Chapter 6: Accused

~Ioana~

"You have five seconds to tell me who you are, or I'll assume you don't need your tongue anymore."

Those were the first words I heard immediately after waking up. Hands gripped my jaw, pain flaring upon contact, causing me to snap my eyes open, tears welling up.

The first thing that entered my sight was him—a broad-shouldered, bare-chested man. Strange curls of tattoos ran up to his shoulders, disappearing from my view. He towered over me, razor-sharp jaw clenched, chest heaving, predatory golden eyes shining with silent but deadly fury.

'Where am I… how?'

My response was only unintelligible stutters, my speech slightly slurred. My tongue felt heavy, filling me with incredulity.

He was almost like a perfected statue made by the gods—until he moved.

His voice came again, this time lower, like a brewing storm, sending shivers down my spine.

"Don't play dumb with me. Answer me," he growled. "Who sent you? Or do you think I'll let a prostitute into my bed without consequences?"

"What—? I don't know what you mean! I don't even know how I got here!" I said, struggling to sit up, flinching as his fingers dug into my skin, leaving marks.

I barely finished speaking before trying to lift my arm, but my limbs felt strangely heavy, instead sliding briefly against the smooth sheets. The unfamiliar luxurious room entered my sight—heavy black drapes, with daylight filtering in through the gaps, lighting up the place just enough for visibility.

I didn't have enough time to process what I was seeing before memories came flooding in, flickering before my eyes.

The darkened night. The heat. My limbs entwined with his. Breathless passion. Sweat dripping down deliciously. A hoarse gasp. Heated breath brushing against my reddened ears.

'Last night, we— I…'

Realizing what I had done, the blood drained from my face, a chill setting in.

'What had I done?'

I flinched in panic before wincing in pain. A soreness shot through my limbs, especially between my legs. I flushed furiously, but the color on my face couldn't stay for long.

His hand latched onto my wrist, his fury evident.

"Lies!" he bellowed, his voice like a blade. "Women like you will do anything—" he spat the word as if tasting something bitter "—to save themselves."

"I don't— I didn't— please, I don't know anything!" My voice was high-pitched, disagreeing. I found myself pleading before him.

'Maybe if I— maybe just if I give in first, if I plead, he'll leave me alone.'

But he had different plans.

Yanking me roughly from the bed, I swallowed the scream that was about to burst from my throat, a muffled groan taking its place. It felt like my joint was about to come off from my arm. With a jolt, I fell back onto the bed, instinctively gripping the black silken sheets. Their scent, like nothing I had ever smelled before, seemed to remind me just how much I didn't belong here.

"I've seen a lot of women like you, dressing themselves up pitifully like victims, but they're nothing but venomous snakes waiting to strike. Nothing but a spy."

He jerked back as if burned by fire, the disgust palpable in his eyes, his lips pursed into a straight line.

I shrank, retreating under his vehement gaze. A chill went down my spine, followed by a sharp prick in my heart, a lump widening in my throat.

"I'm not a spy!" I denied, anger bleeding into my voice.

"What? Angry that I saw through your disguise too early?" He gave a dark chuckle, his chest rumbling from the sound.

'If I keep staying here, will he do something much worse?'

The thought flashed through my mind, fear clutching at my throat, dread coiling around my stomach like a viper.

I clenched my jaw, confusion fogging my mind. 'Where was I? How did I get here?'

My mind drew a blank. The only scene I could grasp was the man in black who had captured me.

'Was it them?'

My heart dropped. 'Was I part of some twisted scheme to be discarded later?'

I didn't want to be.

But one thing was clear—I had to leave. It was obvious how unwelcome I was, and he made no effort to hide it.

I turned my head away, eyes locking onto the exit. Sucking in a large breath, strength filling my unresponsive and sore limbs, I pushed off from the bed in a swift second, dashing toward the door.

Leaving behind everything.

This might be my second escape, but I wouldn't fail.

But just then—

A sharp pain shot through my scalp. I screamed, falling onto the rug-covered floor.

It was painful—the rug cushioned my fall, but it hurt more than any other pain he had inflicted. It wasn’t an outward wound but something deeper.

I swore I heard something crack—

The dignity I never had.

He had grabbed my hair, weaving his fingers through it.

"Running, little spy?" he taunted, probably relishing the way I struggled to hold in the tears of humiliation.

His golden eyes gleamed with amusement, his lips curling upward in sick delight.

I gritted my teeth.

'Why can't he just let me go?! Wasn't that what he wanted?!'

But the words that came out were nothing but a repeated denial—

"I'm not a spy! So let me go!"

I was too weak—too timid—to voice my real thoughts. The years of suppression still left their invisible marks on my skin, and it's tolls in my mind. I flinched between words, my shoulders trembling.

Just then.

Suddenly, at my words, the very air stilled, it seemed to be alit with tiny sparks crackling with unspoken tension.

A whimper left my lips, pressure bearing down in my shoulders, suddenly the urge to shrink myself prevailed, the hairs on my arms standing upright.

He yanked my hair upward, clicking his tongue. His dark golden eyes, obscured by the shadows, gleamed ominously.

And from his cupid’s bow-red lips came chilling words—

"You don’t give the orders here, little spy…"

His voice dropped dangerously low.

"You should have known before you crawled into my bed like a whore."