DESCENT INTO MADNESS

Amelia

A dull, throbbing ache pulsed through my head as I forced my eyes open, squinting against the dim, flickering light. Everything was blurry at first, edges smudged like a nightmare struggling to come into focus. I blinked, fighting off the haze clouding my mind, and slowly, my surroundings sharpened, revealing the chilling reality of where I was.

The room was cold, damp, and reeked of mold and decay. Yellowed paint peeled in jagged strips off the cracked walls, exposing dark patches of rot beneath. Rusted metal bars stretched across the lone, shattered window, thick and unyielding, making escape impossible. The floor was littered with debris—crumbling plaster, scattered shards of broken glass, and what looked like water stains mixed with something darker, something that made my stomach churn .

I tried to move, but a sharp chill ran through me as I realized I was wearing nothing but a thin, scratchy robe—one of those faded, washed-out gray hospital gowns that clung to my skin like a shroud. I felt exposed, vulnerable, a shiver rippling through me that had nothing to do with the cold.

I pushed myself up slowly, my fingers pressing into the stained mattress beneath me. It was lumpy, sagging in the middle, the fabric fraying and mottled with dark stains. A strange, metallic scent lingered in the air, like rust mixed with something sharp and unsettling. I couldn’t tell if it was real or just my fear twisting my senses.

There was a single, bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, casting a weak, sputtering glow that threw twisted shadows across the walls. It swung slightly, as if disturbed by some unseen breeze, making the shadows shift and dance. Every flicker felt like the room was closing in, the darkness pressing at the edges, hungry and waiting.

My pulse quickened as I scanned the room, every nerve on high alert. Across from me, the door was heavy, old, made of some metal that had corroded with time. The paint was chipped, exposing flecks of rust beneath, and there were deep scratches on it, as though someone—or something—had tried desperately to claw their way out.

The walls were littered with scrawled, faded words, the handwriting shaky and desperate, like the ramblings of someone who had lost themselves here long ago. ‘ Help me,’ one message read, barely visible beneath layers of grime. Another said, ‘No escape.’ The words felt like whispers from the past, ghosts trapped in this place, and I could feel their fear lingering in the air, thick and suffocating .

A chill skittered down my spine as I noticed something in the corner—a rusted metal chair with leather straps hanging limply from the armrests, crusted with something dark and unidentifiable. Beside it, there was an ancient medical tray, the tools on it dulled and tarnished but unmistakable in their sinister purpose. Scalpels, syringes, twisted forceps… tools meant for things I didn’t want to imagine.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribs, echoing in my ears. Every instinct in me screamed to run, to escape, but I was trapped here, alone and vulnerable, surrounded by remnants of forgotten horrors .

And then it hit me—a memory of his voice, his dark, low whisper. ‘Just let it happen. Let me take you back. You’re so tired, so worn out. This… this is what you need.’

My throat tightened, and I felt a surge of fear mingled with something darker, something twisted .

He had brought me here.

I forced myself to stand, steadying the tremor in my legs, and moved cautiously toward the door. My hand hovered over the rusted metal handle, expecting it to be locked, trapping me in this nightmare. But as I pressed down, the handle gave with a rusty creak, and the door swung open.

I stepped out into the hallway, instantly enveloped by a thick, musty darkness. The air was colder here, sharper, biting at my exposed skin. I shivered, clutching the thin robe around myself, feeling more exposed with each step. A weak strip of light bled in from some unknown source, casting long, grotesque shadows along the walls, twisting and flickering like things alive , like they were waiting .

The hallway stretched in both directions, an endless corridor of bleak, forgotten rooms identical to the one I’d just left. Each door was old and battered, paint peeling in grimy flakes, and most had small, rectangular windows smeared with filth, too obscured to see through. They reminded me of cages, empty cells for the broken souls who once roamed here.

I took a tentative step forward, my bare feet cold against the damp floor, which felt sticky in places, as if the very ground itself remembered things I wanted to forget. The silence was thick, pressing down on me, but beneath it, I could swear I heard faint echoes—a whisper, a shuffle, the soft scrape of something dragging along the floor. I couldn’t tell if it was my mind playing tricks on me or if something truly lingered in the shadows, unseen .

To my right, one of the doors hung ajar, creaking softly as if caught in an invisible draft. The room beyond was cloaked in shadows, but I could make out a sliver of something dark on the floor—a puddle, dried and thick, like blood left to rot in the air. I shuddered, stepping back, unable to tear my gaze from that spot, as if it were a black hole drawing me in .

As I continued down the corridor, I glanced inside other rooms through the windows, each one a haunting reflection of the last: rusted bed frames, sagging mattresses, leather straps, and once-white sheets now stained with unrecognizable blotches. In some of the rooms, broken mirrors hung on the walls, cracked and distorted, giving glimpses of shadows that seemed to move just out of sight, fragments of faces twisted in silent agony . It was as if these rooms still held pieces of the people who had been kept here, their pain etched into the walls, marking the air.

I pressed forward, hugging the walls, listening, hyper-aware of every sound—the faint drip of water from some unseen leak, the scurry of something small and quick in the darkness. The smell of rot and rust filled my lungs, thickening with each step. I felt as though the asylum itself was alive , breathing in sync with my fear, its walls watching, waiting for me to make a mistake.

