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  I like the idea of keeping her in this room forever. Where she is safe. Where she is most lovely and delicate. But my Bella is not a rose, and she cannot grow in this room.

  Nothing else can grow in this room.

  Surrounded by such beauty, this room has opened her eyes to the monster that I am. It has served its purpose. And now it is time to move forward with my plan.

  She looks up, startled, and her fingers curl around the book. Her knuckles pale and rigid, her lips scarlet red.

  "Javi?"

  I don't have her breakfast, and she wonders what this could mean for her. What fresh new hell I might possibly have planned. My Bella is so smart.

  "Come, my sweet."

  She doesn't move.

  "What's going on?"

  "I want to show you something."

  She does not give in easily. It happens gradually. Inch by inch, second by second. Until she finally sets her book aside and rises to her feet.

  She is in a pretty dress today. Pale white and lace.And I wonder if she wore it for me. And then I wonder if I have forgotten who I am.

  She steps beside me, so small and fragile. I worry that I will break her when I see her this way. When I see the size of her next to me. This is why I must control myself.

  I walk towards the door to the conservatory, and she follows, hurrying along beside me. She takes three steps for my one, and I'm uncertain how to handle this, so I let her rush along beside me.

  When we reach the door, I pause. She looks up at me. Nervous. Eyes filled with restrained hope.

  "I am going to show you Moldavia," I tell her.

  "Okay,” she whispers.

  "Do not try to run from me, Bella," I warn. "I should not have to remind you of the consequences of such an attempt."

  She nods.

  I don't know what she is thinking. If she plans to attempt escape.

  I am uncertain. But I unlock the door anyway and leave her to follow me. She is quiet while we walk, her eyes soaking up everything around us. Her fingers reach out to brush the ornate details of each table and piece of art that we pass.

  I show her the rooms without telling her what they are. Without speaking at all. I allow her to look through them, one by one. To become familiar.

  I want her to feel at home here. I want her to experience these comforts and believe that she is safe. Secure. The way she feels right now.

  It is exactly what I intended to do. But I did not expect it to be so easy on my part. Or that I would enjoy watching her luxuriate in the comfort. Watching each day pass as she reads and settles into her prison and her life here with me. Enjoying the food I bring her that she doesn’t have to earn. Enjoying the clothing and gifts I bestow her.

  It should not feel good to give her these things. It should not affect me at all. But it has. And now, I know that it is time. I must stop this from going any further. I must remind her who she is. And more importantly, who I am.

  She is pleased with the house. She enjoys each room that I show her.Until I lead her to the one that she knows best.

  It is well lit now. The bucket is long gone, and the floor clean. But it still possesses the same lingering effect. She stares at it, and her fingers tremble.

  For a moment, I find myself wishing she would be stronger. That she would not be afraid, and she would simply sing a song for me. I miss hearing her voice.

  "Play for me," I demand.

  She blinks, startled, and then turns to me slowly.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  She tries to edge backward, but I take hold of her arm.

  "This is what you do," I tell her. "You sing, and you play."

  She turns up her chin and tries to look tougher than she feels right now.

  "No."

  This is exactly the response I wanted. The one I anticipated. And yet, I feel disappointed.

  I know what I should say next. What I need to do next. But it does not happen the way it should.

  "Why do you let it bother you?"

  "What?" she asks.

  "What they say about you?"

  Her face is sharp now, all her softness gone. I do not like this.

  "Why do you lock yourself up here and speak to nobody?" she challenges.

  I don't reply, so she takes it upon herself to answer for me.

  "Because of what they say about you. That you are a murderer. That you killed your own..."

  I slam her against the wall and wrap my hand around her throat before I can stop myself. Before I can breathe. My temper is running hot, and she is not backing down this time.

  "Did you do it?" she wheezes. "Did you kill her?"

  I squeeze a little harder.

  "Shut up."

  "Will you do the same to me?"

