✔️ SLANDEROUS INTENTIONS | +18

Chapter 40

HELENA

A subtle moment of true happiness ended in a blatant shitstorm.

And the shitty storm only took me, leaving my husband behind. Unconsciously, I was whirling around, not knowing where I was, but thank God, I live to see another day as my mind finally wakes up, and I open my eyes.

The headache is like a vivid bolt as I take in my surroundings. It's like the shitty storm has taken me to another universe. I am out of my husband's realm. I am out of my husband's protection.

This room looks so foreign. The view out of the window looks so alien. It's like I have entered another utopia. I try to adjust my eyes to the illumination in the room; it's bright, too bright. My vision clearing, I finally make out the face grinning down at me.

I beg to differ; I have entered a dystopia. An old, fat tyrant is grinning at me. His skin is adorned with moles. The fatty skin shines; he desperately needs skincare. In simple words: he disgusts me. The way he stares at me — as if I am his favorite meal — disgusts me.

My instincts tell me to run away. I scream in fear. I scream for Antonio. But he doesn't come. He doesn't hear me. They took me away from him. He moves his hand over my mouth. I cry in sheer anxiety. My body shaking with every muffled scream.

"Shhh, don't be scared, I won't hurt you," he murmurs, a creepy smile edging his lips as he lets his hand slide from my mouth to caress my face. "You're so pretty. Your eyes are so pretty. Just like hers."

The way he looks at me makes my skin crawl. I shudder, feeling sick, dirty; even though he only touches my cheek, I want to take a whole shower. And scrub my skin.

"W-What do you want from me?" I stammer, my voice shaking, my heart pounding like a drum, anxiety tightening my chest. I want out of this hellhole, back into my husband's dark solace.

"I want you," he says, and my eyes widen, fear flashing through me. Three words. And no, no love confession. Just a sick obsession I see in his eyes.

"W-What?" I barely whisper, desperately hoping I misheard him. But the way he looks at me — with lust and desire — just confirms exactly what he wants from me. Sex.

"I want you so bad," he repeats, his eyes fixed on me, and the look chills me to the bone. "I want to fuck you so bad." He groans, this dirty, old man fantasizing about me as he cranes his neck and shudders.

And I? I wish I could disappear on the spot. My stomach twists in disgust. He's old enough to be my father. What is wrong with me that I keep attracting old hags like him? Like Rivera, like Allen, and now this.

"You're old enough to be my father! You're disgusting! Don't you have any shame? Don't you have morals?" Tears well up in my eyes. I cling to a shred of hope, praying my words might spark some guilt in him, something that will make him let me go.

"You know the phrase, 'age is just a number,'" he says, his gaze crawling over me. "Everyone has their own taste. And I like it young, tight, and innocent." His words make my mouth gape open.

"Do you know the phrase," I spit, showing my teeth, as I am not going to crumble under him and let him get his way with me. "My husband is your end, the hunters behind him your death, and the grave just your room, if you don't give me back!"

"Fierce little thing..." he smirks at me, looking unfazed by my words. "It's really in your family's blood to show backbone... we are going to have a lot of fun with you..."

My family? What does my family have to do with all of this? But I don't have the time to worry about his words. Right now, I have bigger worries, like an old, saggy man wanting to stick his worm within me.