A sharp creak echoed down the hall behind me. I spun around, my bare feet scraping against the rough floor, my breath catching as I stared into the shadows.

“Hello?” My voice was barely above a whisper, trembling and uncertain. The silence answered, deafening and oppressive .

And then, in the distance, the faintest sound of footsteps . Slow, deliberate. Approaching.

The creak was followed by a slow, deliberate scrape of metal against stone. The sound was jagged and unrelenting, reverberating down the hallway like a knife slicing through the air. My stomach twisted, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I pressed my back against the wall, every muscle locked in place as the sound continued—a steady, menacing rhythm that seemed to mock the frantic beat of my heart.

Scrraaape. Scrraaape.

“Did you miss me, Millie?”

His voice was low, almost a whisper, yet it carried through the silence like a storm. I froze , my mouth dry, my eyes darting into the abyss of the hallway. I couldn’t see him, but he was there . Somewhere in the dark. Watching .

“Two years,” he drawled, the scrape of metal punctuating his words. “ Two years without you. Do you know what that does to a man?”

Scrraaape. Scrraaape.

The sound crawled under my skin, scraping against my sanity as much as the walls. My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat, each beat screaming at me to move, to run . But I was rooted in place, paralyzed by the voice dripping with malice.

“You don’t, do you?” Damien hissed, his voice oozing through the shadows like venom. “Of course, you don’t. Always so controlled, so perfect . While I—” His voice turned into a sharp, guttural sound that made my blood run cold. “I’ve been rotting , doctor. Piece by piece. Every day without you tore something out of me.”

There was a loud bang, and I flinched, my body jerking violently as if the sound had struck me. The clang of metal against the floor echoed down the hallway, and my eyes snapped toward it.

“Do you want to know what I thought about every night?” His voice was closer now, impossibly close. I spun around, but the darkness swallowed everything. My pulse raced, my hands trembling at my sides .

“I thought about you , Millie. About the way your voice shakes when you’re scared. About the way your eyes widen when you realize you’re out of your depth.” A harsh laugh cut through the air, jagged and broken, devoid of humor. “But most of all… I thought about the way you moaned my name when I fucked you.”

A shiver ran through my spine, and I didn’t know if it was because of his words, or the metallic scrape that suddenly erupted from behind me.

I whirled around, a scream lodged in my throat. Nothing. Just the endless dark, watching, breathing .

“Tell me, Millie,” he whispered, his voice now soft, almost tender, sending chills racing through my body. “Did you think about me? At night? In your dreams? Did you wake up wondering if I’m still out there, waiting for you?”

The scrape turned into a violent screech, like claws against steel, and I clamped my hands over my ears, my knees threatening to buckle. His voice rose over the sound, maniacal and raw, his words cutting like knives .

“RUN!” he bellowed, the force of the word reverberating off the walls. “Run like your life depends on it. Because the things I have in mind for you are… deliciously terrifying !”

And then silence. Deafening, crushing silence.

I stood there, trembling, every muscle in my body screaming for me to move. But I couldn’t. Not until I heard it—the faintest sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate, coming toward me.

“ Tick-tock, ” Damien murmured, his voice laced with a sickening glee. “You’re running out of time.”

The footsteps stopped. The scraping resumed. And in the shadows ahead, I finally saw it—a glint of metal, the faint outline of a figure moving closer. My breath hitched, and something inside me snapped . I bolted.

Bare feet pounding against the cold, rough floor, I tore down the hallway, the icy air biting at my skin. The walls around me seemed to stretch and twist, a labyrinth of shadows and echoes. My heartbeat roared in my ears, drowning out everything—everything except him .

“That’s it!” Damien’s voice chased after me, wild and elated, ricocheting off the walls like gunfire. “Feel it! Feel the fear ! It’s fucking alive , isn’t it? Pulsing, burning, consuming you! That’s what I’ve been waiting for!”

The metallic scrape followed, relentless, almost playful now, like he was savoring the chase. Every few steps, it would pause, replaced by the heavy thud of his boots. He wasn’t running. He didn’t have to.

I turned a corner too sharply, my shoulder slamming into the wall. Pain jolted through me, but I didn’t stop. The hallway seemed endless, each turn identical to the last, as if the asylum itself was conspiring to keep me trapped.

“Do you know why I told you to run, Millie?” His voice came from somewhere ahead now, impossibly close, as if the shadows themselves carried his words. “Because I love seeing you like this. Helpless. Desperate. Alive .”

I tripped, my knees scraping against the unforgiving floor. A choked cry escaped my lips as I scrambled back to my feet, my breaths coming in ragged gasps. But even through the terror, a sickening truth clawed its way to the surface: I missed this . The chaos, the thrill , the way my blood surged through my veins like fire. No one could unravel me like Damien. No one could make me feel so utterly alive while dragging me to the brink of madness .

“That little smile,” he taunted, his voice closer now, dripping with cruel amusement. “Oh, Millie, I see it. You can lie to yourself all you want, but I know the truth. You love this , don’t you? You’ve always loved playing with fire. And me? I’m the flames that will burn you alive.”

