Four days have passed since Valerius stood in this room and promised me something as ridiculous as kindness.
It's been four days since his voice brushed against my spine like a warning disguised as mercy. Four days since I saw his face. I don't know which unsettles me more, his absence, or the fact that I'm beginning to look for it.
I sat at the small black marble table the maids pushed into my room this morning. The books they dropped off are arranged around me. They were about things I never wanted to know, yet now read simply because they're the only things I can control in this place.
The room is too quiet.
I flip another page, with my eyes running over words my mind refuses to absorb. The silence presses against my ears.
Suddenly, the door clicks.
I don't move. I don't even look up. If Valerius decided to show himself in my room, I can't give him the satisfaction that I wanted to see him.
I keep my eyes on the book like the ink is the most interesting thing in the world, though my heart beats once.
Footsteps enter the room.
Wait, this would not be Valerius. These footsteps were too heavy, too careless, and too… wrong.
I lift my gaze just enough to see him.
It was a stranger with massive shoulders. Thick jaw. Alcoholic flush across his cheeks. Do people drink in the middle of the day? He closes the door behind him with a casualness that tells me he's not lost.
He came here on purpose.
I give him one glance. Then I returned to the book.
I hear the smirk forming on his face even before he speaks. His boots drag lightly against the ground as he moves closer.
I pretend not to care. However, the air thickens as he approaches, carrying the faint stink of wine with him.
And then, his breath touches the side of my throat. Hold on, wait a minute. What was going on?
I stiffen instantly.
He leans so close I feel the heat of his exhale on my neck, and his shadow sliding over my shoulder.
"I've been drinking," he murmurs, his voice low, hoarse, and far too close. "And now, I want someone under me."
My fingers curl into the edge of the page.
I keep my voice flat. "Does your master know you're here?"
"Oh, he does." I felt him smile. "He sent me."
A cold thread unravels in my stomach. He reached for me, and his fingers brushed the thin strap of my tank top.
I stood so fast that the chair scraped across the floor and hit the wall with a thud. I moved away from him.
His eyes brighten like a predator who just scented fear.
"That's it," he says, stepping forward. "Run a little."
"I didn't run," I snapped. "I don't run."
"You will."
He walks toward me at a slow, steady pace, each step deliberate. That confidence, the disgusting certainty that I'm already his, churns a hot and violent rage in my chest.
I step back.
I took one step, then another, and another, until my spine hit the wall.
My breath stutters.
His smile widens. "Cornered."
His hand rose, and once again, his fingers grazed the hem of my top, starting to lift it. I slapped him hard to let go
The crack of my slap echoes like a whip.
His head jerks to the side. He freezes. Then slowly… he laughs. A deep, animalistic sound that makes bile rise in my throat escaped his lip.
I slip beneath his arm before he can react, stumbling back into open space.
"You look so pitiful," I hurl, my voice trembling with fury rather than fear.
"Don't mock me," he growls, turning toward me.
"Then don't put yourself in a spot for my mockery!" I shout back, my eyes darting around for a weapon.
Books. Just more useless books laying around the corner. No single weapon, but just more useless books.
My pulse spikes when he drags his tongue across his bottom lip, with his eyes glittering with hunger.
He hasn't touched me, but my skin already crawls. I step back again.
He lunges forward.
His hands slam onto my shoulders, with his fingers digging into me until pain flares beneath my skin. He pins me against the wall so suddenly that my breath flies out of my lungs.
I shove him but he doesn't move.
I try to twist away, and his grip only tightens.
My body trembles. Not from fear alone, but from the violation of being held like this. The sheer helplessness of realizing my strength means nothing to a man built to break things scared me.
"Get off!" I grit out, pushing, clawing, and kicking him.
He doesn't budge.
He leans in, pressing me harder into the stone until it bites into my spine. The scent of wine and sweat suffocates me.
"You're making this difficult," he mutters, his lips brushing close to my cheek. "I like that—"
I spit in his face.
For one second, he freezes. That second was blissful. Then his hand swings with fury.
The back of his left hand smacks across my cheek.
A white-hot burst of pain explodes beneath my eye. The sound is small, almost nothing. But the pain, the burning throb spreading across my cheekbone forces a gasp out of me.
My vision flickers, and my breath falters.
He leans in again. His mouth hovered too close. He had a sour breath. His grip on my shoulders bruised deeper, squeezing me until my arms went slightly numb.
He's going to force a kiss. He's going to force more. He's going to do something unthinkable to me. I didn't want that.
A scream tears out of me. It was so raw, instinctive, and was cut out from the center of my chest.
It rips the air open, louder than I've ever heard my own voice, and sharp enough to make the man flinch for half a heartbeat.