Chapter 7

Weakly, barely above a whisper, I repeated the only words that mattered anymore:

"I'm… hungry."

His footsteps thundered toward me in response.

Without warning, he yanked me off the bed and slammed my back against the cold stone wall. The impact sent a fresh wave of pain through my already aching body. My breath caught in my throat.

"You think I care?" he snarled, his eyes burning into mine with raw contempt.

Then, his gaze shifted lower. His fingers brushed against my breast, pausing at the faint mark beside it. His brows narrowed. "What's this?" he asked sharply. "That doesn’t look like a tattoo."

I didn’t answer immediately. I just stared at him, empty and expressionless, refusing to blink, refusing to flinch. If it would get him angrier, if it would finally make him snap and end this — maybe it was better that way. Maybe death would be a release.

"Answer me," he growled, his hand clamping onto my nipple and twisting sharply.

I winced, gasping in pain, and finally whispered, “It’s not a tattoo. I was born with it.”

He let go, recoiling as if my body itself offended him. His face twisted in disgust as he turned to the bed, now stained with the blood from what he’d done to me.

“Disgusting,” he muttered under his breath.

Then he looked at me with a glare so cold I felt the weight of it in my chest.

"Leave my room. Now."

The way he said it made my stomach drop. His jaw was clenched. His voice held a dangerous edge.

“I… I can’t go out like this. You tore my clothes,” I whispered, trying not to tremble, though I was already shivering.

He stared at me for a long moment — silent, unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned to the drawer beside his bed and picked up a cellphone.

“Come here now,” he said sharply into it, then ended the call without waiting for a reply.

He pulled open the drawer again and grabbed a long shirt — plain, dark, masculine. Slowly, he walked toward me and, to my utter shock, put the shirt over my head himself. He didn’t say anything. Just dressed me like I was nothing but a rag doll and turned back, slumping onto the throne - like chair at the far end of the room.

My heart twisted in confusion. Why? Why would he do that?

There was no kindness in his eyes. No softness. But still, something about the gesture… confused me. Did he care? No. That couldn’t be. Not someone like him.

A knock came at the door, breaking the moment.

Before I could stop myself, my lips moved.

“Come in.”

The words slipped out in a whisper, but loud enough to be heard.

The room froze.

I covered my mouth with both hands, eyes wide. What had I just done?

He stood immediately, his steps quick and harsh. He walked up to me and struck me hard across the cheek. The sound of the slap echoed in the room like a gunshot.

"How dare you speak in my room without permission?" he thundered.

Tears rolled down my face, hot and unstoppable. I didn’t even know what to think anymore. Was this all my fault? Was there ever going to be a way out?

Valentina entered silently, keeping her head low. He turned to her sharply.

"Get this trash out of my room," he barked. "Give her new clothes. And return my shirt."

"Yes, my Prince," Valentina said calmly, approaching me. She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the door.

We were almost out when his voice stopped us.

"Feed her. Give her real food. And from now on, she cleans only this room. No other room. Understood?"

Valentina bowed slightly. "Yes, my Prince."

My heart clenched. Why me? Why this room? What is he planning?

Damien’s POV

As they left, I returned to my seat, my thoughts swirling with unfamiliar unease. That girl… What’s even her name again?

Her face was so young, yet her body — mature, tempting, untouchable and innocent all at once. What was this feeling tightening in my chest? Why hadn’t I ended her the moment I was done?

It had to be because I enjoyed her. That’s all. Just lust. Just pleasure. Nothing else. Right?

A scream jolted me from my thoughts.

I shot up, rushing to the door.

Outside, I saw chaos.

Anna stood with my shirt in one hand and her other around the girl's throat, choking her. The girl was completely naked, shivering, struggling weakly.

Fury exploded in my chest. I yanked Anna away and snatched the shirt from her. I threw it to the girl. She scrambled to catch it, covering herself with trembling fingers.

And then — him.

Arian. My best guard. His eyes were locked on the girl’s body, his tongue slowly licking his lips like a starving animal.

My vision went red angrily.

Without hesitation, I marched toward him, pulled the dagger from his belt, and plunged it deep into his stomach.

He gasped, choking on blood, collapsing onto the floor.

I didn’t even blink.

Turning to the girl, I slapped her hard across the face.

“Put it on!” I snapped. “Stupid girl!”

She flinched, quickly obeying, clutching the shirt to her broken body.

Then I turned to Anna, still spouting nonsense, mocking her with her words.

I slapped her. Once on each cheek.

“Keep your poison to yourself,” I spat.