I veered into another hallway, the shadows darker here, thicker, suffocating. My lungs burned, my body screaming for rest, but I couldn’t stop. Not yet . Not when I could hear him closing in.

The metallic scrape grew louder, faster. A high-pitched laugh followed—a sound so raw and unhinged it made my stomach churn.

“Run, Millie! Run faster!” he shouted, his voice echoing like a twisted symphony of madness. “You can’t outrun me. You never could. But isn’t it fun to try? ”

I rounded another corner, only to skid to a halt. A dead end. My heart plummeted as I turned, my back pressed against the cold wall. The shadows in the hallway shifted, and there he was .

Damien stepped into view, his silhouette monstrous in the dim light. The sharp edge of the metal he’d been dragging glinted menacingly in his hand. His whiskey-colored eyes burned with something feral, something that sent a shiver down my spine.

“You’ve always known how this ends,” he said, his voice a low, almost tender growl. “You running. Me catching you. And the moment where I decide just how much I’ll let you break .”

And yet, as terror gripped me, a dark, forbidden part of me whispered the truth I refused to admit. I wanted him to catch me. I craved the chaos he brought. I… I think I’ve lost my mind .

He took a step closer, the scrape of metal against the floor sending sparks of dread and anticipation through me.

“Go on,” he whispered, tilting his head, his smile sharp and predatory. “Run again. Make me work for it, Millie. I like when you make me work for it. It makes my cock twitch with anticipation.”

I darted to the right, my hand grasping the cold handle of a metallic door. I yanked it open, threw myself inside, and slammed it shut behind me. The heavy clang reverberated through the small room, and I fumbled with the lock, my trembling fingers barely able to twist it into place.

My breath came in short, shallow gasps as I pressed my back against the door, my eyes scanning the room—and then I froze.

The air inside was stale, suffused with the acrid scent of disinfectant and something fouler— decay . A rusted psychiatric chair sat in the center of the room, its leather straps worn and cracked, yet still terrifyingly strong. Thick, metal restraints dangled from the armrests, and the seat was stained with dark, unidentifiable blotches that looked far too much like dried blood.

All around the room, macabre instruments were laid out on steel trays, their sharp edges gleaming under the dim, flickering light overhead. Scalpel-like tools, jagged saws, and twisted clamps, their purposes too horrific to imagine, sat waiting as if they’d been used recently. A crumbling shelf held jars of murky liquid, with shadowy, preserved things floating inside. I couldn’t tell what they were—human or otherwise—and I didn’t want to know.

The walls were lined with cracked mirrors, their surfaces smeared and streaked, distorting my reflection into something monstrous. A faint buzzing sound filled the room, like the distant hum of electricity, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.

Then came the first bang.

I jumped, my body slamming back against the door as Damien struck it from the other side.

“Millie!” he roared, his voice dripping with fury and exhilaration . “You think this door can stop me?” Another bang , louder this time, the metal groaning under the impact.

I scrambled away from the door, my eyes darting to the horrific chair in the center of the room. My legs felt like lead, but I couldn’t stand still, not with the door rattling behind me, not with him out there .

Bang!

“You’ve trapped yourself, darling,” Damien growled, his voice muffled yet still cutting through the thick metal. “Do you even know where you are? Hmm? A room like this has history. Can you feel it? The screams, the pain, the madness —it’s soaked into the walls. It’s been waiting for you , doctor.”

I backed away, nearly stumbling over one of the trays of tools. A scalpel clattered to the ground, its sharp edge glinting as it spun to a stop. My heart pounded harder, a mix of terror and something darker, something that made me hate myself.

“Do you want to know the best part about this room?” Damien’s voice was almost conversational now, his tone a grotesque parody of calm. “It doesn’t matter how strong the door is. Because eventually…” Another bang shook the door, making the lock groan. “Eventually, I always get in.”

I turned, frantically scanning the room for another way out. There was nothing —no windows, no vents, just the twisted remnants of nightmares past. I was trapped.

CRASH !

The metallic door buckled slightly, a dent forming where Damien’s weapon had struck. He laughed—a sound so unhinged, so full of raw, primal glee, that it sent shivers racing down my spine.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, his voice soft now, teasing. “Open the door, and I’ll be gentle. Keep it locked, and…” He let out a low, guttural chuckle. “Let’s keep it a secret for now.”

Another strike. Another dent.

My breathing hitched as I stared at the rusted restraints, the cracked leather, the bloodstains. I wanted to scream, to cry, but I also couldn’t ignore the heat between my legs, the way my pulse raced not just with fear but with the twisted thrill of his pursuit.

Bang!

The door wouldn’t hold much longer. And deep down, I wasn’t sure I wanted it to.

The next crash against the door sent me stumbling backward, the metallic clang vibrating through my chest. My gaze darted to the blood-streaked chair in the center of the room, and suddenly, it wasn’t this room I was seeing anymore.

It was that room.

The air thickened, the shadows around me twisting and morphing until I was no longer in the asylum. I was back in the dimly lit basement, my wrists raw from the ropes that cut into my skin, the stink of sweat and fear choking me. I could hear their voices again—low, gruff, and filled with malice.

