Page 57 of Monsters Wear Crowns (Crowned Monsters Duet #1)

His jaw tightened. A flicker of pain and hesitation cut through the fury in his gaze.

I pressed forward, forcing the gun lower, down to my chest, over my heart. “You want to kill me? Do it. ”

He glared at me, the silence almost painful. Then, the gun fell from his grip. A sharp clatter against the floor. A primal snarl ripped from his throat as he violently spun me around and bent me over his desk again.

I writhed against his hold–a grip as hard and relentless as iron.

I couldn’t stop him when he tore my underwear down my legs and drove into me, nearly ripping me in two and tearing a broken yelp from my throat.

Every attempt to free myself was met with another harsh thrust. I tried to hold back screams, to not give him the satisfaction of hearing my pain, but eventually, the force became too much.

My cries, jagged and involuntary, mingled with the savage rhythm of his forceful thrusts.

During the assault, as the pain morphed into a numbing haze, disbelief warred with a stubborn defiance.

I couldn’t fucking believe he was doing this to me.

Fuck him. I wouldn’t allow him to know how much this hurt.

His hold was so crushing that I was certain my hips would soon bear the bruises of his aggression.

Usually, every sound he made would make my heart soar.

But now, his guttural, angry grunts were breaking it.

“Look at you, still fucking wet for me,” he taunted, his voice a twisted mixture of lust and cruelty as he drove into me without pause.

I hated how my body betrayed me, how it responded even in this moment of violation–and yet, in a distorted way, I was grateful for that small reprieve from the overwhelming ache.

It helped, likely preventing worse pain. Or perhaps I was just numb.

Time dissolved into an indistinguishable blur as I closed my eyes, retreating inward in a desperate effort to shield myself from him.

I tried to shrink away, to dissolve into nothingness, but his powerful, muscular frame held me captive, denying every escape.

My manicured nails broke as I tried to claw away from him.

His body was so large compared to mine that it was useless to even fight.

He just yanked me back even harder. Leaning in close, his mouth brushed my ear, and in that instant, his low, menacing growl sent shivers down my spine: “You’ll never fucking betray me again, will you?

” His words, delivered between brutal, demanding thrusts, were as much a vow as they were a command.

“ Will you, little doe? ” he asked again in a growl.

I flinched as his fingers tangled in my hair, pulling my head back.

Tears blurred my vision, stinging with an agony I refused to voice.

I offered no response, only the silent, hollow acceptance of the nightmare that continued to unravel within me.

I let him continue to fuck me until his hips finally slammed into my ass, spilling deep inside me.

I winced, listening to his feral, satisfied groan, his cock pulsing while he forcefully filled me.

And as quickly as he attacked me, he pulled out.

The moment it was over, the air shifted.

I sucked in a breath as if he were just choking me.

Rafe pulled out, leaving me sprawled across his desk, my skin flushed and my body trembling.

My mind was still reeling from the wild, vicious storm of what had just happened.

My heart pounded, and every inch of me still felt him.

But the weight of what he’d just done wasn’t enough to drown out the fury and the ache clawing at my chest.

He adjusted his clothes with that same cold efficiency after his temper burned out, as if none of it had mattered. As if I didn’t matter. And when the knock came at the office door, I barely had time to gather myself before Rafe answered.

“Come in.” His voice was sharp.

The door opened, and one of his men stepped inside–a younger one, maybe early twenties, with wary eyes that darted between us.

And I knew exactly what I looked like. My hair was messy, my clothes ripped, and my skin was still burning from Rafe’s touch.

I watched the man’s throat work as he struggled to keep his gaze on his boss.

“Make sure she doesn’t leave.” Rafe’s words cut through the room like a knife.

I went still.

The man hesitated, his eyes flicking toward me, then back to Rafe. “...Sir?”

“You heard me,” Rafe snapped.

The man nodded slowly, clearly uncomfortable. “Yes, sir.”

