Page 58 of Monsters Wear Crowns (Crowned Monsters Duet #1)

ADELA

I didn’t know how long I cried. I didn’t stop even when the door opened behind me. The water lapped against my skin but did nothing to soothe the ache spreading through my chest. My arms were wrapped tightly around my knees, my forehead pressed to them, and the quiet, shuddering sobs.

I’d heard him scream earlier–guttural and raw, like it had been torn straight from his soul. Then, the sound of glass shattering. Furniture slamming. Chaos. And then silence. He must have destroyed the office.

Rafe didn’t speak at first, and I hated that even now, my body recognized and responded to him. “I hurt you.” His voice was soft. So soft I almost didn’t hear it.

“Obviously,” I rasped, barely able to squeeze the words through the tightness in my throat. The tears were endless, spilling down my cheeks like a river that refused to dry. “Get out.”

He didn’t move. “Adela…”

That tone. That fucking tone.

I lifted my head, and the second I saw him, the air left my lungs. His face–devastated. His eyes were red and hollow. His hands were smeared in blood. Whether his or someone else’s, I didn’t know. Didn’t care. What stopped me cold was the evidence of tears on his cheeks. He had cried .

But I was done giving grace to monsters. My rage shot through me like wildfire. “I’m not surprised you did what you did to me,” I said, my voice trembling. “You’re a man. And the only thing you think could shatter a woman is shoving your dick in her.”

His jaw clenched. He looked like he’d been punched.

“How fucking predictable of you,” I spat. “You’re all the goddamn same. It’s your only way to wound a woman so deeply. But me?” I let out a small, broken laugh. “I could cut you so deep you’d beg me to let you fucking bleed out.”

He shifted, a muscle ticking in his jaw, like he wanted to defend himself but knew he had no defense.

“You hurt me, yes. But you didn’t break me. No man can ever break who I am. Do you understand me?”

Still, he didn’t speak. His arms crossed over his chest like they were the only thing holding him together.

“Get the fuck out, you sad excuse of a man.” The venom in my voice should’ve burned us both.

“I–”

“You’ve done enough to me tonight!” I screamed, and the sound cracked like thunder in the air. My throat stung from the force of it.

He flinched. He actually flinched. And then I saw it, the regret. So raw, so unguarded, it nearly undid me. Like he’d come back to himself and realized what he’d done. Like he’d blacked out and only now was standing in the aftermath.

He took a step back.

“I never wanted this,” I whispered, my voice breaking completely. “I never wanted you to make me feel like this. I thought you were the one man I could truly trust in that regard.”

He watched me, his face a battlefield of pain, guilt, longing. But worst of all… fear. Fear of what he’d done. Fear of what he was. Maybe even fear of losing me forever. I didn’t care.

“I said get out,” I whispered again, this time so quietly it almost didn’t carry. But the words trembled with more power than any scream .

For a long moment, I honestly thought he wouldn’t move.

But then, without a word, Rafe turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

And yet that final glance, so hollow and sorrowful, stayed with me long after he was gone.

His dark eyes had looked bright again as if he’d just come to. But the damage…

The damage was already done.

***

The knock came too softly for Rafe. But I didn’t answer.

I...couldn’t. Sleep had barely touched me.

When it did, it came in fleeting, twisted fragments and memories I couldn’t escape.

My body ached from the bruises blooming beneath my skin and the tension I’d held all night.

My throat was raw from screaming, my chest hollowed out by grief, by confusion, by him .

I stared at the ceiling for hours, numb and wired all at once, waiting for morning to mean something. It didn’t. Another knock. A little firmer this time. “Adela.” His voice was quiet and hesitant.

I couldn’t find my voice to respond, and maybe that was my first mistake. Because a second later, the door creaked open, and Rafe stepped inside.

He looked… wrecked .

The man who had pressed me into his desk like he wanted to break me, dominate me, destroy me, was gone.

In his place stood someone hollowed out by grief.

His eyes were rimmed with shadows, his face pale, lips drawn tight.

There was blood on the cuff of his shirt.

His knuckles were scraped and healing badly.

His shoulders were tense like he was bracing for a bullet, not words.

For once, I didn’t know what to say. So I said nothing.