“She’s a fighter, this one,” Ben had sneered, his shadow looming over me. “But they all break eventually.”

I’d been so small, too small to fight back, yet I had. Kicking, screaming, clawing—until they’d laughed and thrown me into that cold, damp room. My heart raced now, just as it had then, every beat a frantic plea for escape.

Bang!

The sound of Damien battering the door pulled me partway back, but the flashbacks wouldn’t let go .

I saw the chair where they’d made me sit, bound and helpless, their hands cold and unyielding as they strapped me down. I could hear the metallic scrape of their tools, the cruel anticipation in their laughter as they whispered about the things they would do. The dim light above me had flickered just like the one here, casting distorted shadows across their faces.

“Do you know how easily skin tears?” one of them had asked, his tone almost clinical. The sound of a blade being sharpened had followed, slow and deliberate, much like Damien’s earlier scraping.

I pressed my palms against my temples, trying to ground myself, but the memories surged forward again, stronger this time.

The dark room. The screams . My own voice, hoarse and broken, pleading for someone to come, anyone . The feel of hands gripping my arms, holding me down as I thrashed. I could still smell the rust, the blood, the despair.

“You’ll learn your place,” one of them had hissed, his breath hot against my ear. “They all do. ”

The world spun, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell if I was still in the asylum or back in that basement. My knees buckled, and I sank to the floor, clutching my chest as sobs threatened to escape.

CRASH!

The lock gave way with a deafening shriek, the door flying open to slam against the wall. Cold air rushed in, pulling me back into the now, but the past still clung to my skin like oil, thick and suffocating.

Damien stood framed in the doorway, his silhouette a jagged shadow against the dim light behind him. The metal rod in his hand dragged along the floor as he stepped inside, his eyes alight with something wild and unhinged.

“Did you think you could hide from me?” he snarled, his lips curling into a twisted grin. “Oh no, Millie. You and I—we’re bound by this. By the screams, the scars, the darkness. You’re mine , and you’ve always been mine. ”

He stalked toward me, his presence swallowing the room whole. The tools on the trays rattled as he brushed past them, the air crackling with his intensity.

“Look at you,” he whispered, his voice both a caress and a knife. “Trembling, broken, but still so alive . Tell me, Amelia—was it fear that brought you to your knees just now? Or was it the thrill ?”

I couldn’t answer. My voice was lost, tangled in the abyss of his gaze and the storm of my memories. And as he knelt before me, his face inches from mine, I couldn’t tell if I wanted to scream—or let him pull me under.

Damien knelt before me, his hand reaching out to gently brush against my cheek. His touch was deceptively soft, a cruel contradiction to the storm swirling in his eyes. My breath hitched as his thumb traced the curve of my jaw, his grin widening as he watched me shiver beneath his fingers.

“Such fragile strength,” he murmured, almost tenderly. “But even glass can shatter beautifully. ”

From his pocket, he pulled out a syringe, the sharp glint of the needle catching the flickering light. My stomach dropped as he held it up, tilting it slightly, the liquid inside gliding like poison.

“It’s time,” he said, his voice a velvet razor. “Time to leave this place. Time to go somewhere… special .”

He brought the syringe closer, the needle hovering inches from my neck. My heart slammed against my ribs, panic rising like a tidal wave.

“I’ll go!” I gasped, my voice trembling. “I’ll go with you. Willingly.”

His grin froze for a moment, then stretched wider, his eyes lighting up with a sick satisfaction. “ Willingly? ” he echoed, his tone dripping with mockery. “Oh, Millie. You make it too easy.”

With a flick of his wrist, the syringe disappeared back into his pocket. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice low and wicked. “Let’s see how long that lasts. ”

Damien stood, his dark presence looming over me as he reached to pull me up. My legs were shaky, the floor beneath me unsteady, but as his grip tightened around my arm, something shifted. Something deeper than fear or anger stirred inside me. Without thinking, I reached out, my fingers brushing his, and then— gripped his hand .

For a moment, neither of us moved. His gaze locked onto mine, his eyes a storm of surprise and twisted amusement. The weight of the gesture hung between us, too intimate for the horrors we had already shared.

His lips curled into a slow, calculating smile, and I could see the slight tremor in his eyes, almost imperceptible—something darker in that small, fleeting moment.

“Careful,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp as he squeezed my hand tighter. “I might start to think you actually enjoy this.”

I didn’t answer. We both knew what the silence meant.

Together, we walked into the shadows, each step a dark promise, the walls closing in tighter around us as whatever awaited me pulled us forward. And then, I felt it—a sickening thrill that clung to me like the sweat on my skin .

CHAINED TO THE PAST

Amelia

The air thickened as we descended into the basement, each step echoing in the hollow silence that enveloped us. The walls here were raw, exposed brick, stained with the grime of years—decades, perhaps—of neglect. It smelled like rot, like something old and forgotten, clinging to every surface. My heart pounded in my chest, and yet, in some sick, twisted way, I found myself drawn forward, as if the darkness below had always been waiting for me.

