Page 129 of The Colour of Revenge

Martha never cared.

And I won't waste my breath hating her.

I learn fast that Lucian is even more of a monster than my father.

Lucian isn't just cruel. He's patient about it.

He doesn't lash out in sudden bursts of fury like my father. He calculates his punishments and ensures they have a purpose.

Pain should teach lessons. Fear should break wills.

That's what he believes.

That's what I learn.

The first time I talk back, he hits me.

The impact sends me stumbling, my head snapping to the side. A bright, white-hot burst of pain spreads across my face, ringing in my ears.

The metallic tang of blood pools in my mouth. I straighten slowly, blinking away the haze.

I won't cry.

Lucian doesn't flinch at my reaction.

My eyes stay locked on the room behind him. This room that's become yet another prison cell. A bed is the only furniture in the room. I don't even have a wardrobe—Lucian brings me a carefully chosen outfit for me each morning.

He watches me, his lips curling in amusement. "Your father assured me you'd be obedient by now," he murmurs. "Yet here you are, still snarling like a feral cat."

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. "I guess he oversold me."

The air between us crackles with tension. His jaw tightens as his fingers twitch at his sides. "Careful," he warns, his tone deceptively calm.

"Push me too far, Naomi, and you'll regret it." He also refuses to use my new name, and each time I hear the nameNaomi,it makes me feel like I’m still a child, being beaten and broken by all the men in my life.Perhaps I haven’t changed as much as I thought.

I want to tell him I already regret every second in his presence. Instead, I swallow the words, biting my tongue until I taste copper. Every time I fight him, he wins in some way. But I can't always stop myself.

Lucian steps closer, his shadow swallowing me whole. His cologne—a sharp blend of bergamot and something darker—fills my nose, making me want to recoil. He's too controlled and precise, which scares me more than rage ever could.

"Do you know why I don't break my toys all at once?" he murmurs, reaching out to tilt my chin up with a single, unrelenting finger.

I jerk away, but his hand clamps down on my jaw, his grip firm and bruising.

"Because I enjoy the process," he says, voice laced with satisfaction. His thumb presses into my cheekbone, just enough to make me wince. "Breaking someone takes patience. Precision. It's an art. And you, my dear, are proving to be a rather stubborn canvas."

I force myself to meet his gaze, summoning every ounce of defiance. That's all I have left.

"And you're just another pathetic man trying to feel powerful by tearing someone else down," I retort, my voice steady despite the tremor in my fingers. "Must be exhausting."

The slap comes fast. A sharp, cracking sound fills the air before pain explodes across my face.

I stumble but catch myself, my pulse hammering as I taste blood. Tears threaten, but I lock them down, refusing to let him see my weakness.

Lucian leans in, his breath ghosting over my ear. "Keep testing me, Naomi. I enjoy the challenge."

His tone is almost amused. Almost. But I hear the warning beneath it.

He steps back, straightening his cuffs as if nothing happened. That's what terrifies me most.