Page 172 of Little Spider

In relief.

Like I just took the last sharp thing out of him and for the first time since he stalked me in the dark—He falls asleep beside me.

Unguarded.

Breathing softly.

Mine.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

RAVEN

The spider crawls across my palm, and I watch it — still, silent, curious — the tiny movement of its legs somehow louder than my heartbeat. I feel it again then, that flicker of a life I used to live, a face and a voice and a warning that still echo somewhere beneath my skin. Her. Sam. The last one who looked at me like I was real. The last one who said,you’re not okay.The last one I ghosted when Damien’s voice got louder than hers.

My chest tightens. Not from guilt. From something messier, something that sounds like regret but tastes more like blood.

Damien watches me, his head tilted, eyes unreadable. “You’re thinking about her,” he says, and I don’t ask how he knows. I just nod once. “She was trying to save me.”

He steps closer, moves with that slow, deliberate grace that always feels more like a warning than comfort. He leans down, takes the spider from my palm, and places it delicately back on the pillow beside me. “Then she failed,” he murmurs. His hand curls beneath my chin, lifting my gaze until I meet his eyes. “But I won’t.”

And I believe him, even if saving me means keeping me here, even if it means the only voice I ever hear again is his.

I stare at the spider on the pillow, its legs now curled beneath its body as though it’s resting, waiting. I wonder if Sam would still recognise me if she saw me now — if she would scream or cry or run, or if she would try to pull me out of this bed, out of Damien’s arms, out of this skin that isn’t soft anymore.

I think about her hand in mine at that party — the last time I looked at someone and saw safety. How she touched my wrist, her voice cracking when she whispered,He’s watching you, Raven. He’s not normal.

She was right. And I still didn’t listen, because part of me liked it even then — the eyes in the dark, the heavy silence behind the door, the notes, the games, the chase. It was never about escaping. It was about being seen.

Sam never saw that part of me. Damien did, and he still does.

He crouches beside the bed, his hands resting lightly on my knees, his presence filling every inch of air between us. “You’re thinking too loudly again,” he says quietly.

I look at him, at that steady, unapologetic gaze. “Do you miss her?” he asks.

I don’t answer, because I don’t know. Sam meant something — she still does — but when I close my eyes and picture her pulling me out of this, I don’t see freedom. I see loss.

Damien’s hand slides higher, warm against my skin. “She doesn’t know what you are now.”

I swallow hard. “No. She doesn’t.”

He leans in, his breath brushing my jaw like a promise. “Would you like me to make sure she never finds out?”

My breath stills — not from fear, not even from shock, but from the weight of what he’s really offering me. He’s not demanding, not manipulating. He’s giving me the choice I usedto scream for. And now that I have it, I don’t know what to do with it.

I think about Sam’s laugh — the way she used to pull me into sunlight I didn’t think I deserved. I think about her arms around me the night I cried over nothing and called it everything. I think about her voice saying,You deserve more.And I wonder if that’s still true, or if I stopped deserving softness the moment I let Damien remake me into something that only breathes for him.

My voice comes quiet. “No.”

Damien’s fingers tighten slightly on my thigh. “No?”

I meet his eyes, steady. “Don’t hurt her. Don’t touch her. Just… let her forget me.”

He studies me for a long moment, gaze unreadable, then nods once. “Done.”

No further questions. No conditions. Just the cold, clean silence of a decision made. And something in my chest breaks — not painfully, but almost like relief. Because even if I’m his, even if I’m ruined and marked and branded down to the bone, I still chose something else. Even if it’s just one last act of mercy.

Damien leans in until his forehead touches mine, and his voice is a whisper against my lips. “She would never save you, little spider.”