. So practiced. So insincere.