Page 17

Chapter 17

Holly

I woke up to the cold emptiness of the bed, the sheets tangled around my legs, still holding onto the warmth of a night I couldn’t believe had happened. My heart raced as I took in the room—the way the morning light poured through the curtains, illuminating every corner with an almost cruel clarity.

Damien’s scent lingered in the air, intoxicating and familiar, but he was gone. I pushed myself up on my elbows, scanning the room for any sign of him.

Nothing. Just silence, thick and suffocating.

Last night hit me all at once, a wave crashing over me that pulled me under before I could catch my breath. The anger bubbled up from somewhere deep inside, mixing with shame and confusion. How could I have let it happen? The way he’d touched me—his hands rough and possessive—flashed through my mind like a strobe light, reminding me of every moment that had led to that point.

I could still feel his fingers digging into my skin, how he’d held me as if I were both precious and disposable at once. My heart thudded painfully against my ribs as memories flooded back: his low voice whispering things meant to shatter my resolve, his lips claiming mine like he owned them. And part of me craved it—the dominance, the rawness—but another part recoiled in horror at what it meant.

Jealousy surged through me when I remembered how he’d been with that other girl earlier at the estate—his hand on her hip while she laughed up at him like she belonged there. Rage burned hotter than any fire as I replayed it all: how effortlessly he’d commanded attention without even trying.

I buried my face in the pillow, willing away the tears that threatened to spill over. I hated him for how easy it was for him to pull me back into this chaos—a chaos I had fought so hard to escape.

But most of all? I hated myself for letting him take me apart again.

I should have felt relieved he was gone, grateful for the silence that wrapped around me like a warm blanket. Time to think, to process what had just happened. But the truth? It felt like he’d abandoned me, left me in this swirl of emotions and memories.

Rolling onto my back, I stared at the ceiling, tracing the patterns in the paint with my eyes. What the fuck did I do? My heart raced with every thought that flashed through my mind. The weight of it all pressed down on me—heavy and suffocating.

My body ached in ways I couldn’t explain, a mixture of pleasure and pain that reminded me of every moment we shared. This should feel like regret. It should feel like a mistake. But it didn’t.

It just felt like Damien.

Memories crashed over me—the way his hands had gripped my hips, the heat of his breath against my neck as he pulled me closer. How could something so wrong feel so right? Each recollection twisted my insides, leaving me tangled in confusion.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the flood of sensations that came rushing back. The kisses we shared weren’t just physical; they were charged with years of unresolved tension and longing. I hated how easily he slipped back into my life, igniting feelings I thought I’d buried deep.

I wanted to scream at myself for letting him in again, for being drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The way he could shift from anger to desire in an instant made it impossible to breathe sometimes.

As I lay there, trapped between desire and despair, I grappled with the truth—I wasn’t sure if I could ever truly escape him. My heart clenched at the thought; how could I reconcile these feelings? This mess was everything I had tried to avoid since he walked away two years ago.

But now? Now he was back—more dangerous than ever—and somehow… it felt like home.

I forced myself to sit up; the sheets slipping away as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The chill of the floor made me shiver, grounding me in the reality that I couldn’t escape. Last night had happened, but I refused to dwell on it any longer.

I padded to the bathroom. The mirror reflected a girl with wild hair and eyes still glazed with sleep—nothing like the confident woman I wanted to be.

I turned on the shower, letting the steam fill the small space while I stripped down, each piece of clothing falling to the floor like my resolve. As the hot water cascaded over me, I let it wash away everything: my guilt, my anger, and most importantly, him. I scrubbed my skin as if it could erase his touch, but no matter how hard I tried, memories lingered like stubborn shadows.

After what felt like hours, I stepped out and wrapped a towel around myself. My reflection was clearer now—red cheeks and a determined glint in my hazel eyes. I could pretend last night hadn’t happened; it was just another mistake in a long line of them.

I dressed quickly in a comfortable pair of jeans and a loose boyfriend tee that felt more like armor than clothing. Each layer covered me from head to toe—physically shielding me from thoughts of Damien. With every button fastened and strand of hair tamed into place, I pieced together an image that would hold up against whatever came next.

I caught sight of my phone on the nightstand, but I ignored it as if it were on fire. If Damien wanted to play games, he’d have to find someone else willing to join him.

