Chapter Eight

L ast night, I wept myself to sleep, those haunting words escaping my lips in a way I never imagined possible.

We had promised each other forever, just the night before our wedding. That night, we were still just a couple, blissfully unaware of the storm that would hit us as we prepared to say "I do" the next morning.

It was me who proposed to Rowan. Everyone was shocked when they found out I was the one who brought him to his knees with roses and chocolates, asking him to be my husband.

He agreed, and within a week, I pulled him down the aisle, exchanging vows in a simple church ceremony followed by a modest brunch with our families. It was all so plain, nothing over the top, and in that moment, I became his, and he became mine.

So how did we end up here?

I glanced at him, sitting on the couch in our room, emotionless, dressed only in his trousers and tousled hair, casually reading the morning paper and sipping his beloved ginger tea. It looked like any other day.

But it wasn’t.

I was trapped in our bed, my right hand cuffed to the bedpost, and it was all his doing.

I couldn’t wrap my head around it; this was how he reacted to my divorce announcement. While I despised his response, a small part of me felt a strange sense of calm, a flicker of love that still lingered for him, even as the rest of me burned with rage, hatred, and a desire for revenge.

My wretched husband.

"Ro, this is so immature!" I shouted, straining against the cuff, desperately hoping it would somehow come loose.

He turned to me, setting down his paper and tea.

That smile of his was hypnotic.

He sat there, hands clasped over his thigh, legs crossed, leaning back as if he were lost in a film rather than watching me. The ease in his posture sent disturbing chills down my spine.

I clenched my jaw, fury bubbling beneath the surface. How could he be so indifferent?!

“If this is how you want to play it, I’ll have no choice but to call the police. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” My voice trembled as I searched for my phone, panic rising when I realized it was nowhere to be found.

I distinctly remember placing it on the nightstand.

...No, it can’t be...

I turned to Ro, and there it was—a smirk plastered across his face.

“Looking for this, Mrs. Rowan?” He dangled my phone in the air, laughter dripping from his words, taunting me.

“Ro, give it back!” I screamed, pulling against the cuff, the metal biting into my skin, a sharp reminder of my helplessness.

He rose, tossing my phone onto the coffee table with a casual flick, then approached me, his presence suffocating.

He settled beside me on the bed, his grip tightening around my cuffed wrist as he examined the bruise forming there.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he said, his voice heavy with concern.

So, he does know how to joke.

I glared at him, plotting my revenge, envisioning the moment I would stab him, end his twisted game, and escape this nightmare.

Willow Crest is buried in dark tales, its air thick with the weight of its criminal past. Another story wouldn’t change much, but it would certainly give the townsfolk something new to gossip about.

And they love their gossips.

“I’ll kill you,” I hissed.

He merely grinned at my threat, his fingers brushing my cheek, drawing lazy circles that made my skin crawl.

"You can try Mrs. Rowan. We can discuss the prospects of a murder weapon." The sheer audacity of his words, spoken with such fucking innocence, sent a shiver down my spine.

I shot him a glare, trying to escape his grasp, but he seized my throat, yanking me closer until our faces were mere inches apart.

His grip was tight, squeezing the breath from my lungs.

I gasped, yet I summoned every ounce of defiance within me to meet his gaze, to show him I wouldn’t break.

"Nothing will ever take you from me, Mrs. Rowan. Didn’t we promise, till do us part? But I said, fuck the death. I’ll follow you into your grave." His smile was a wicked curve.

I don’t care about vow that he ditched first. The vows he dishonored first.

I hissed, clenching my jaws, and he shoved me onto the bed, his hands still constricting my throat, looming over me.

Each breath felt like a burden, a debt owed to this monster.

He came close, and lips crashed onto mine, consuming me in a ravenous kiss. No matter how fiercely I struggled, I was powerless against him. I was weak—weak to his touch, weak to his obsession. Weak when he was the variable in my life.

His tongue explored my lips, his teeth marking my skin, and his mouth silenced my cries.

"You belong to me, Mrs. Rowan. And what is mine will remain mine. Forever by my side." His voice was a low growl, each word dripping with madness.

I swallowed hard, fear wrapping around me like a suffocating shroud. The thought of this familiar stranger was both repulsive and terrifying. Yet, I pushed the thought aside, unable to look in the eyes of those haunting shadows, and question, 'who are you?'

The shadows would never answer. I know they never would. They’ll leave me to wander in my own despair. They thrive on it.

A breathy moan slipped from my lips, "Ro," as his fingers danced along my thigh, leaving a fiery trail in their wake.

Each inch they ascended ignited my skin, a searing heat that consumed me whole. It was as if he was a human sculptor, molding himself to the jagged contours of my being, and he fit me like a glove. He knew me, every secret, every fear, and that knowledge was a double-edged sword, sharp enough to cut deep.

His lips slithered down my throat, kissing the delicate curve of my neck, and when his teeth grazed my skin, a hiss escaped me, a mix of pleasure and pain.

I wasn’t naive, I recognized the darkness lurking beneath his surface.

Ro had always been possessive, a truth I had buried deep, but the gentleness he often showed me was a mask for this feral side I was now witnessing.

This was no fantasy; this was my Ro, unveiled, raw, and terrifying.

He nipped at my collarbone, forcing my thighs apart, and a gasp tore from my lips, shock coursing through me. In my nightdress, I felt like prey, laid bare for his hungry gaze, every inch of me a feast.

As he released my throat, I squeezed my eyes shut, tears pooling at the corners, a mix of fear and exhilaration.

When did I lose him?

I sniffled, choking over the overpowering emotions.