Damien’s grip tightened around my hand, his fingers cold and steady. His presence was suffocating, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if it was him or the place itself that made the air feel so thick, so oppressive.

We reached the bottom, and my eyes slowly adjusted to the dim, flickering light above. It hung from a single wire in the center of the room, casting long, twisted shadows that danced along the cracked concrete floor.

The room was small, the walls barely visible in the half-light. There were no windows, no escape . The only things that stood out in the darkness were the three chains hanging from the ceiling, each one anchored in place like some grotesque invitation. The chains swayed slightly, as though something—or someone—had recently been bound there, suspended in time, awaiting something more.

In the corner, there was a small wooden box, the kind you’d find in an attic, covered in dust and cobwebs. It sat there, insignificant at first glance, yet somehow it screamed with the promise of something far worse, far more dangerous than any of the walls could contain.

Damien let go of my hand and walked toward the chains, his eyes scanning the room as though it were an old friend. His smile never faltered. “Welcome to my playground, Millie, ”

I felt my pulse race, every instinct in me screaming to run, to escape, but my feet stayed glued to the floor.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

Damien turned to face me, his eyes gleaming with that same hunger, that same twisted delight. “It’s time, Millie,” he said, his voice low, maddening. “Time to see what you’re really capable of.”

And as the shadows pressed in closer, I realized something sickening: he wasn’t just here to break me. He was here to reshape me. And I was too far gone to stop it now.

Damien’s eyes never left me as he stepped closer, the weight of his gaze pressing against my skin like fire. “Take this off,” he said, his voice a velvet command, smooth and relentless. The words hung between us, thick with anticipation. “Let me see what’s underneath.”

I hesitated, a small part of me screaming to stop, to turn away. But the rest of me— that part —was far too gone. The gown clung to me, too thin, too fragile against the crushing weight of his stare. I could feel the heat of his eyes tracing every inch of my exposed skin as I slowly tugged at the fabric, letting it fall to the floor in a heap.

His lips curled into a twisted grin as I stood before him, bare and exposed. He circled me like a predator, his steps slow, deliberate, savoring every moment. “Just like I remember.” he murmured, his voice a low, rasping whisper that made my skin crawl in a way I couldn’t deny.

I could feel the heat rise in my chest, my heart pounding harder than ever, a mix of terror and excitement . His eyes darkened, almost hungry, as he took a step closer, and I realized, with a sick, thrilling rush, that I was no longer just terrified. I was wanting it. Wanting whatever he had planned.

Damien’s grin stretched wider as he picked up the wooden box, placing it carefully beneath the chains, the sound of it scraping against the concrete sharp in the silence. His eyes flicked to me, full of twisted expectation.

“Step on it,” he commanded, his voice cold as ice .

I obeyed, stepping forward with trembling legs, but I didn’t dare look away from him. His gaze never wavered, his eyes following my every movement.

He reached for the straps hanging from the chains, his fingers deft as he fastened them around my wrists, securing me in place. I could feel the cold metal digging into my skin, the pressure a constant reminder of where I was—and who I was with.

“Stay still,” he ordered softly, his voice like a venomous whisper.

I didn’t have the strength to resist as he moved behind me, fingers brushing through my hair with unsettling tenderness. He pulled it tight, lifting it with a practiced ease before securing it to the third chain above my head.

“ Perfect ,” he murmured, his voice dark with satisfaction.

Damien smirked, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement as he slowly knelt before me, his fingers grazing the edge of the wooden box. With a fluid motion, he pulled it from beneath my feet, and I gasped—my body jerking as the chains yanked hard at my scalp, the raw pull forcing me onto my tiptoes.

“Steady yourself, Amelia,” Damien purred, watching me with twisted delight. “Use the chains.”

I shuddered, rolling my hands around the chains, the raw metal biting into my skin as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, desperate to keep myself from collapsing. The chains held me in place—each one a tether to the nightmare he was weaving. Every move was calculated, every struggle futile.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “Let the chains teach you control.”

Damien’s smirk never wavered as he opened the wooden box, the creak of the hinges sounding like a death knell in the silence. His fingers slid inside, pulling out a collar —black, cold, and gleaming under the dim light. It was adorned with long metal thorns, each one sharp and cruel.

He stepped behind me, the collar heavy in his hands, and I could feel the pressure of his presence like a vice around my chest. Without a word, he slid it around my neck, the cold metal biting into my skin.

Damien’s voice was low, dark, almost reverent. “Perfect fit,”

Damien stood before me, his grin wide, eyes gleaming with sickening satisfaction as he clicked something on the collar. The sound echoed in the empty room, a hollow click that sent a chill through my spine.

I frowned, the sharp, chemical smell of gas suddenly filling the air, rising from the thorns around my neck. My heart pounded as my breath quickened, my eyes widening.

“What… what do you want to do?” I gasped, my voice trembling as I saw him pull a lighter from his pocket, the flame flickering dangerously between his fingers.

His grin only grew darker as he flicked the lighter open, the flame dancing in his hand like a promise of something far worse.