  There are tears in her eyes now. And this time, they do not make me hard. My fingers fall away from her throat.

  We are both quiet. Breathing hard. I can hear the drum of her heart. See the vein pulsing in her neck. I can smell her fear. And her sadness too.

  "Do not provoke me," I bite out. "I told you not to provoke me."

  "It's not my fault you can't control your temper," she snaps.

  Her lip trembles and one of the tears spills over her eyelid and down her cheek. I wipe it away with my thumb before I have given it any thought. She closes her eyes and leans into my touch. Eager for the brief moment of comfort I have provided her.

  I want to do more. I want things that don’t make sense. I want to hold her. Kiss her. Lay with her. It has to stop. It has to stop now.

  I grab her by the arms and drag her down to the dining room. Her vulnerability flees in the presence of fresh terror.

  “Javi?”

  Her Javi is gone now, and only the monster remains.

  I don’t tell her so. I don’t need to. She will see for herself. This temptress who thinks she can fool me.

  I hoist her up onto the table, and she tries desperately to scramble away. She is fast this time, wiggling around as I bind her wrists to each leg of the table.

  It occurs to me that I have spoiled her. I have let her get away with too much. I pull out my knife and slash the full length of the dress, halving it from top to bottom. Then I slap each of her tits hard until she calms down and obeys.

  “Javi,” she pleads through teary eyes and broken breaths. “Please…”

  My only response is to bind her ankles next. So soft and slight and delicate. I pause only briefly to appreciate them, and then I snap myself out of it.

  I remove the scraps of material from her body and toss them aside. Leaving her naked. Vulnerable.

  Mine.

  Just the way that I like her.

  She looks so angelic when she cries, and I have forgotten how much I enjoy this. I was wrong to think anything had changed. That it could be any other way with her. Because this… this is what I need. What I want and what I will have.

  I lean down to kiss her, and this time, the flames are back in her eyes. She bites my lip and makes me bleed. My lips smear the blood onto hers, forcing her to taste it. And then I pinch her nipples and make her cry out one last time.

  “Tonight, beauty.” I stroke her cheek. “Tonight, you will receive your punishment.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  HE LEAVES me for six hours before he comes back this time. I know because I count each chime from the bell on the clock.

  I am cold. Dazed. Bitter. I don’t understand him. I don’t understand why he keeps doing this to me. Or what I’ve done to warrant this punishment.

  When I see him again, I tell him as much. But he has grown cold again. Closed off again. Unsympathetic to my plight.

  “I have to pee,” I tell him.

  He doesn’t care. He forces my mouth open and reinserts the ball gag that I thought was long gone, tapping me on the lips.

  “Until I have a use for it.”

  And then he moves down below me. Touching me. Groaning at the moisture he feels there. I try to mumble around the gag to tell
him again, but it’s no use. He can’t understand, and my words don’t matter, anyway. Not to him.

  He pushes something inside of me, and it isn’t his fingers. The resulting struggle I offer up is hindered by my restraints, and Javi just grabs me by the thighs to hold me in place.

  “Stop,” he commands. “Or you won’t like what comes next. I’m being gentle with you. But that can change very quickly, Bella.”

  I don’t understand what he means until he pulls the plug out of me and pushes it against something else. Somewhere he’s never touched before.

  I shake my head frantically, trying desperately to clench my legs together, but he slaps my thigh and makes me open for him.

  “Be a good girl,” he says. “And it won’t be so bad.”

  The reality is that he’s right. It doesn’t matter what I do or how much I fight, it’s going to happen either way. So I try to do as he says and relax.

  He slips the plug inside of me, and it burns. It’s too large, and my body is not accustomed to such an invasion. Not there.

  I want to hate him. I want to scream at him. I want to rip off his hood and make him feel the way I do right now. Exposed and raw and wounded. But then he starts touching me.

  Fingering me.

