Paint me as a VILLIAN !

CHAPTER 10

But his words did little to ease her discomfort. She knew that he wasn't seeing her, not the real her, not the woman she was inside. He was only seeing her body, her physical attributes, and her willingness to do whatever it took to please him.

She felt a lump forming in her throat, threatening to choke her. She wanted to cry, to scream, to run away from him and his cruel games. But she knew that would only make things worse. She had to stay calm, had to pretend that she was enjoying this, that she was not bothered by his gaze, his words, his touch.

He slowly approached her, his hand reaching out to caress her skin. She flinched at his touch, his coldness sending shivers down her spine. But she remained silent, her body frozen in place.

He ran his fingers along her arms, tracing the contours of her muscles, her scars. He paused to examine a particularly deep scar, the mark of an old injury.

"What happened here?" he asked, his voice curious.

She hesitated, not wanting to share this part of her past with him. But she knew that if she didn't, he would just find out from someone else, from her ex-boyfriend perhaps, who would no doubt twist the story to make her look even worse.

"It's not important," she said finally, her voice barely a whisper.

He looked at her, his eyes filled with skepticism. "Everything is important to me," he said, his voice firm. "Tell me what happened."

She took a deep breath, her mind racing. She couldn't remember the exact details of the accident, the pain too intense, the memories too fragmented. But she knew the gist of it, the basic facts.

"I was in a car accident," she began, her voice trembling. "I was a teenager, and I was driving home from a party with some friends. We were speeding, and we lost control of the car. It skidded off the road and rolled down a hill."

She paused, her throat constricting. "I was lucky to survive," she continued. "But I was badly injured. I broke my arm, and I had to have surgery on my leg. And I have this scar."

She pointed to the scar on her arm, the jagged line a stark reminder of the trauma she had endured.

He looked at the scar, his eyes filled with pity. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice soft.

She nodded, her eyes welling up with tears. "It's okay," she said, trying to hide her emotions.

He reached out and gently touched the scar, his touch surprisingly tender. "You're a strong woman," he said, his voice filled with admiration.

She smiled, a tear escaping her eye and rolling down her cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.

He leaned in and kissed her gently, his lips soft and warm on hers. She responded to his kiss, her heart beating faster, her body relaxing for the first time in hours.

For a moment, she forgot about her pain, her fears, her doubts. She just let herself feel his touch, his kiss, his warmth.

But the moment was fleeting. He pulled away, his eyes filled with a strange glint. "Now," he said, his voice cold and detached, "get dressed."

She stared at him, her heart sinking. She had hoped, for a moment, that he had changed, that he had seen the error of his ways. But she had been wrong.

She turned and walked away, her head hung low, her heart heavy with disappointment. She knew that she would never win his trust, never earn his respect. She was forever tainted in his eyes, a whore, a liar, a woman who could never be loved.

That night, she lay in bed, her mind replaying the events of the day. She couldn't shake the image of his cold, detached eyes, his cruel words echoing in her ears. She felt a deep sense of sadness and despair, wondering if she would ever be able to heal from the pain he had inflicted upon her.