I stepped out of my room with a newfound determination buzzing through me. No more slipping back into old patterns; today would be different. Today, I would take control and show everyone—including myself—that last night meant nothing.

I hesitated at the top of the stairs, listening to the faint sound of my father’s voice drifting up from the kitchen. It was sharp, clipped, like he was already in work mode even though it was still early. The smell of coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the tension that hung heavy in my chest.

Something had shifted since last night. I could feel it gnawing at me. Did he find out? Did he know about me and Damien? My stomach twisted at the thought. I didn’t want to imagine how that conversation would play out—my father’s disappointment slicing through me like a knife.

Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself and descended the stairs slowly, every creak of the wood beneath my feet echoing my apprehension. As I entered the kitchen, I found him standing there in his usual suit—impeccably tailored, as always—looking more like a man ready for a board meeting than a father having breakfast with his daughter.

He barely glanced at me when I walked in, his attention focused on something just out of sight on the counter.

“Something was delivered for you this morning,” he said without preamble.

I frowned, my heart quickening. “What do you mean?” My voice came out softer than I intended, laced with confusion.

He turned slightly but didn’t meet my eyes. “A package. It’s on the table.” His tone remained cool and detached, as if discussing something mundane like last night’s game scores rather than what felt like a potential bombshell.

I moved to where he gestured, glancing at the small black box that sat innocuously on the table. Anxiety coiled tighter in my gut as I approached it. My mind raced with possibilities—what could it be? The questions piled up as I picked up the box and examined it closely.

No label. No return address. Just my name, written in perfect script that made my heart race.

Holly Walker.

A cold chill ran down my spine as I stared at it, a familiar tension tightening around my chest. Damien? The thought darted through my mind uninvited, sending a shiver through me. I glanced up at my father, who still had his back turned, oblivious to the turmoil swirling inside me.

I reached for the box cautiously, half-expecting it to explode or reveal some dark secret when I opened it. My fingers brushed against the smooth surface as if it were a live wire ready to spark at any moment.

My father’s gaze pierced through me, impatience radiating off him like heat from a fire. “Take it upstairs. I don’t have time for whatever it is.”

His tone felt dismissive, like I was a nuisance interrupting his busy day. I nodded, gripping the box tightly as if it were my lifeline, and walked away. Each step up the stairs felt heavy, my pulse quickening with every creak of the wood beneath my feet.

It’s fine. It’s probably fine.

I repeated the mantra to myself like a protective spell against the unknown lurking within that box. As I entered my room, I placed it on my desk and took a deep breath. The morning light streamed through the window, illuminating the dark surface and casting strange shadows that seemed to dance around me.

With shaking hands, I slowly lifted the lid. Inside was another box—smaller, shiny black—like one of those Russian nesting dolls I used to play with as a child. My throat tightened as curiosity warred with anxiety.

I swallowed hard, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against the cool surface of this new mystery. It felt wrong to open it—to peel back another layer when so much uncertainty already surrounded me—but I couldn’t resist.

My breath stopped as I stared into the small black box, disbelief seizing me. Inside were hands—severed, pale, and unnervingly still. Dried blood crusted at the wrists, a grotesque reminder of violence that turned my stomach.

I stumbled back, knocking over my chair with a loud crash that echoed through my room.

No. No. No.

Panic clawed at my throat as bile rose in my chest, threatening to spill over. It took me a full five seconds to comprehend the horror unfolding before me—the lifeless appendages nestled inside like some twisted trophy.

The reality was too much to bear.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, desperate to wake up from this nightmare. But when I opened them again, the scene remained unchanged, the severed hands stark against the soft velvet lining of the box.

And then it clicked—something in me jolted awake as I stared at them longer. They looked familiar.

A sickening recognition washed over me like ice water coursing through my veins. My heart raced as dread curled around my insides.

These hands…

They belonged to the guy from last night—the one Damien had brutally attacked. The realization sent shockwaves through my body, leaving me trembling as the full weight of what I was looking at crashed down on me.

Images flashed through my mind: his face, panic in his eyes when Damien lunged at him; his terrified expression as he scrambled away from us both.

This wasn’t just a warning; it was a message—a declaration that Damien had crossed every line imaginable and dragged me along for the ride.