  And my hatred is swallowed up by the intensity of these foreign feelings. The pleasure is amplified. Profound. It takes root in the nerves I never even knew existed and holds me hostage. My legs fall wider, exposing myself to him fully, and there isn’t an ounce of shame left in me.

  “You see, Bella?” he taunts. “This is the only way. You are mine. Mine to do with as I please.”

  It’s a truth I can’t deny. I am a slave to Javi. Always. To his touch. But it has never been so clear as it is right now. He owns me.

  I squirm and twist and thrash against him, desperate for more. He has created this animal. Bent me to his will and turned me feral. And he is so proud of his little monster.

  He bends forward and licks my face. Pinches my nipple. Clamps his hand over my mouth and nose. Always playing his games. Reminding me who is in control. As if I could ever forget.

  My bladder is full, and there is so much pressure. I worry what will happen if I give in, but then I give up caring at all. I cry out and convulse like a demon from the onslaught of the orgasm. It is the most intense orgasm of my life, and yet it has barely touched on what I want or need right now.

  I’m a mess. Physically and mentally.

  Javi moves around the table, and I try to get his attention, mumbling around the gag.

  “I have to pee,” I tell him again.

  He gropes my breast.

  And then walks away.

  I DON’T KNOW how much longer I can hold it.

  The pressure is too intense. And I know this is what he wants. He wants me to humiliate myself.

  The silence is even worse. There is nothing else to focus on.

  Until there is.

  The doorbell.

  It shocks me back to life. The doorbell means someone else is here. And I’m out in the open. They only have to walk down the hall, and then Javi’s darkness will be exposed.

  Hope blooms inside of me. This could be it. This could be my chance. I crane my neck to try to see what’s happening, but I can’t. I’m too far away from the hallway.

  A foreign voice echoes down the hall. I can’t let this opportunity pass me by. Whatever it takes, I will do it. My screams come out muffled around the ball gag, so I shake my head back and forth until I’m able to spit it out.

  “Help! Down here. Please, help me!”

  There are footsteps. Two pairs. They are drawing closer. My heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s going to explode.

  This is it. My saving grace. Someone has come for me. Someone is here, and this nightmare is over.

  Except when I see the man’s face, I realize that it isn’t. Because he takes one look at me, and he smiles before casually taking a bite of the apple in his hand.

  “So this is her, huh?” he mumbles around the half-chewed fruit.

  “Yes,” Javi answers.

  The stranger nods in approval, his eyes roaming over my naked body.

  “Very nice. So when do I get to have a go?”

  Javi will not look at me now, and I fear the worst.

  “Please, no! No, Javi. You can’t do this!”

  A heart-wrenching sob explodes from my chest. I know Javi is cold. I know he can be cruel. But not like this. He can’t do this to me.

  He comes to the table and pets my cheek. The sickest part is that I lean into him. I cling to his warmth and the safe haven he provides while I try to appeal to any humanity left inside of him.

  “I don’t want him,” I say. “I only want you. Please, Javi.”

  He glances back at the stranger and smiles. The stranger continues to eat his apple, unfazed.

  I hope that Javi will ask him to leave. The person that I thought had come to save me is now scarier than the monster standing right before me.

  “You want to please me, my sweet?” Javi asks.

  “Yes. Anything you want. Please.”

  He unzips his pants. And the stranger steps closer. Watching as Javi shoves his cock into my mouth. My eyes remain glued to the intruder.

  Frozen.

  Unsure.

  Javi slaps my breast to get my attention. I close my eyes and forget about the guest while Javi fucks my mouth and fingers me again.

  I’m so wet for him. So sensitive. I have to pee so badly it hurts. I try to tell him. To mumble around him. But it’s a lost cause. He’s lost in his pleasure now. Using my face to get himself off.

  His fingers tangle in my hair, and his eyes stake their claim over every part of my body. It does not matter what Javi says or what he does. Because in moments like these, it feels like he cares. It feels like I mean something to him, even as he uses me.

