Twisted Desires

Tangled

❚█══Amelia's Pov══█❚

The cold air in the dungeon seemed to thicken as Marco's presence loomed closer. I watched him with wary eyes, my breath shallow, knowing something sinister was coming. He walked towards me with a predatory grace, his dark eyes gleaming with a sick sense of control. My wrists were still sore from the chains that bound me, and my heart pounded painfully in my chest.

Without a word, Marco reached into the small, grimy box set on the table beside us and pulled out a sharp, gleaming knife. My stomach twisted, fear gripping me harder than the iron shackles around my wrists. My throat was dry, and as I tried to speak, no words came out.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to fight. But I couldn't. I was frozen.

Marco brought the knife close, its cold blade grazing against my skin, starting from the top of my head. Slowly—agonizingly slowly—he trailed it down the side of my face, his eyes locked on mine, drinking in every ounce of fear I couldn't hide. He wasn't just trying to scare me. He was enjoying this.

The blade inched lower, from my neck to my chest, my stomach tightening with each second, every muscle in my body tensing. I could feel the sharp edge press against my skin, not cutting deeply but enough to leave a line of stinging heat in its wake. I couldn't breathe properly. My chest felt like it was being crushed from the inside, my lungs struggling to expand.

His movements slowed as he reached my lips, and with a swift flick of his wrist, the knife sliced into the corner of my mouth. I gasped, the sharp sting of pain making me flinch, warm blood immediately filling the cut. I clenched my fists as tightly as I could, trying not to show weakness, but the burning in my face was unbearable.

Marco gave a low chuckle. "You know what you are, Amelia? A slut," he spat the words, his voice dripping with venom. "And sluts like you only understand one thing."

Before I could react, he gripped the middle of my shirt with his free hand and, with one brutal tug, tore it apart. The sound of the fabric ripping echoed through the dungeon, and I gasped as the cold air hit my bare skin. My navy-blue bra was now exposed, and humiliation flooded me. I twisted in the chains, trying to cover myself, but it was useless.

"You need to be taught a lesson," he continued, his voice dark and mocking as he leaned in closer. "And I'll make sure you understand."

Every word he spoke made my skin crawl. Rage and disgust boiled in me, mixing with the helplessness that was suffocating me. I wasn't going to beg anymore. I wasn't going to plead. I wanted to tear him apart, even if I was powerless in this moment.

But I knew—no matter how much I fought against the rising panic—Marco was going to do things his way.

Marco's hand traveled with deliberate slowness, and every touch sent a shiver through me. His fingers brushed against my knee-length shorts, making my breath hitch in my throat. My body tensed, unable to escape the anxiety that coursed through me. His movements were methodical, calculated—each one designed to maximize the terror I felt.

The metallic clink of the box being opened drew my gaze. Marco pulled out a black choker, its simplicity belied by the cruelty it represented. My eyes widened as he approached, and a fresh wave of panic surged through me. The choker was cold against my skin as he wrapped it around my neck, its tightness already causing my pulse to quicken.