He didn’t move closer. He just stood there, eyes locked on mine, his throat working like he was swallowing glass. “I–” His voice cracked. He stopped. Took a slow, shaky breath through his nose. “I shouldn’t have… I– ”

“Don’t.” My voice came out hoarse, ragged, a ghost of itself. But it still cracked through the silence like a whip. “Don’t say you’re sorry, Rafe. Not when you meant every second of it. Not when you found pleasure from it.”

He flinched. And then his eyes met mine again, glistening with unshed tears. “I’ve never felt this before,” he said, voice splintering, words barely more than breath.

My stomach twisted. I wanted to hate him. I deserved to hate him. But the ache in my chest told me the truth I didn’t want to face. I never would. “What?” My voice softened, no matter how I tried to stop it. “What haven’t you felt?”

His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists like he could squeeze the answer back inside him. But then, with a quiet, broken exhale, the word slipped free. “Regret.”

The room spun, or maybe it was just me. I swallowed hard, glancing down to see the bruises his fingers left on my hips.

He didn’t move or dare touch me. He just stood there, bleeding out in front of me, without a drop of blood hitting the floor.

And I hated that I still loved him.

It was twisted and wrong, and I couldn’t explain it. How I could still want him after everything. But I did. And the worst part was…I saw it in him, too. That fear. That desperation.

He thought I was going to leave him.

He should have been right. I wanted him to be right.

But my heart was a stupid, reckless thing.

“Come here,” I whispered.

His hesitation lasted only a breath. Then he crossed the room, slow and heavy, like every step carried the weight of everything he'd done. He carefully sank onto the edge of the bed beside me. His hand reached out, and I let him help me sit up.

He held my face in both hands, thumbs brushing over the dried tear tracks on my cheeks, as if he could erase them with touch alone. His eyes were glassy, full of a grief so sharp it stole my breath.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he whispered.

“I don’t think you can.”

He didn’t argue. The silence between us wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy. Like one wrong word would crack it open and send us both spiraling again.

But suddenly, something changed. The house went quiet. Not just quiet –silent. Unnaturally so.

Rafe went still. Every muscle in his body tensed like a trigger. His hands clenched against my skin for a fraction of a second before he pulled away, rising to his feet in one fluid, lethal motion. His eyes narrowed, scanning nothing and everything at once.

“Get dressed,” he said sharply.

My eyes widened at his sudden shift. “Wha–”

The silence shattered.

A blast, sharp and sudden, rocked the world. The windows rattled in their frames. The walls shuddered. The floor pitched beneath my feet like the ground itself had flinched.

I stumbled, catching myself against the dresser. Heart pounding.

Rafe was already moving out the door in a flash, barking sharp orders into the hallway.

I shoved myself into the closest pair of jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt.

Gunfire.

Rafe’s face hardened, jaw clenched like steel. But his eyes reflected something else when they snagged on mine. Fear.

Not the kind that came from losing control of the battlefield.

The kind that came from the thought of losing me.

He turned toward me without a word and crossed the room in three strides, wrenching open the safe hidden behind a panel in the wall.

He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed a sleek black gun and pressed it into my palm, his hand closing over mine.

“Stay with me,” he said, his voice low and fierce. “Don’t hesitate.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I nodded, nausea welling up.

We moved through the house together, the air heavy with the scent of smoke and the crack of gunfire. Rafe’s men were already scrambling, shouting orders, and taking positions. The entire estate had somehow turned into a goddamn war zone.

I stayed at Rafe’s side, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might bruise my ribs. He kept glancing at me, not out of fear that I couldn’t handle myself, but like he was checking I was still there. Still breathing. Still his.

We rounded a corner just as a hail of bullets tore through the air, forcing us to dive for cover. Rafe swore, firing back, and the chaos splintered around us. In the mess of shouting and gunfire, we got separated.

“Adela!” Rafe’s voice was rough and furious, but I couldn’t see him through the smoke and movement.

“Go!” I shouted back. “I’ll find you!”

I didn’t wait for an answer. I moved, keeping low, my heart in my throat. The estate was a maze, the once-elegant halls filled with the sound of violence. I kept my finger steady on the trigger, my breath tight and controlled, but I stopped short when I rounded a corner.

A man was waiting.

He was tall and broad, dressed in black, with a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other. But he didn’t raise either. He didn’t even move.

“Adela Sinclair,” he said, his voice calm and almost…respectful. “I was looking for you.”

My grip on the gun tightened. “If you know who I am, you know this is a bad time to test me.”