Engraving

Valentina’s POV

The moment he entered me, it felt like my body split apart.

No warning. No pause. No voice in the dark to say, now, just the violent stretch of something too big, his cock too fast, too cold. I screamed before I even knew what I was screaming for. Pain ripped through me like fire licking bone. I clawed at the sheets, my nails tearing through the fabric, but there was no escaping it. No escaping him.

He didn’t speak, not a single word. He groaned low, not in pleasure, no, it sounded like satisfaction. Ownership. He thrust again, harder, like he was trying to shove me through the bedframe, and my cries died in the sheets.

I wasn’t prepared. Nothing about me was ready for this. My body, my mind, none of it had caught up to the reality of what was happening.

I gasped between sobs, “Please—”

His hand gripped the back of my neck, forcing my face into the sheets. “Don’t speak.”

That voice, flat, merciless, sliced through the air. He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. It was the kind of voice that made your spine lock up and your soul recoil.

Time blurred. The darkness swallowed the hours The walls didn’t change. Only his breathing did, slow, even, controlled, as if everything he did was timed, planned.

My thighs shook violently under the pressure of each thrust. I lost track of the bruises forming in between. My inner thighs burned. My voice broke from how many times I screamed, begged, whimpered into the bed until even those small sounds turned into silence.

I didn’t know how long it went on. Maybe an hour. Maybe two. But it felt like my entire life was being erased in the space between his breaths.

At one point, I stopped fighting the pain and tried to leave my body instead. My eyes stayed open, unblinking, staring at nothing. The sheets blurred. The edges of the room curved in. I told myself, You are not here. You are not Valentina. You are somewhere else. Somewhere safe.

But he dragged me back every time.

Every time I thought he was done, his weight returned, his hips ground into mine, his cock hit deeper with each thrust, his pace cruel and methodical. My muscles ached. I couldn’t cry anymore. My body was soaked in sweat, hair clinging to my face and neck. I felt myself slipping.

That’s when I passed out the first time. When I came to, he was still there.

Still moving. Still using me. My legs were numb. I didn’t feel my knees anymore. Just the dull, sick ache in my pelvis, like something had torn inside me. Maybe it had. I didn’t want to check. I didn’t want to know.

He didn't stop until he decided to. Until he groaned deeply, finally pulling out, the sudden absence almost as violent as the invasion itself. I collapsed onto my stomach, unable to move, breathe, or think.

A long silence followed. I couldn’t lift my head. I was too weak. My arms trembled just lying still.

Then I heard the rustle of fabric, his pants, shirt—slow, deliberate. Like none of this had taken any effort. Like I hadn’t just been broken into nothing beneath him.

He stood beside the bed, watching me. I felt it before I saw it, his gaze. Cold. Detached. Like I was nothing more than an object he'd finished using.

“You’re quiet now,” he said.

My mouth was too dry to speak. Blood pounded in my ears. My skin crawled with heat and shame.

“You’ll be sore for days,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “That’s good. It’ll remind you who you belong to.”

The words hit harder than the strikes earlier. Not because they were loud or cruel, but because they were so calm. So indifferent.

I tried to lift my head. “Why...?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Why what?”

“Why are you doing this to me?” I whispered.

His eyes narrowed, not with confusion but contempt. “Because no one’s ever punished you properly before.”

He turned and walked to the far side of the room. Snapped his fingers.

The door opened.

Two servants entered, women. Young. Eyes dead. They didn’t flinch when they saw me, stripped, broken, lying limp on bloodstained sheets. They moved like this was normal routine.

“Clean her. She’s bleeding too much,” he said without emotion.

One of them nodded and approached me with a bowl of warm water. I whimpered and tried to pull away.

“Don’t touch me,” I hissed, weakly.

The girl didn't respond. She just began wiping between my legs, her movements mechanical. The cloth turned red.

“Do not disobey them,” the Alpha said, turning toward the door. “They’re the only reason you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.”

Then he was gone. No backward glance. Just the heavy click of the lock behind him.

I tried to crawl away from them, but my arms gave out. My body wasn’t mine anymore. My voice had disappeared somewhere between the first scream and the last. All I had left was what he left me with, pain, humiliation, and a collar locked around my neck like a brand.

They carried me to a new room. Smaller and sterile. A thin bed on the floor. No windows. Just cold stone and a single dim bulb flickering overhead. Like a prison cell.

They left me there without a word. I curled on my side, shaking uncontrollably. My legs were sticky with dried blood. I wanted to cry, but even my tears had limits. They’d dried up hours ago. What was left was something quieter. More dangerous.

Hate.

It didn’t come in loud, vengeful waves. It crept in like frost under the skin. Slow. Quiet. Freezing.

I thought about his face. The way he looked at me like I wasn’t a person. Just a thing.

Something shifted in me then. Something cold. Steady. It didn’t erase the fear but it changed the shape of it.

I didn’t want to survive anymore. I wanted to win. Somehow. Some way. I wanted him to regret ever touching me.

Hours passed and I didn't realize when I dozed off. The next morning, if it was morning—the same servant came back. She set down a plate of food and said nothing. The bruises on my thighs made it hard to sit up. I forced myself to eat anyway.

She glanced at the collar around my neck and hesitated. “He hates you but wouldn't keep them on forever,” she said quietly. “Only until you stop fighting.”

“I’m not going to stop.”

She looked at me for a moment longer, then turned and left.

I didn’t know how much time passed. My mind drifted in and out. Sleep came in waves, but my body never fully rested.

Until I heard the door again open. Footsteps. Not soft ones. He was back.

The Alpha stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room like it bored him. He carried something in his hand, a small box.

“Get up,” he said. My body screamed in protest, but I stood up.

He approached, slowly, watching every flinch, every tremble.

“You’re still alive. Impressive.”

I said nothing. He lifted the box and opened it slowly revealing a slender tattoo needle—cold, precise, like it was eager to taste my skin.

My stomach dropped. “What is that?”

“You think your punishment's done?” he said, stepping closer. “No, Valentina. Last night was only the beginning.”

I backed away. “I—I thought—”

“You think nothing. I bought you, I'm your owner and until I'm tired of you, you don't get to decide when I dispose you or not. That was the exchange.”

He stepped even closer, until the tattoo needle was inches from my face. His expression didn’t change.

Then he whispered, so low I almost didn’t catch it: “Now let’s see how much pain you can take... when I carve my name into your own skin.”