As fear enveloped me, I forced myself to look closer, scrutinizing every detail. The angle of the wrists, the familiar shape of those fingers—it all made sense now in a horrific way that left me breathless.

What had he done?

I stumbled further back into my room, heart racing wildly against my ribcage as dread gripped me tighter than any embrace ever could.

My heart raced as I stumbled back, almost tripping over my chair in a frantic bid to escape the horror laid out before me. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of what I had just uncovered.

As my gaze darted around the room, something white caught my eye—a small card tucked beside the grotesque offering. My fingers trembled as I reached for it, every nerve ending screaming at me to stop. But curiosity drew me in against my better judgment.

I pulled it from its resting place, the card feeling impossibly heavy in my hand. The handwriting was perfect—elegant and fluid, just like Damien’s script. My stomach twisted at the familiarity of it.

Now he’ll never touch anyone again. You’re mine.

The words burned into my mind, echoing through my thoughts like a cruel mantra. It took a moment for their meaning to sink in fully, and when they did, my vision blurred with unshed tears. The reality of what Damien had done crashed over me like a wave, threatening to pull me under.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t help; all I could see were those lifeless hands and the stark message that accompanied them. You’re mine. The possessiveness wrapped around me like a noose, tightening until it was hard to breathe.

Panic clawed its way up my throat as nausea washed over me in waves. My hands shook violently now, dropping the card as if it were a live grenade ready to explode. I barely registered the sound of paper hitting the floor before I turned and fled toward the bathroom.

The hallway felt endless, each step heavy and labored as dread filled every corner of my mind. I slammed the bathroom door behind me and fell to my knees just in time; bile surged up from deep within me.

I retched into the toilet, each heave feeling like an eruption of horror and despair. The contents of my stomach emptied out in violent bursts as reality spiraled further out of control. How could he do this? How could he claim ownership over someone’s life so ruthlessly?

I braced myself against the cool porcelain, struggling to catch my breath between sobs that mixed with dry heaves. It felt like everything inside me was unraveling—a tight knot coming undone strand by strand—and there was no stopping it now.

I gripped the sink, my knuckles white as I leaned over, gasping for air. Each breath felt like shards of glass slicing through my throat. The world tilted, shaking beneath me, everything blurring together until nothing felt real.

This isn’t happening.

I repeated the mantra in my mind, trying to ground myself in a reality that felt too horrifying to accept.

This isn’t happening.

But it was. I could feel the weight of the truth pressing down on me, suffocating and relentless. My heart raced as memories surged forward—Damien’s fierce eyes, his smirk, the way he had pulled me close and whispered promises of possession that now echoed like curses in my ears.

I knew who sent that box. The thought pierced through the fog of panic like a blade. Damien.

His name tasted bitter on my tongue. The realization sent another wave of nausea crashing over me.

Damien did this.

He had crossed every line imaginable, and somehow, he had done it all for me. The depths of his obsession curled around my heart like a serpent, squeezing tighter with every breath.

My mind spiraled through a maze of disbelief and fear. I thought about the rage that had transformed him into something terrifying—something powerful enough to silence another person forever. A cold chill settled deep within me at the thought of what he was capable of.

The images from last night flashed before my eyes—his fury when he had found that guy with me, how quickly he turned violence into an art form just to protect what he claimed was his. A shiver ran down my spine at the memory of his hands on me—rough yet possessive—and how that duality left me feeling torn between desire and horror.

He didn’t just want me; he wanted to own every part of me—even if it meant eliminating anyone who dared come close.

I pushed away from the sink, fighting against the urge to curl up into a ball and disappear. I couldn’t let him control me like this—not again. But as I stood there trembling, uncertainty gripped me harder than ever before.

What would he do next? Would this be the beginning or end of something darker?

I gripped the counter, my knuckles white against the cool surface. My breath came in quick gasps, heart racing as the reality of what I had just uncovered slammed into me like a freight train.

I need to leave.

The thought pounded through my mind like a war drum. The bathroom felt too small, too suffocating. I needed to get out, to escape this madness that had wrapped itself around my life like a vise.

I need to go to the police.

The idea twisted in my gut, but something held me back. What would I even say?

But I didn’t move. My feet felt glued to the floor as panic twisted into paralysis.

Because the worst part? Some deep, dark part of me wasn’t scared. It whispered seductive lies, wrapping around my fear like a warm blanket on a cold night. That part of me felt… protected.