The rustle of fabric drew my attention, and through my blurred vision, I saw him—naked, a towering figure at the edge of the bed.

The buzzing in my head from the lack of air was maddening, a painful reminder of my vulnerability. I shut my eyes again, feeling his touch like a whisper against my heated skin.

His fingers hooked on the band of my panty, carefully gliding them down my thighs, down to my ankle, and slipped away from my toes.

He swept my legs wide, air kissing the most intimate parts of me, and I shuddered visibly, breathing deep in that electricity charging my body, only to feel his hands and a cold metal slashing against the air, and slowly but certainly, my nightdress was no more on my body.

I was bare, stripped down to nothing, and left on his mercy.

"I always dreamt of showing you the wild side of the wicked me, not just in wrath, dripping from greed, but soaked in lust and every speck of it meant for you, Mrs. Rowan. Only. For. You." The validation of that cruel being in his words was true, and I believed it.

It was a different wild from the crazy he and I indulged in. I knew better than to question. He was different in this moment, unlike himself, the person I recognized.

His mouth was on my nipple, and his hands were fondling my left breast, torturing under his touch.

"Ahh..." I screamed, and he thrust two of his fingers inside my mouth, rubbing on my tongue, and pushing deep down my throat.

I choked, coughing, and spluttering the saliva, but he didn't bother looking out for me like he used to.

I opened my eyes, crying, and watched him sucking on a nipple, his mouth stuffed, and teeth marking the soft skin.

My hands on his shoulder tried pushing him away, but I was paralyzed when he kissed the valley of my breasts and moved down, dipping his tongue in my navel and kissing his way down to my thighs.

I panted, a mess of snot and tears, but he showed me no mercy.

He didn't let go even when my nails dug into his back, scratching his flesh to bleed. Ro only hissed, cursed under his breath, and roughly placed my legs over his shoulder.

Each time I attempted to extend my hand beyond the cruel grip of the cuffs, a sharp twist would seize my wrist, sending waves of agony coursing through me.

He didn’t care. My cried didn’t bother him, anymore.

His fingers pried apart my folds, while his mouth descended on my clit, taunting me with every flick and swirl.

He retrieved his fingers away from my mouth and thrust them into my dripping hole, scissoring them and stretching my walls; the squelching sounds were loud in the not-so-silent room anymore.

He took a long swig across my slit, warm breath caressing my sensitive flesh, and I flinched, but his hands on my thighs held me down.

The sensation of his fingers on my skin was everything I had craved for weeks—a sweet torment he had kept from me. But this—this was not the fantasy I had painted in my mind! No, it was a chaotic eruption of his pent-up rage, unleashed upon me in a way that felt like a betrayal of everything I had ever desired.

Tongue, fingers, lips, teeth—everything of his stimulated me to the point where I gave in to that acidic pleasure. Every bit of my scream melted into that powerless moan, which I had no control over.

I watched him grinning when he kneeled in between my legs; his lips and chin smeared with the hot arousal he forced out of me, and resentfully, I let him.

He licked his lips and groaned in excitement.

My lips wobbled; fear and pleasure were both a lethal concoction mixed together.

"You just taste like fucking mine, Mrs. Rowan." That smile of his was a dangerous promise, pulling me closer until our faces were mere inches apart, the world around us fading into nothingness. And then, in a whirlwind of desperation, his lips seized mine, a fierce and insatiable kiss that sent shockwaves through my very core, leaving me dizzy and reluctantly craving more.

His tongue plunged inside my mouth, playing with my tongue, while his hands over my hips angled me in the position, and in one swift move, he thrust deep inside me, filling me up to the hilt, and I chocked on my saliva.

Nothing mattered to him. Not that it did before; he liked it rough, and I liked everything that had to do with him, but this moment was different for both of us. Unlike anything we have ever encountered.

He was a man consumed by passion, yet tonight, all I could sense was a chilling void where that fire once burned. It felt primal, almost savage. Animalistic—yes, that’s the only word that defined his actions.

I moaned, taking his deep, powerful thrusts. My back pressed against the mattress. Every cry, ugly as he moved, was swallowed by his lips.

He went down to play with my breasts. A pained yet affectionate sound rumbled from his chest, "My precious wife."

Was I really?

My love felt like punishment.

"Fuck, Mrs. Rowan..." He grinned, a twisted sort of joy in his eyes, and leaned in, his tongue brushing against the salty trails of my tears on my cheek. He followed their path, a haunting caress, until he reached my eyes, pressing his lips against them as if trying to erase the pain. "Even your tears taste sweet."

He fucked me thoroughly, reaching our highs together, and filled my womb with his cum.

But I didn’t feel loved. This isn’t how he loved me.

Choking on my sobs, I let out a broken confession. Just yesterday, I was an entity forged from fury, and now... now I’m nothing but a shadow of that rage.

"I hate you, Amir."

It's true. I have come to hate him. The only man I ever vowed to love.

"You can say whatever lies you want," he hissed, his fingers digging into my jaw, his anger radiating off him like heat. "You can try to convince yourself, but you will never truly hate me, Mrs. Rowan. Your heart doesn’t work that way. It’s still beating for me, no matter how much you deny it."

In that moment, my senses were in turmoil, unable to distinguish between the deafening ring in my ears and the searing pain in my heart. But then, Ro stood tall, his jaw clenched, his eyes roving over me with a cruel smirk before he turned away.

Maybe the sound I heard wasn’t just a figment of my imagination; perhaps it was the doorbell ringing.

I couldn’t bear to confront it any longer.

Darius’s angry shouts were the only sounds reverberating through our home. There might have been other voices lurking in the background, but I was too drained and heartbroken to grasp anything beyond the overwhelming noise.