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SIXTY-ONE: Time Is Ticking
publish date:
2026-06-29 23:45:56
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Her Neglected Scars SIXTY-ONE: Time Is Ticking
A collective time skip of twenty minutes finds me standing in my own bedroom, silently cursing my existence into the depths of hell.I am packing a small duffel bag with a few changes of clothes, while my back remains firmly turned toward the rest of the room.Sofia is lounging across my velvet armchair, her muddy boots propped up on the edge of the mattress as she casually chews on a bowl of grapes, her eyes glued to the small television set blaring a Russian talk show in the corner.She looks completely unbothered, which sends a spike of suspicion straight into my gut.Why isn’t she panicking?If I move into Konstantin’s quarters, the risk of him discovering the raw, bloody tracks she carved into my back skyrockets to a lethal certainty.She should be doing everything in her power to keep me away from him.As if reading the dark thoughts spinning in my head, Sofia takes a slow sip of her drink and speaks up, her eyes never leaving the television screen. “The Morozov lord seems to b
Her Neglected Scars SIXTY: Pack Up
The white examination paper crinkles loudly beneath me as the doctor finishes smoothing the final layer of gauze across my back.The fabric is clean and stiff, pressing against the weeping gashes Sofia left behind, but the sting of the antiseptic is already giving way to a dull, throbbing ache.My skin is on fire, my nerve endings screaming, but I keep my shoulders perfectly straight.I don’t let a single tear fall.I can’t afford to.The doctor steps away as he picks up a dark amber glass jar from his silver tray.He turns back to me, his aged face etched with a profound, quiet sorrow that makes something ache deep in my chest.“Apply this cream every night, Mistress,” he murmurs as he places the jar into my trembling hands. “It will keep the skin pliable and prevent the deeper lacerations from pulling when you move. It will help the healing process, though the marks . . . the marks will take a long time to fade.”The glass is cold against my palm.I look at the jar, then up at his
Her Neglected Scars FIFTY-NINE: At the Cost of Another's
The two massive guards instantly step into the clinic, their thick, heavy hands clamping down like vices onto the old doctor’s frail shoulders.The old man looks completely terrified, his bottom lip trembling as they begin to forcefully drag his stumbling frame toward the open door.Panic spikes in my chest, hot, wild, and utterly overwhelming.Fired.He’s losing his entire life’s work, his profession, his status—all because I am a coward who can’t face a medical checkup.The crushing weight of guilt is too much to bear.My father raised me to be a tool to destroy men, but I have never wanted to be a monster who ruins innocent people just to protect my own skin.I can’t let another person suffer because of the filthy secrets carried on my back.“No! Stop! Wait!” I shriek, lunging forward out of the corner, my hands reaching out toward Konstantin before my brain can stop me.I grip his thick forearm, the muscle beneath his tailored sleeve as hard and unyielding as solid granite.“Don’t
Her Neglected Scars FIFTY-EIGHT: FIred
The silver medical shears in the doctor’s hand gleam under the harsh fluorescent lights of the east wing clinic.The air here is thick with the chemical burn of rubbing alcohol and the damp, heavy scent of wet wool from Konstantin’s coat, which is still slouched over my trembling shoulders.Every single time I take a breath, the thick white paper covering the examination table crinkles loudly beneath me reminding me of just how trapped I am.The old Morozov family doctor steps closer.He stops right in front of me, adjusting the silver frames of his glasses as his trained eyes scan my face.He has that look—the analytical, overly observant gaze of a physician who spends his life looking at human wreckage and spotting the lies people tell to cover it up.My stomach twists into a hard knot, pulse hammering so violently against my ribs that I’m certain he can see the fabric of my shirt vibrating.He raises a gloved hand, his fingers extending toward the collar of the heavy wool coat, int
Her Neglected Scars FIFTY-SEVEN: The Family Doctor
Before I can even process the small, humorous victory, Konstantin lifts me effortlessly off the ground.I let out a sharp gasp as he hauls my body up onto Z’ver’s saddle, settling me firmly in front of him.He mounts the stallion behind me in one smooth, powerful motion, his chest pressing flush against my back.His massive arms come around either side of my waist to take the reins, effectively trapping me within the heavy, radiating heat of his body.Shit.As the horse shifts, the proximity makes my heart hammer violently against my ribs.I’m completely surrounded by his scent—rain, cedar, and the sharp copper tang of blood.I try to shift forward, trying to create even an inch of space between my back and his chest.“Stop moving so much,” Konstantin commands rough and low, his breath hot against my ear.“You’re going to fall off the fucking horse.”I freeze, my hands gripping the pommel of the saddle so tightly my knuckles turn white.“I’m fine,” I mutter, staring straight ahead at
Her Neglected Scars FIFTY-SIX: My Wife
“Konstantin?!”The screech cuts through the morning fog right outside the cave entrance.My eyes snap open, the gray morning light filtering through the damp rocks and hitting my face.My heart drops straight into my stomach, pure dread freezing the blood in my veins.Irina.I scramble immediately, my limbs tangling in Konstantin’s massive wool coat.The frantic movement sends a burning jolt of agony straight up my spine where the raw whip marks scrape against the rough stone floor.I choke back a gasp, my face flushing hot as I try to push myself away from him.“R-rescue . . .”“The rescue is here,” I stammer, my voice cracking as I shove against his solid, bare chest.But Konstantin doesn’t even open his eyes.He lets out a low, gravelly groan that vibrates right against my front, his heavy arm tightening as a steel band around my waist.“Five more minutes, brat,” he mutters, thick with sleep, dragging my small body forcefully back down into the dirt and right against his radiating
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-NINE: Galina, The Seamstress
The thing about almost-things is that they’re worse than nothing.Nothing, you can handle. Nothing is familiar. Nothing is just Tuesday in the Morozov estate, same as every other Tuesday—cold floors, colder people, and me pretending I don’t notice either. But almost-things? Almost-things leave a r
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-SIX: Carnival Rides
The car ride feels like getting shoved between a live wire and a ticking time bomb. Leonid’s on my left, fidgeting like he’s got caffeine for blood.Konstantin’s on my right, legs spread, arms crossed, brooding like he’s plotting world domination—or someone’s death. Probably mine.I reach for the w
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-TWO: The Truth
The hallway’s silent when I pass through it. Not that it’s unusual—this place is built like a fucking mausoleum, all polished floors and pristine chandeliers, so quiet you can hear your own regrets echo off the goddamn marble.I don’t bother going back to the office tonight. Carlos didn’t say anyth
Her Neglected Scars SIX: Between Hard Poles and Walls
Blending in has never been my strongest suit, especially when it involves pole dancing and psychopaths. I was taught to dance by world-renowned professionals from all over the world, but not this—no, not this. As much as my father wanted me to seduce men, which would mean dancing like this in a nu
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