Her Handicapped king

CHAPTER 31

Aria's POV

The room was cloaked in shadows, the only light flickering from a single candle on the nightstand. It cast long, wavering shadows on the walls, the flame bending with every faint draft. I watched Oscar, his broad figure framed by the window as he stared out into the darkness, sipping from a glass of whiskey. He didn't even glance at me, but I didn't need him to. I felt his pull, the magnetic energy that always drew me to him. "Come here," his voice broke the silence, cold and commanding, without turning around. That single command and my heart leapt into my throat. I crossed the room, every step light and cautious, as if approaching something sacred. Standing there, naked, vulnerable, I waited for him to notice me. To see me. My skin prickled with the anticipation of his touch. But he just kept looking out of the window, as though I were an afterthought. Finally, Oscar turned. His gaze raked over me, slow and possessive, but I saw it—the way his eyes darkened slightly when he saw me. Or was it because I wasn't her? "You're mine tonight,"

My heart squeezed, but I ignored the sting. His cruelty didn't matter, not when his words held me captive like a spell. I lived for these moments, even if they bled me dry. His dominance over me was intoxicating, his power, his indifference... I'd take any sliver of attention he gave me because I was certain, deep down, that I could make him see me, truly see me, in time. That I could matter more than she did. "I'm yours," I whispered, the desperation curling in my throat like smoke. I didn't care what he called me or how little he thought of me. I just needed to be with him, no matter what the cost. Oscar's lips curled into a smirk, his hand reaching for my chin and gripping it hard. My pulse quickened at his touch, his control over me tightening with every second.

"Of course you are," he muttered, leaning in close, his breath hot against my lips before his mouth crashed against mine. His kiss was fierce, punishing, as though he needed to remind me of my place. I moaned into it, not in pain, but in surrender. His hands moved roughly over my body, gripping, and claiming, and each time I closed my eyes, I imagined it was more than just lust. I convinced myself it was love, buried somewhere in his violence.

He pushed me onto the bed with an effortless force, and I landed on the mattress with a gasp. He stood over me, peeling off his shirt slowly, his eyes never leaving mine, yet I could see it—his mind was somewhere else. He was here with me, but his thoughts... his thoughts were with Rose. I hated it. I hated her. Rose was the obstacle, the thorn in our love, and yet she haunted him. No matter what I did, she was there, like a ghost between us, lingering in his every silence.

Oscar climbed onto the bed, pinning my wrists above my head, his mouth pressing against my neck with bruising kisses. I moaned, arching beneath him, wanting to pull him closer, to make him forget about her. "You'll never leave me, will you?" I whispered breathlessly. Oscar's chuckle was low, humorless, as he trailed his lips down to my chest, biting at the sensitive skin. "You know your place, Aria," he said, his words laced with mockery. "As long as you do, you'll be around." I bit my lip hard to keep from crying out in frustration. I wanted more. I wanted him to need me the way I needed him. But I was nothing more than a placeholder. He moved lower, trailing his tongue over my body as if savoring each inch, but I knew it wasn't me he was thinking about. I knew in his mind, he was picturing someone else—someone who wasn't me. "Tell me what you want," he murmured, his voice low as he pressed his hand between my legs, his fingers teasing me, but not giving me enough.

"I want you," I gasped, writhing under his touch. "I just want you." Oscar smirked, his fingers sliding inside of me as his other hand tightened its grip on my thigh. But there was no warmth in his gaze. "You want me? Or are you just desperate to feel something?" I moaned, biting down on my lip to stifle the sound. His touch was like fire, consuming, yet distant. He was playing with me, keeping me on the edge of pleasure, only to yank it away at the last second. He pulled his fingers away, and I whimpered in protest, my body aching for more. I reached for him, but he stopped me, grabbing a length of black silk from the nightstand. He tied my wrists to the bedposts with practiced ease, the silk tight but not painful. My heart raced in anticipation, my body straining toward him.

"You like being helpless, don't you?" Oscar taunted, his breath warm against my neck. "You like being mine." "I do," I breathed. "I'm yours. I'll always be yours." His lips quirked in amusement as he moved between my legs, his hands roaming my body with ownership that made my heart race. But no matter what he did, I could feel the distance, the way his thoughts drifted. He wasn't thinking of me. He was thinking of her. He always was. I arched into his touch as he thrust into me, hard and unforgiving, but even in that moment of intense pleasure, I felt the hollowness behind it. I was just a vessel for his frustration, a replacement for the woman he truly wanted But I didn't care. I would take whatever scraps of him I could get. I would let him use me, control me, dominate me, because one day, he would see that I was the one who truly loved him. The one who would do anything for him.

I looked into his eyes as he moved above me, hoping to find some trace of emotion. But all I saw was emptiness. Detached, cold, even as he thrust into me harder, his body taking what it needed without a thought for me. When he finally pulled out, leaving me gasping and trembling, I watched him stand and get dressed without a word. He didn't look at me as he buttoned his shirt, as though the moment had never happened. It was as if I had never been there at all. "Are you going back to her?" I asked quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar didn't respond right away. He poured himself another glass of whiskey, his back to me, and sipped it slowly. "I don't owe you any answers, Aria," he said, his voice flat, distant. "You know your place." Tears burned in my eyes, but I blinked them away. I wasn't going to cry. I wasn't going to show him how much it hurt, how much I wanted him to stay. I'd wait. I'd be patient. He'd realize, eventually, that she wasn't the one who truly loved him. It was me. It was always me. As he walked out of the room, leaving me tied to the bed, I whispered to the empty space he left behind. "I'll always be yours, Oscar." Even if I had to destroy everyone else to make it true.

It's all for him. Everything. Every breath I take, every thought that runs through my mind, every drop of blood that pulses through my veins—it's all for Oscar. I see him everywhere. He's the only one who matters. No one else comes close. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, tracing the delicate lines of my face. I wonder if he's thinking about me right now, wherever he is. I can almost feel his presence, like a phantom touch, wrapping itself around me. Sometimes, I imagine his hands on my skin, pulling me close, whispering that I'm the only one who understands him. That's what I crave—to be the one he needs, the one he can't live without. But he was always thinking about that bitch rose. He believed that I didn't notice how he was so obsessed with Rose but I noticed it. I'm only ignoring this because I don't Oscar to leave me. If I tried to argue with him, then I'm afraid that he would leave. "Ahhh......... that bitch rose, why can't you just die, you took my Oscar away from me. But it's okay I will soon deal with you but now is not the time. For now, I have to deal with your husband and his best friend"

Henry... oh, sweet, clueless Henry. He thinks I care. He thinks I'm his girlfriend. I play the part well—smile when I'm supposed to, laugh at his stupid jokes, hold his hand when he reaches for it. But inside? Inside I want to scream, to rip my hand from his and shove him away. He's in the way, and I hate it. I hate him for even thinking he could be someone to me. Henry's a tool, nothing more, and when I'm done with him, he'll realize that he's never mattered. Not like Oscar. It's Noah, though—Noah is the real threat. He thinks he's so smart, with his cold eyes and dark reputation. He thinks he's going to find Rose, to get her back, to take her away from Oscar. My blood boils every time I think of him. Rose doesn't deserve Oscar. She doesn't understand him the way I do. She's weak, pathetic, always questioning, always pushing him away. She doesn't see the beauty in him, the way he takes control, the way he makes the world bend to his will. But I do. And I'll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

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Hye guys.... here is another chapter...

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