He brought the flame to one of the thorns, and I froze. The moment the fire touched it, all the thorns ignited, flames crawling up the metal like living serpents, licking dangerously close to my face. I could feel the heat radiating off them, every flicker threatening to burn my skin, my body trembling as I fought to keep still.

I should’ve felt scared. But I felt… excited ?

“Perfect,” he murmured, his eyes tracing the flames with dark delight. “You look like a ballerina, Millie. So graceful, so delicate . ”

Damien’s laughter cracked through the suffocating air, jagged and unhinged, echoing off the walls like a twisted hymn. His fingers pinched my nipple hard, a cruel, deliberate twist that sent a shock of pain and pleasure lancing through me. “Trembling already?” he sneered, his lips curling into a wicked grin. “You’re so fucking easy . I barely have to try.”

The fire licked at the air, its warm heat brushing against my skin. Damien held his free hand dangerously close to the flames, the orange light dancing in his wide, manic eyes. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmured, almost to himself. “ Fire … it doesn’t give a fuck. It takes what it wants. Just like me.”

“What does it feel like, huh?” he whispered, his voice dripping with venom. “To know you’re trapped ? To know every move you make is mine to control? Don’t tell me you don’t feel it—the helplessness crawling under your skin, eating you alive.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My body frozen between the fire’s threat and Damien’s cruel gaze.

He stepped back just a fraction, his smirk widening. “Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said, his tone syrupy and mocking. “I’m not gonna let the fire take you.” His fingers trailed down my chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “No, I want to watch you squirm . I want to feel you fall apart .”

And then he dropped to his knees, the movement slow and deliberate, his presence looming larger than ever despite his lowered stance. The flames cast his shadow across the room, twisting it into something monstrous. He didn’t look up at me, not at first, his eyes fixed on my stomach, his breath ghosting over my skin. “ God , Millie,” he muttered, his voice soft and dangerous. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

I couldn’t move, couldn’t even flinch as he shifted closer, his hands sliding down to grip my thighs, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He tilted his head back, finally meeting my eyes. They were wild, feral, burning with something darker than the fire itself. “I can hear it in your silence, Millie. You love this. The fear, the helplessness, the fact that no matter what you do—you’re mine. All mine.”

Damien slowly and deliberately pushed my legs apart, making me lose my balance. I struggled to keep myself steady on my tiptoes. I couldn’t move my head to see him, couldn’t escape the overwhelming sensation of being completely exposed, vulnerable— his plaything .

His breath was hot against my skin, a chaotic mix of fury and hunger that made my pulse hammer in my throat.

“You fucking love this, don’t you?” he hissed, his voice dark and manic, dripping with venom and desire. “The way I take you, the way I fucking own you. ”

I barely had time to gasp before his lips ghosted over me, feather-light at first, teasing, taunting. His hands slid from my chest to grip my ass with bruising force, pulling me closer to his mouth like he couldn’t stand the distance. My breath hitched, shallow and ragged, as his tongue flicked out, tasting me with a ferocity that sent sparks shooting down my spine.

He growled against me, the vibration rippling through my body and making my thighs tremble. “So fucking sweet ,” he muttered, his voice muffled as his tongue delved deeper. The sound was obscene , and it made my entire body burn with a mix of pleasure.

I bit down on my lip hard enough to draw blood, desperate to silence the whimper that threatened to escape as he pulled back just enough to look up at me. His lips were slick, his expression unhinged, a dark smirk curling at the edges.

“Don’t fucking hold back, Millie,” he demanded, his tone sharp and commanding. “I want to hear every damn sound. Every gasp, every whine— all of it . ”

Before I could even process his words, he buried his face between my legs again, licking and sucking with a hunger that bordered on savage. His teeth grazed my clit, and I cried out.

“ Damien ,” I gasped, his name spilling from my lips like a prayer—or maybe a curse.

He groaned in response, his grip tightening on my hips as he held me in place, refusing to let me escape the relentless onslaught of his mouth. Each flick of his tongue, each scrape of his teeth, sent shockwaves through me.

“ Fuck ,” he growled, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, his lips curling into a wicked grin. “You taste like sin. And I’m never letting you go.”

The room felt suffocating, charged with a dark, electric energy that only Damien could create. He wasn’t just devouring me—he was claiming me, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but him.

All I wanted in that moment was him . To meet his gaze, those wild eyes that burned with a madness only Damien could carry. I ached to bury my fingers in his hair, to yank him closer, to feel his breath mingling with mine as he consumed me whole. But I couldn’t. The chains kept me pinned, trapped like some sacrificial offering on display. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight. All I could do was feel .

And that’s exactly what he wanted.

“Look at you,” Damien sneered, his voice dark, raw, twisted with a dangerous glee that made my stomach twist and my pulse race. “So fucking perfect, so fucking mine .”

The chains rattled as I struggled against them, not to escape, but because the fire inside me was too much. Every fiber of my being screamed to touch him, to claim him the way he was claiming me. But he didn’t just deny me—he reveled in it. His smirk was unhinged, knowing full well that I was completely at his mercy.

And God help me, the helplessness thrilled me.

