Chapter 11

Eleven

I woke to a darkness so complete it felt alive, wrapping around me like a second skin. For a moment, I thought I’d gone blind—until I felt the weight. The familiar pull of the cuffs and his arm draped possessively over me.

My wrists were bound and looped around Owen’s waist, the chain short enough that I couldn’t move without pulling him closer like they were every night. His warmth pressed against me, steady and suffocating, while my bare skin burned in sharp contrast to the soft fabric of his shirt. He was clothed, as always, while I lay there—exposed, vulnerable, and aching.

The throbbing between my legs was relentless. My thighs trembled as I shifted, pain sparking at every slight movement. He’d wrung me out, dragged me under wave after wave until I couldn’t remember my own name. Seven—seven was the last number I’d heard him murmur against my skin, but I knew there had been more. I’d lost count. Passed out. Fallen apart.

And now I was here, shackled to him, unable to pull away, my body betraying me with every dull ache and lingering warmth.

A sob clawed its way up my throat, but I swallowed it down. The sound would wake him. I wasn’t ready for that yet—for his eyes, for his voice, for whatever twisted version of affection he’d decide to offer me this time.

But my chest tightened as I lay there, the tears gathering faster than I could stop them. They leaked out, silent and bitter, sliding hot down my cheeks.

Why do I still love him?

The thought struck like a dagger, sharp and deep, making me choke on the very air I was trying to breathe. How could I love him after this—after everything? After seeing his monstrous side over and over again? Wouldn’t that kill it, whatever soft, innocent thing I once felt for him?

But it hadn’t.

You loved him first. My own mind whispered the words cruelly. I couldn’t deny it. I’d loved him before he became this—before he revealed what he was capable of. And no matter how hard I tried to bury it, to kill it with every ounce of hatred and shame, it refused to die.

I thought of him outside of me. Of Owen walking across campus, laughing with his teammates, that golden smile lighting up his face. He was the guy everyone wanted to know, the guy people gravitated to without effort. Smart. Handsome. The kind of guy who could do no wrong.

I wanted to scream at myself for even thinking about it. For picturing the person he was to everyone else , instead of the monster he’d shown me in the dark. He saved you , a voice in my head murmured. He found you. He kept you safe.

But that wasn’t true, was it?

He hadn’t saved me.

He’d stolen me.

And yet…yet he’d spent last night worshiping me. Like I was something precious to him. Every touch, every bite, every whispered word had stripped me bare, left me defenseless. It wasn’t love—I knew that. But a sick part of me clung to the idea anyway. Why else would he do it? Why else would he keep me here, would he hold me this close, night after night?

My shoulders began to shake, the sobs rising too fast for me to swallow. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, but the memories were crawling through me now, unstoppable. Flashes of another night—of rope against my skin, of cries that went unanswered.

Stop.

The word blared in my mind, desperate and sharp. I couldn’t go there. I couldn’t think about it. Not now. Not here. But the shadows of that night crept closer, seeping into me with every shaky breath, every silent tear that slid down my cheek.

The mattress shifted beneath me.

Owen stirred, his arm tightening around me instinctively. I froze, biting back the sob threatening to rip free, but it was too late. He shifted again, a slow exhale brushing against my temple.

“Kira,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t move. Maybe he’d go back to sleep. Maybe?—

Another sob escaped, too loud, too broken.

His grip around me tightened. “Kira?” His voice was clearer this time, low and careful, tinged with something close to concern. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head, my breaths coming faster, trembling. Don’t wake up. Don’t fully wake up.

But Owen was awake now. I felt it in the tension that rolled through his body, in the way his hand slid up my spine, steadying me even as I flinched away.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, the words soft, almost gentle. “You’re safe now. You’re with me.”

Safe. I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but my throat was too tight. I turned my face into the pillow, trying to hide the tears, the shaking, the shame.

Owen’s hand cupped the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair in slow, calming strokes. “Shh,” he whispered. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

I hated him for saying it. I hated him for the way he pulled me closer, rolling me into his chest as though I was something fragile he needed to protect. My wrists strained against the cuffs looped around his waist, the metal biting into my skin as he rocked me gently.

The motion was soothing, rhythmic. His body was warm, his breaths slow and even as he pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

“You’re safe, Kira,” he said again, quieter this time, like he was speaking to a child. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Not ever.”

I wanted to scream that he was the one I needed saving from. That this wasn’t safety, that he wasn’t my savior. But the words stayed trapped inside me, buried beneath the exhaustion, the confusion, the ache in my bones.

Owen continued to rock me, his lips brushing my hair, my temple, his whispers blurring into the darkness. I didn’t want to relax, didn’t want to let the tears slow, but my body betrayed me again. The warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breaths, the gentle touch of his hands—it wore me down, pulled me deeper into the blackness until I couldn’t fight it anymore.

As I drifted back to sleep, Owen’s words followed me into the void, soft and deadly and so terribly tender:

“You’re mine, Kira. You always will be.”