Page 17 of Malicious Claim

I gave her my name like a final warning. “Say it again. Call me a monster one more time and summon the devil himself.”

And still, she hit me. Small fists, broken sobs. Brave, stupid girl. I grabbed her and shoved her aside like she weighed nothing. She crashed against the chair, hard. I didn’t flinch.

She got up again. Bleeding, defiant.

“I’d rather die than be your wife,” she spat, smirking through blood-stained lips. “You killed my family and still dared to chain me to you and also fuck...No, Rape me withoutNo choice. No consent.”

I stepped in closer. “I gave you a choice—marry me or die. And what did you pick?”

She screamed, “Death! I’d rather wake up in hell than next to you!”

She meant it. Every word stabbed like fire, but I didn’t show it.

“You should’ve killed me with them,” she whispered.

“No,” I said darkly. “You’re the last Crawford. And you’ll pay for every sin of your father’s name—in my house, in my bed.”

Her chin trembled. Her eyes, bloodshot, but not weak.

“I, Leila Aziza Crawford, would rather join my family in death than share a name with you.”

Aziza.

That name.

“Don’t ever say that name to me again,” I snapped. “You belong to me. I own your life. You breathe because I say so.”

I turned toward the door.

“Makros!” she screamed.

The word was fire behind me. I stopped but didn’t turn.

“You want to know the difference between you and a monster?” she shouted. “The monster never pretends to have a heart. You do. And that’s what makes you worse.”

I turned, and slapped her.

Hard.

She flew, hit the mirror beside the shelf. It shattered around her like glass rain, slicing skin, staining her dress. She collapsed, bloodied, shaking, shoulders quaking from sobs she couldn’t hold in anymore.

I stood there, unmoving.

“You don’t question me,” I said. “You obey. Or suffer.”

She lifted her head—barely, and smiled through despair.

“I have nothing left to lose,” she whispered. “But whatever you’re protecting... whatever reason you still breathe... it’ll rot. It’ll eat you alive.”

I gritted my teeth.

“And oh,” she added with a broken laugh, “I’ll be sure to thank my father in the afterlife, for whatever the hell he did to earn your wrath.”

And then, before I could move, she grabbed a shard of glass and sliced her wrist. Slow. Intentional. Daring. Blood spilled onto the marble floor. I didn’t stop her.

I hissed under my breath. “You want to die? You’ll die by my hands. No one else’s.”

Then I walked out. Left her with the pain she tried to escape. Her last words haunted the hallway as I closed the door behind me.