  Perhaps it is only my imagination. Perhaps I am simply trying to justify. But it’s there, and I want more than anything to believe in it. And when he comes, I swallow everything he has to give me, just the way he likes.

  He pets my cheek again. And then replaces the gag I spit out earlier.

  I think that it’s over. I think that I’ve done well and that we have a connection right now, as he looks down at me, and I see the warmth creeping back into his eyes.

  It doesn’t last. I should know by now that it never does.

  Javi retrieves a blindfold from his pocket and ties it over my face, obscuring my eyes.

  My heartbeat slows. My stomach rolls. A chill creeps over me.

  There are footsteps. The intruder. He’s coming closer. So close he can touch me. I smell him, and he smells different to Javi.

  I shake my head and thrash against the restraints, repeating the same thing over and over again.

  No.

  He wouldn’t do this. Javi wouldn’t allow anyone else to touch me. Because I’m his. That’s what he says. But it isn’t true.

  I flinch when I feel fingers on my breast. Touching me. Groping me. My mind is playing tricks on me. But my ears aren’t. It’s Javi’s voice that betrays me. Cold and hard and cruel.

  “Now you can have a go.”

  I scream through the gag, and he moves away from me. Abandoning me. Footsteps echo down the hall. And with them, goes my fight.

  The stranger drags his fingers down my body. Right between my legs. Humiliation and shame wash over me, followed by blinding hatred. I hate him so much.

  I will never forgive him for this. Never.

  I sob as the hands pry my legs open. And it doesn’t feel right because this isn’t Javi.

  I want to believe it’s a trick. I want my Javi. But he doesn’t come for me. Not even when the stranger buries himself inside of me. The blindfold blocks the sight, but nothing else.

  I can still feel him. I can still feel everything.

  He fucks me. He touches the parts of my body that belong to Javi. He twists the plug inside of my ass. My bladder can’t take i
t. I’m too full. There is too much happening. And I’m still too sensitive. I hate this man. I hate his hands on my body, his fingers working me over.

  I feel sick for responding to him. It’s not me. My body is betraying me too. Because I come again. And this time, the floodgates open.

  Mortification burns my cheeks as the liquid drips down my thighs and over him. There is a muffled groan.

  And then he’s pulling the plug out of me. Replacing it with his cock.

  I shake my head again, protesting as he pushes inside. The place that no man has ever been before. The place that even Javi has not been before. I beg him through muted sobs. I fight. I twist and thrash and bleed when the ropes chafe at my wrists.

  Eventually, my chest caves in on me, and the only thing to come out of my lungs is a god-awful wheezing sound. It isn’t the physical pain. This pain inside has crippled me. Javi has stolen everything from me. Right down to my last breath.

  The weight of his malice has finally suffocated me. I can’t breathe at all. I’m deep in the throes of a panic attack. And this is how I’m going to die.

  My fingers make one last feeble attempt to claw at my throat. An instinctive reaction. One still hindered by the restraints. I fall limp. I stop moving. I stop fighting. The stranger’s fingers come up to touch my face, and I turn away from him.

  The gag slips out of my mouth. The blindfold falls away, and still, all I see is black.

  My heart has lost the will to go on. My chest is full of cement.

  “Bella. My sweet Bella. Shhh, it’s okay now. Just breathe.”

  Javi.

  My Javi. My cruel, cruel Javi.

  I don’t want to believe it. My mind has invented this. I squeeze my eyes to keep them shut, and he tries to coax them open with words so deceptively soft.

  “It’s okay, my Bella. Look at me.”

  He sounds so real. And I have to know. I open my eyes. Certain I will be forever damaged. Forever ruined and betrayed and filled with this hatred.

  His beard is the first thing that I see. And then the hood. I look down, at the place where we are still connected. And it has been him, the entire time. Inside of me.

  Tricking me.

  Tormenting me.

  I sob, and it is not pretty. He is without mercy. Without humanity. I was wrong to think there was ever anything else inside of him.