Protected by Damien’s fury and violence; it ignited something inside me that I couldn’t quite grasp but desperately wanted to explore. The possessiveness he exhibited clawed at something buried deep within—something that craved intensity and passion even if it was twisted and dangerous.

A shiver coursed through me at the thought of his eyes—dark and stormy—filled with an unyielding determination when he confronted that guy last night. I could still hear the thud of flesh against flesh echoing in my mind, feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins as he’d claimed what was his with ferocity.

What is wrong with me?

It sickened me, yet it exhilarated me at the same time. How could I crave his protection while knowing the darkness he carried within him? The contradictions churned inside my mind like a tornado, pulling everything apart while simultaneously drawing me closer to him.

I pressed my forehead against the cool surface of the counter, fighting back tears that threatened to spill over as shame washed over me in waves. What had become of us? What had become of me?

The line between fear and desire blurred until I could hardly see where one ended and the other began.

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, and the girl looking back felt like a stranger. My skin was pale, almost ghostly, and dark circles hung beneath my eyes like heavy shadows. I looked wrecked—hollowed out, as if someone had siphoned away every ounce of light inside me. My heart raced beneath the weight of the silence, pounding like a war drum against my ribcage. I couldn’t tell if it was fear or something worse—something darker that sent a thrill through me at the thought of Damien.

A sharp knock on the door jolted me from my thoughts.

“Holly? Everything okay?” My father’s voice sliced through the air, steady and authoritative.

I forced myself to breathe, trying to steady the wild rhythm of my heart. Clearing my throat felt like an impossible task, but I managed to push out words that sounded normal. “Yeah. Just—just getting ready.”

With shaky hands, I stepped back into my bedroom, keeping my gaze averted from the small black box sitting ominously on my desk. I couldn’t let him see it—not now. Not ever. The last thing I needed was for him to question what had me so shaken up or why I looked like I’d just clawed my way out of a grave.

As I crossed the threshold into the room, everything felt wrong. The walls closed in around me like they were trying to suffocate whatever fragile sense of control I had left. I glanced at my bed, messy sheets tangled together as if reflecting the chaos inside my mind.

I could still hear Damien’s voice echoing in my head—the way he’d claimed his ownership over me so fiercely. You’re mine. Those words resonated deep within me and ignited a spark of something that both terrified and exhilarated me.

But now wasn’t the time for those thoughts to spiral out of control again. I needed to focus on appearing composed and unaffected when all I felt was this raging storm within me.

The buzz of my phone cut through the suffocating silence. I glanced down, dread pooling in my stomach like a heavy stone. The screen lit up with a message from an unknown number, and I felt a chill run down my spine.

Did you get my gift?

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sandpaper.

I knew with terrifying certainty that this wasn’t just a passing threat or a moment of anger. It was an affirmation—his twisted way of claiming me and reminding me that there was no escape from his world.

My fingers trembled as I fought against the urge to reply, to confront him about what he had done.

But what could I say? How could I explain how deeply shaken I felt without sounding like a frightened child?

It wasn’t just fear; it was despair creeping in, gnawing at me like a rat burrowing into rotting wood.

I paced across my room, back and forth like a caged animal. The walls seemed to close in on me, pressing down until it felt like I couldn’t breathe. Damien had crossed every line imaginable, and yet here I was, trapped by his possessiveness and power.

I wanted to scream—to tell him that this wasn’t okay—that I wasn’t okay—but each time I opened my mouth to say something, silence filled the space instead. How could he do this? How could he turn something so violent into his idea of affection?

The message buzzed again beneath my fingertips, pulling me back into reality where everything felt too surreal to comprehend.

You liked it.

A wave of nausea rolled over me as his words echoed in my mind. He didn’t care about boundaries; he only cared about control—and somehow, he believed this was how love worked.

I pressed my hands against my temples, trying to will away the thoughts that spiraled through my mind like an endless loop. There was no denying it anymore: I was entangled in something dangerous and dark—a web spun by Damien that tightened around me with every heartbeat.

And deep down, beneath the layers of panic and fear, there lingered a part of me that craved his chaos—his raw intensity—even if it meant losing myself completely in the process.

And this realization terrified me more than anything else ever could.