My skin prickled with humiliation, and something even darker. Fury . “ Are you serious? ” My voice came out surprisingly sharp despite the adrenaline coursing through me.

Rafe didn’t even look at me. “I won’t take the chance, Adela. You can’t sever our contract.”

And that was it. No explanation. No apology. He just walked away, his steps calm and measured as if nothing had happened at all. As if he hadn’t just fucking raped me on his desk.

The door shut behind him. I stood there for a long moment, my pulse roaring in my ears. I felt the guard’s eyes on me, and I forced myself to meet his gaze. Whatever sympathy I thought I saw there didn’t matter. Nothing mattered right now except getting the hell away from him .

Without another word, I turned and walked out of the office.

The guest room felt cold when I entered it–impersonal and far too quiet. I stripped out of my ruined clothes and slipped into the bathtub, letting the hot water rise up around me. I flinched when the hot water burned where he had so forcefully entered me.

My hands shook when I finally covered my face.

And then, I broke.

** *

RAFE

I didn’t remember walking away from her. I only remembered the sound. Her sobs weren’t quiet. They were loud. Ragged. Like something inside her had shattered so deeply it couldn’t be put back together. Like her soul had been ripped apart.

And I’d done that.

My legs barely worked. I stumbled back into my now empty office, hands shaking, heart pounding in my ears. The door slammed shut behind me, and for a second, I just stood there staring at nothing. Then grief hit.

Not like a wave. Like a bomb. A scream ripped out of me, so loud and violent I didn’t recognize my own voice.

I grabbed that fucking desk and overturned it, sending it crashing into the floor.

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. My hands bled from tearing pictures off the walls, smashing glass, flipping chairs, destroying everything I could touch, everything that wasn’t me.

Because I deserved worse.

I should’ve been the one broken and bleeding. I hit the wall with my fists over and over until my vision blurred. I wanted to feel it. Needed to feel something sharp enough to cut through the numb horror setting in.

But nothing compared to the sound of her crying. It was still echoing down the hall, even through closed doors. God, what the fuck had I done?

I sank to my knees in the center of the wreckage, my body shaking, my throat raw. Tears poured down my face, and I didn’t bother to stop them. I didn’t have the right.

I had laid my hands on her.

Raped her.

I had felt her fight back. Felt her struggle against me, try to squirm out of my grip, and scream my name like a plea–like maybe somewhere inside me was a man who would listen.

But I hadn’t listened.

I’d been gone. Possessed by that fucking monster. That thing I thought I could keep buried. The thing that always lurked beneath my skin, just waiting for the slightest crack.

And this time, it had taken everything. I was named after it because it inflicted the most pain.

I didn’t remember half of it. Just fragments.

Her eyes. The way her body went rigid. The sound of her broken whimpers while I drove into her again and again.

The awful silence that followed. The sobs that started after I walked away.

Christ.

Bile clawed up the back of my throat. I staggered to the corner trash can and threw up everything in me. My stomach. My sins. My fucking soul.

When I finally straightened, I wiped my mouth with a blood-smeared hand and stared blankly at the wall like it might offer some kind of absolution.

But all I saw were ghosts. Her face. Her pain.

Her betrayal that wasn’t a betrayal at all.

She could have actually fucked Moreau and still wouldn't deserve what I just fucking did. I was the one who truly betrayed her.

I sat there for what felt like hours, covered in sweat, blood, and dust. Crying like a fucking child. My men passed by the door once or twice, but they didn’t come in. They knew. They saw it on my face. I was grieving.

Not a loss of love. Not a man. Not a brother.

I was grieving myself. Because the man I thought I could be for her, the man I swore I’d try to become, had died in that moment.

Maybe he was never real to begin with. No one had ever loved me or chosen me despite the dark web of pain that was my soul. But she did.

Finally, when I had nothing left, I forced myself to stand. My knees nearly gave out. I walked back to the bathroom like a condemned man heading to the gallows. Her cries had quieted. But the silence was worse. I rested my hand against the door.