The way he prowled over me, his shadow dark and all-encompassing, sent a sick shiver of excitement through me. I hated how much I craved this, how much I craved him . I hated the way the vulnerability made me burn hotter, how the loss of control made my breath hitch. But there it was, undeniable and feral, an ache so deep it threatened to swallow me whole.

He crouched between my legs, his hands rough and unrelenting as they gripped my thighs, spreading me wider, forcing me to bare everything to him. “You think you can hide from me?” he growled, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, the heat of his breath making me shudder.

“ Damien —” His name escaped me in a desperate gasp, but he cut me off with a dark laugh.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, his teeth grazing my skin, sending a pulse of sharp pleasure-pain through me. “I’ll tell you when to speak. I’ll tell you when to fucking breathe. You don’t get a say in this, Millie. Not tonight. Not fucking ever .”

Two fingers plunged into me without warning, rough and unyielding, tearing a strangled moan from my lips as my back arched. His pace was merciless, his fingers curling just right , skimming every nerve like he’d mapped out my body in his mind a thousand times before .

“You feel that?” Damien rasped, his breath hot against my pussy. “That’s me owning you. Fucking you. You don’t get to run, you don’t get to fucking hide. You belong to me, every goddamn inch of you. Say it.”

My body betrayed me, a low whimper spilling from my lips as my head swam with heat, pleasure, and the sheer insanity of his words. His manic laughter filled the air as he thrust harder , dragging me further into the abyss.

“You can’t even fucking talk ,” he hissed, biting down on my thigh hard enough to leave a mark. “Pathetic. I could do this all night. Break you apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but my name on your lips.”

And the terrifying part? I didn’t want him to stop.

Yes, I missed this. I missed him . The chaos he unleashed, the way he turned my world upside down with a single look , a single touch . No one else could make me feel this alive, this raw . He dragged me into his storm, and instead of running, I craved it—every wild, twisted second. Fear and desire were no longer opposites; they bled into each other, wrapping tight around my chest until I couldn’t breathe .

Damien’s voice slashed through the air, low and dangerous, vibrating with that unhinged edge that made my pulse stutter. “Admit it, Millie,” he growled, pulling back just enough for his breath to ghost over my trembling core. “Who else could fuck with your head like this? Who else could fucking own you like I do?”

My throat tightened, my mind clawing for some semblance of control, but his gaze pinned me in place—sharp, feral, unstoppable. My lips parted, the truth slipping free before I could stop it. “No one,” I whispered, my voice shaking with the weight of surrender. “No one but you.”

A manic grin split his face, dark and predatory, the kind of grin that promised destruction and dared you to beg for it. His whiskey eyes burned with wicked satisfaction, a madness that matched the chaos he’d ignited in me. “That’s my girl,” he purred, each word a dark caress that seared into my skin. “Say it again.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse roaring in my ears. “Yours,” I breathed. “Only yours. ”

“Fucking perfect ,” he hissed, his hands gripping my thighs like he might crush them, grounding me to him. And then his lips descended, his tongue dragging slow, deliberate lines that set every nerve in my body on fire.

His fingers slid inside me again without warning, rough and relentless, pumping with a rhythm that made my legs quake. My breath hitched, my body jerking against the chains that tethered me, the metal biting into my wrists. “ Damien ,” I gasped, the tension in my legs unbearable as I tried to stay standing. “I—I can’t —”

A low, humorless chuckle rumbled from him, dark and sharp as a blade. He pulled back, his grin brushing against my skin as he whispered, “You can’t what , Millie? Can’t take it? Can’t handle me? You’re fucking mine, and you’ll take whatever the hell I decide to give you.”

Without waiting for a response, his hands slid under my thighs, lifting me with an effortless strength that made my breath catch. The chains above rattled as he hoisted me onto his shoulders, his face buried between my legs, his hot breath sending a shiver down my spine .

“There,” he murmured, his voice low, full of twisted satisfaction. “You won’t fall, baby. Not unless I let you.”

And then his tongue was inside me, swirling, probing, devouring me like I was his last meal. My head fell back, a strangled moan ripping from my throat as the world dissolved into nothing but him —his mouth, his hands, his madness consuming me whole.

“ Fuck ,” he groaned against me, his voice vibrating through every inch of my body. “You taste like you were fucking made for this.”

My body arched, my legs trembling violently as I teetered on the edge of oblivion. “ Damien ,” I whimpered, my voice breaking, but he only laughed—a sound so dark , so manic , it made my blood sing with equal parts fear and need.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled, sinking deeper, harder. “Not until I ruin you.”

The sharp twist of jealousy that clawed through my chest was suffocating, venomous, and impossible to ignore. The thought came unbidden, dark and maddening: How many others had he brought here before me? How many women had stood exactly where I was, trembling, broken open by him, laid bare under the weight of his control?

The idea of anyone else feeling this— his insanity , this sickening blend of fear and desire—made something feral and possessive flare inside me. Had they cried out for him like I did? Had they begged for him, fallen apart under his cruel, relentless hands? My mind conjured the image of his lips on someone else, his voice dripping with the same dark promises he now whispered to me, and it burned .

It was irrational, I knew that. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t want to believe this moment was mine, that I was something special in his twisted world. But the jealousy scorched through me, mingling with the electric thrill of knowing that right now, I was the one in his grip. No one else . Not a single ghost of his past.

