Submitting To The Devil - The Devil's Snare - Book 2

Chapter Seventy Three

Bianca

Benji guides me back to my room, the air thick with an oppressive silence that feels almost suffocating while the tears cascade down his cheeks like silent rivers of anguish. Every step he takes seems to weigh heavy on his heart, the pain evident in the clenched muscles of his jaw and the rigidness of his posture.

As we pause, waiting for the door to mysteriously swing open, I reach out instinctively, yearning to connect with him. But he turns away, his grip on my wrist becoming a vice-like hold, firm and unyielding. The tension between us crackles with unspoken anger, swirling beneath the surface like a storm ready to erupt. I brace myself for the fallout, convinced that I deserve it after my actions. In a twisted way, I welcomed it; perhaps a slice of pain would be better than this unbearable guilt.

Yet, when the door finally creaks open, he pushes me inside with a surprising gentleness that contrasts sharply with my expectations. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound of the locks engaging reverberating ominously in the room's stillness.

I pivot away from the door, my gaze drifting back to the bed. An overwhelming sense of claustrophobia begins to envelop me, intensifying with each heartbeat as I struggle to find my footing amidst the emotional turmoil. The suffocating silence presses down on me, and I can't help but feel swallowed by the moment's weight.

I just...he just. Derek did...

I collapse onto the bed, my body flopping like a petulant teenager's, and bury my face into the plush pillow. A muffled scream escapes my lips, reverberating into the soft fabric, transforming my frustration into raw anguish. The despair washes over me, twisting my insides like a vice until it morphs into a heavy sadness that settles in my chest.

What the hell am I doing here?

Like the oppressive weight of silence is the devil himself, I am left with no answers, and restlessness coils within me like a taut spring as I lie there, my gaze fixated on the shimmering gold bedding that seems to mock me, whispering that I was a fool to believe protecting those I love was nobler than fleeing from the man who relentlessly aims to tear me down at every turn.

As time stretches and warps, transforming fleeting minutes into what feels like endless hours, a sense of agitation surges through me. I find myself pacing the confines of the room, each step echoing the turmoil within. The shadows of my thoughts close in like a thick fog, suffocating yet inescapable as I search the room for anything I can use against Derek the next time I'm summoned. I find nothing, not unsurprisingly.

Benji enters impeccably dressed in tailored suit pants and a crisp white shirt that accentuates his lean frame. As he opens the door, a refreshing breeze sweeps into the room, wrapping around me like an unexpected embrace.

"My father has requested your presence at the dinner table this evening," he says earnestly, his tone a mix of formality and urgency. "Please, dress appropriately."

I can't help but let out a soft sigh, "That sounds as enticing as enduring another of his breakfast encounters," I mutter, moving towards the dresses that hang limply from their hangers, their fabric infused with a sense of resignation.

Choosing a sleek, formfitting black dress, I rummage through the top drawer, where undergarments seem to be waiting for me like uninvited guests. Quickly, I gather them and retreat to the bathroom, my heartbeat quickening. I can't risk incurring Derek's wrath any further—my body is still reeling from last night's emotionally charged encounter and this morning's nye on rape. But more importantly, I can't be the reason Benji suffers again.

As I stand before the mirror, brushing my hair back from my face, I can't help but observe the frayed curls from Derek's meticulously crafted braid. They frame my face, all too reminiscent of the tension that crackled in the air during breakfast as they fell out in my struggle.