"DON'T GET CAUGHT. DON'T GET CAUGHT. DON'T. FUCKING. GET. CAUGHT."
She chanted these words repeatedly, displaying reasons and visualising the aftermath of getting caught.
You'll be bonded. Restrained. Confined. With no freedom over yourself. Prayin...
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“One hour. Make sure you don't reek of him.” Her voice barely grazed the air, a whisper so delicate it coiled around my senses, sinking heavy and cold into my chest. My ears pulsed with the weight of her words, a haunting melody of finality. And with that, she turned, her silhouette dissolving into the shadows, victorious—as if she'd claimed the entire world, leaving me stranded in its ruins.
But nothing could destroy what was already broken into fragments, and I was those fragments—scattered, irreparable. I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and ascended the stairs, each step pulling me closer to the room steeped in my torment. It was there I had been mated, where I had endured the fire of my heat, bound to a man whose presence seeped into my soul like venom, a repulsion far deeper than hatred.
I wondered how much of me reeked of him. How much of my essence had been tainted, swallowed whole by his? Was I now an echo of him, and he of me? I couldn’t smell it, couldn’t sense the corruption on my skin—but perhaps the world could.
I swallowed the bile clawing up my throat, its bitterness mirroring the jagged chaos of my emotions. Nothing within me was still—disgust, anger, self-loathing, shame, confusion, and fleeting, shameful desire—each emotion waged war on the ruins of who I used to be. Ever since I’d been dragged into this gilded prison, they churned like a storm, tearing me apart piece by piece.
The bathroom was opulent, mocking. I turned on the shower, letting the water cascade and drown out the whispers of my thoughts. But the water couldn’t wash away the memories. Flashes of his hands on my body, the way I’d begged for more despite the hatred burning in my veins, seared into my mind like a curse. My lips twisted into a sneer, disgust curling in my chest. And with it, the familiar, suffocating weight of self-loathing returned.
An hour. That’s all I needed. An hour to claw my way out of this wretched haze. One hour, and I’d be free—or at least, that’s what I told myself.
I shuddered as the cold water sliced against my skin, its sting a cruel reminder of reality. The same cold water had felt warm just a day ago, when I was lost in my heat, ensnared in his grasp, entangled with him for what felt like an eternity. Days? Weeks? I couldn’t tell anymore. I swallowed the rising tide of hate and shame, scrubbing my skin raw as if I could erase the imprint of his scent. But the thought lingered, insidious: did he carry my scent, too?
I clenched my jaw and shook my head, banishing the thought like a pest. My nails scraped against the mark on my neck, knowing full well it would never fade. A permanent brand, a cruel tether to him that no amount of scrubbing could remove. It marked me as his. It marked me as prey. And no matter how fast or far I ran, I’d always be a runner. But running was all I had left.
The plan was reckless, a gamble in a game rigged against me. And her—she was a viper, coiled in deceit. I didn’t trust her. I couldn’t. Her faux hospitality on my first day had been a thin veil over her malice. After all, she was the one who had sneered at me, proud and venomous, as she hissed that I didn’t deserve her commander. That memory burned. The sudden, jarring shift in her demeanor now—a feigned kindness—only solidified my wariness.