“Stop thinking ,” Damien’s voice snapped, low and raw with manic frustration. His teeth grazed the inside of my thigh as his hand gripped my hip hard enough to bruise. “Whatever shit is in your head, Millie, kill it. You’re here. Right fucking now. ”

I gasped sharply as his fingers, rough and merciless, drove into me, the sudden invasion leaving no room for thought. Then, without warning, one finger thrust inside my ass, hard and unforgiving. My entire body jolted, a cry ripping from my lips.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he growled, his breath hot against my skin. “ Take it . Fucking take all of me.”

I clutched the chains harder, the cold bite of metal digging into my palms as I tried to steady myself. But he wasn’t going to let me. He wasn’t going to give me anything except chaos. His mouth latched onto me again, his tongue dragging and twisting in ways that made me buck against him, riding his face like I had no control left.

Damien groaned into me, the vibrations shooting straight through me. “You’re getting close.” His voice was muffled, almost teasing. “ Go on. Come on my fucking tongue. Don’t stop until I say you can breathe again.”

The climax hit me like a brutal wave, shaking me to my core. My screams tore through the room, raw and breathless.

The sharp ringing of his phone echoed somewhere in the room, but he ignored it completely, driving another finger into my ass. The sensation shifted from sharp pleasure to raw, jagged pain , my body arching against the overwhelming intensity.

And I liked it. God, I hated myself, but I liked it —because he was enjoying it, and there was nothing more intoxicating than the sound of Damien losing control, the growl of his pleasure twisting with my pain.

With one final, bite to my inner thigh, he pulled away, his teeth grazing my skin like a warning. His fingers slid out of me, slick and slow, as though savoring the moment. And then, without hesitation, he shoved me off his shoulders.

The world tilted violently, my feet slamming against the cold floor with a jarring thud. I stumbled forward, my body lurching dangerously close to the flames. A sharp scream tore from my throat as the chains yanked at my hair, sending a lightning bolt of searing pain through my scalp.

In front of me, Damien watched in silence, his head tilted slightly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stood there as if drinking in the sight of my struggle. When I finally steadied myself, gasping and trembling, his lips curved into a slow, wicked grin.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice like velvet laced with malice.

Then, with a deliberate flick, he extinguished the flames, plunging the room into a chilling silence broken only by my ragged breaths. He stepped forward, removing the collar from my neck with a deliberate slowness that felt more intimate than it should have.

My head dropped forward, the fight draining out of me, exhaustion pooling in every limb. My hair hung limp and sore. I heard him chuckle softly, low and satisfied.

Damien’s fingers clamped around my chin, forcing my head up with a sharp, almost punishing grip. His eyes bore into me, wild and consuming, as if he could devour every inch of my soul with just a look. Before I could draw breath, he crashed his lips onto mine, a bruising, ravenous kiss that stole what little air I had left. It wasn’t soft; it wasn’t kind. It was raw, overwhelming, a collision of power and possession that left me trembling beneath his grasp.

My wrists ached in the restraints, my scalp still burning from the pull of the chains, but none of it mattered in that moment. His teeth grazed my lip, a deliberate bite, as if he wanted to mark me even here. When he finally tore his mouth away, his breath was hot against my skin, his grin feral.

“You belong to me,” he whispered darkly, a vow, a threat, and a promise all at once .

With a flick of his hands, the chains released, and I collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. My body hit the floor in a heap, my legs too weak to hold me, my hair falling in wild tangles around my face. The coldness of the floor seeped into my skin, a stark contrast to the heat that lingered where his touch had been.

Above me, Damien loomed, his shadow swallowing me whole as he laughed softly, the sound dark and triumphant. “Get used to the ground, doctor,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. “It suits you.”

My body betrayed me, every ounce of strength drained as I lay crumpled on the cold, unforgiving floor. The room spun in slow, sickening waves, my mind clouded and heavy. Each breath felt like a struggle, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on my chest. Somewhere above, Damien’s presence loomed, but his voice became a distant echo, swallowed by the storm in my head.

And then, like a crack in reality, another memory hit me.

I was lying on a filthy, stained floor. The stench of mold and sweat clung to the air, choking me as my frail body curled in on itself. The sharp edge of a boot pressed against the floor, and cruel laughter filled the room, its cadence chilling. I tried to move, to fight, but I was so weak. A hand —large, rough, and unyielding—grabbed my arm, yanking me up like a rag doll before throwing me back down.

“You’re nothing ,” a voice spat, low and venomous, like a poison seeping into my mind. “Stay where you belong.”

I remembered the terror , the helplessness , the searing pain in my side as I struggled to breathe. My fingers clawed weakly at the ground, searching for an escape that didn’t exist. And then I was back, trapped in an endless nightmare, tears streaking my face as I whispered prayers to be saved.

The memory blurred, fading into black as my present reality merged with the past. My eyelids fluttered, too heavy to keep open. Damien’s voice was the last thing I heard, deep and menacing, a dark lullaby pulling me under.

And then, silence . My eyes shut completely, and I was gone.