Her Deviant Husband | [✓]

Chapter 39 (Pt-1)

Warning:
• 9k+ words and everything is important.
• This chapter reveals 25 percent of all the plot of the book. Read it slowly. And more about Reyansh's past and present.
• There is mention of prostitution and sex slavery in this chapter.
• Get tissues wipe tears and pillow to scream into in this chapter.
• Reyansh is not going to grovel.
(Sorry guys. It's just not part of the book)
• Thank you for all the love you have for this book. I am extremely grateful. Thank you and love you all. Lily.
———

"This world can hurt you. It cuts you deep and leaves scars. Things fall apart, but nothing breaks like a heart."
- Mark Ronson (Nothing Breaks Like a Heart)
- - -

Reyansh's Pov.

"Will you stop crying now, Sweetheart? I'm the one who's been stabbed, and you're here bawling like a damn baby."

My voice comes out hoarse, laced with that dry amusement I can't seem to shake, even when there's literal blood soaking through my shirt. I reach out, my thumb brushing against the tear streaks staining her flushed cheeks.

She doesn't say a word.
Not one.

Just keeps her focus on tightening the makeshift bandage she'd fashioned out of her silk white night gown that was under the robe she had adorned. The pressure stings like a bitch, but I don't flinch.

She's being careful—meticulous, even.

"Why the hell aren't you talking?" I press, more out of curiosity than irritation.
But she ignores me, her hands moving to button up my ruined shirt.

And then, just like that, she's up on her feet, standing stiff as a board, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Hey," I call after her, pushing myself upright with a wince. The ache in my abdomen flares, but I ignore it. I'm used to worse. Grabbing her wrist, I tug her back, forcing her body to pivot toward me.

But even now, she won't fucking look at me.

Her eyes stay glued to the floor, her swollen bottom lip trapped between her teeth, worrying it like she's trying to punish herself for something.

"Sweetheart," I murmur, my voice dipping softer, just for her. Reaching out, I slide a finger between her lips and teeth, gently prying her lip free.

She freezes, her breath escaping in a shaky rush against my finger. The warmth of it stirs something deranged in my chest, but I shove it down. Not now. Not when she looks like she's been through hell and back.

She hasn't looked at me once since our kiss. Not when she ripped her nightgown to patch me up, not when she undid my shirt like it was a matter of life or death. She didn't even pause, not once, to let the weight of what just happened sink in.

But now? Now she's trembling, silent tears streaking down her face like she's the one bleeding out.

I sigh, the kind of sigh that makes my ribs ache.

"Sweetie," I try again, my voice barely above a whisper. "Look at me. Please."

For a moment, I think she won't.

But then her head tilts up, her wide, tear-bright eyes meeting mine. They were devastating.

Red-rimmed and glossy, her lower lashes wet with tears. Her nose is red too, and her cheeks are flushed like she's been out in the cold too long.