Camilla's Pov...
My head was a slab of throbbing stone. My body felt flayed, every muscle screaming in protest.
Why did the ache between my legs burn the sharpest?
My eyes flew open.
I knew this ceiling. The faint crack in the plaster shaped like a rabbit. The smell of Sophia's lavender detergent and dust.
I was in her guest room. In the slightly-too-small bed that had once felt like a safe cocoon.
Memory crashed over me in shattered, brutal pieces.
Lucian Throne. The storage room. The blood. His hands. His mouth on mine. His voice: "Beg. Me."
He had sex with me.
No.
No, no, no, NO!
I could recall details with horrifying clarity: the sea-glass green of his eyes in the hellish light, the iron grip of his hands on my hips, the taste of whiskey and dark promise on his tongue.
But the end… the end was a black hole. A wall of static after the screaming crescendo. I remembered the overwhelming, desperate climb, but not the fall. Not how it stopped.
How did I get here? In this bed, in this house that was no longer safe?
What did he do after I… after we…?
The uncertainty was a cold, sickening plunge in my gut. It was worse than knowing. Because now, even my memories were not my own.
I was even wearing a new dress. A soft pink one, which I felt under the gown. My underwear was black.
Of course, I wore no bra—who wears a bra to sleep? But this wasn't my doing. Who had changed me? Who had seen me that vulnerable?
I got up immediately, moving out of the room on unsteady legs. The house seemed abnormally busy, the air thick with the smell of coffee and murmured voices.
Then I saw her. Sophia. My eyes still throbbed, making her figure swim slightly.
"How did I get back here?" My voice was a dry rasp.
"Good morning," she said, not looking up from her phone, her tone light and dismissive.
"Sorry—good morning," I forced out, the social reflex a bitter taste. "I don't… I don't remember. How did I get here?"
Finally, she glanced up. A flicker of something—irritation? amusement?—crossed her face. "I don't know. You were already here before I came back."
My head was its own frantic drum. What was she saying?
"Eh, despite maybe not remembering…" she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr as her eyes scanned me. "I'm sure you had a good night. Look at your neck. Your hand."
Her words were a bucket of ice water. I looked down.
My skin was a canvas of violence and passion. A constellation of deep, red-purple blooms dotted my neck, the inside of my wrist. Bruises shaped like fingerprints. Love bites that were not gentle.
"Lucian Throne."
The name slipped out, a raw exhale. And with it, a floodgate opened. Not just memories of his face, but sensations. His lips, his teeth, digging into my skin—not with calm possession, but with a frantic, claiming hunger that mirrored my own.
They were not calm. They were a storm. And I had been at the center of it.
"Lucian Throne?" Sophia's eyebrows shot up. Then she laughed, a light, dismissive sound. "Wow. You're still living in a world of fantasy."
"You don't believe me…"
"It's cute to say you had a good night with a mystery man. But Lucian Throne? Sorry, honey. That's just too much."
"You don't get it. It was him."
"You were blackout drunk." She said it slowly, as if explaining to a child. "Anyone who fucked you last night would seem like your dream crush."
"What are you—"
"Wait, I'm not done." She held up a hand, her expression turning mock-serious. "Everyone has a crush on Lucian Throne. He's rich. He's handsome. His character is… arresting. A god unto himself." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "But this? This is turning from a harmless crush into a psychotic obsession. You need to get a grip."
"My head hurts," I whispered, the admission a surrender. "I don't know."
"But I get it," she said, her voice dropping into a strange, confidential tone. A smile played on her lips—not kind, but hungry.
"He's so… interesting. Sometimes, I watch his speeches or interviews in the dark. Just the videos. And I end up…" She trailed off, her gaze growing distant. "I use a vibrator. And I imagine it's him. I imagine how large he must be. What he would feel like." Her eyes snapped back to mine, sharp and mocking. "I've moaned, praying he's the one to hear it. But it's only dreams, Camilla. Only dreams. You can't confuse your fantasies with who actually fucked you at the party."
What was she saying ? I knew it was him. I felt it in the marrow-deep ache of my body, in the ghost of his hand still branding my skin.
But, fuck...my body hurts. It felt like they were stabbing me in-between my thighs with shards of pure, punishing pleasure.A raw throbbing tenderness that was a testimony to something far beyond dreams.
"My body hurts,"I breathe the confession escaping my lips.
"It has been four years,"she said, her voice softening into a gentle understanding murmur.
She moved closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a hug that felt like the only solid thing in this spinning world. "Your body's just forgotten," she murmured, but her voice hitched, just once. "I can't lose you to this. I won't."
And in that moment, through the pain and the confusion, I saw her not as a friend who dragged me to a hellish party, but as my only true anchor in this world.
"I've bought you everything," she said, her hand giving my shoulder a final, reassuring squeeze before she pulled away to gesture at two sleek suitcases by the door.
"For my journey?" I asked, a real smile—the first in what felt like years—touching my lips. It was shaky, but it was real. She was doing this. She was really helping me.
"Yes." She finally smiled back, but it was a careful, determined one. "It's not much, but I want you to start a new life. A safe one. You'll be leaving for Mexico today."
The words should have felt like a sentence. Instead, they felt like a lifeline. Today. Not after another day of hiding, of police, of whispers. Today, I could disappear. Today, someone was finally doing something to save me.
Tears, hot and sudden, pricked my eyes. Not from fear this time, but from a crushing wave of relief. After being utterly alone, I had an ally. After being hunted, I had an escape.
"Sophia, I… I don't know how to thank you."
She waved a hand, the gesture elegant and dismissive. A real, warm smile finally broke through her careful expression. "Don't. What are best friends for?" She stepped forward and pulled me into a tight, lavender-scented hug. Her voice was a soft, fervent whisper in my ear.
"We're best friends for life."
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To be continued...