LARISSA (3)

Rissa woke up naked, her head throbbed as she blinked against the morning light filtering through the windows, the hazy images of the night before came flooding back in a rush.

"Shit," she cursed, her voice sounding raw and foreign to her own ears. "I’m doomed."

Panic sliced through as she bolted upright, her muscles aching in places she hadn't felt in years.

She looked at the pillows beside her; they smelled faintly of tobacco and musk, but the bed was empty.

She scrambled off the mattress without waiting for a second, her knees wobbling as her feet hit the plush carpet. She began gathering her clothes. Her lingerie was crumpled near the foot of the bed, and her dress was tossed further toward the door, she realized how frantic she had been to get them off last night.

"Think, Rissa, think," she hissed to herself, fumbling with the zipper of her dress. Her fingers were shaking so badly she nearly ripped the dress.

Thankfully, it was still early. The house was silent, Ronan wasn't around. She didn't know if he was downstairs or out dealing with his business, and she didn't want to find out. She just needed to erase the evidence of her sin before the rest of the world woke up.

Rissa gently opened the door, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She stepped out into the hallway, tiptoeing on the floor.

She kept her back to the wall, checking around every corner, her eyes darting toward the grand staircase. If Arthur or God forbid Finn’s mum saw her coming out of the black sheep's bedroom in yesterday's clothes, her life was over.

She reached the wing of the house that held her own suite and bolted. She didn't stop until she was inside her room, the door clicked shut and locked behind her. She slumped against the door, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

She was safe…. At least, for now. But then her eyes drifted to the vanity mirror. There, right on the curve of her neck where her hair didn't quite cover, was a dark, purple red mark.

Ronan hadn't just taken her; he had marked her. And she knew, with a sinking feeling in her gut, that a man like Ronan didn't do anything by accident.

Rissa stared at the reflection in the mirror, her chest heaving, she hated him! She hated Ronan for his arrogance, for the way he had been riling her up and poking at her patience since the very day she had moved into this cursed estate.

He looked like a predator who enjoyed watching her squirm under his gaze, and last night, he had finally found a way to truly break her.

The mark on her neck felt like it was burning into her skin. "Get it off," she hissed, her voice cracking. "Get it off me."

She practically threw herself into the ensuite bathroom, turning the shower on so hot the steam instantly clouded the mirrors. She didn't wait for the water to adjust temperature, she stepped under the scalding spray, the heat stinging her sensitized skin, and grabbed a loofah.

She began to scrub, she was trying to scrub away the memory of her own voice begging for him. She pressed the loofah against the side of her neck, dragging them back and forth with a desperate, frantic energy.

Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.

"It’s not there. It’s not there," she whispered, her eyes squeezed shut.

But the more she tried to erase Ronan’s touch, the more the reality of it set in. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the weight of him, the way he’d pinned her wrists, and the look in his dark eyes when she’d finally whispered his name.

Her skin began to turn a raw, angry crimson. She pumped more soap onto the loofah, her movements becoming more violent. She was punishing herself for the pleasure she had felt, for the way she had let her spite for Finn lead her straight into the bed of a monster.

By the time she finally stopped, her arms were shaking and the water was cooling. She stepped out of the shower, shivering, and wiped a hand across the fogged up vanity mirror.

She gasped, her hand flying to her throat.

The mark wasn't gone. If anything, she had made it ten times worse. The localized scrubbing had irritated the surrounding skin, turning the area into a swollen, angry patch of mottled red and deep indigo. What had been a subtle, hidden mark was now a massive, unmistakable bruise that stretched toward her collarbone.

It looked even more like a violent, possessive act than it had before.

"No..." she whimpered, touching the edge of the raw skin. It stung sharply.

She had tried to wash him away, but all she’d done was make his presence on her body even more visible. Now, a simple turtleneck wouldn't be enough. Just as she was reaching for a concealer pallete, there was a knock on her bedroom door.

"Madam?" It was Arthur. "Your husband returned from his trip last night, but he couldn’t find you, so he decided to take your breakfast with you and your family this morning."

"I... I'm not feeling well, Arthur," Rissa called out, her voice cracking as she fumbled with a heavy concealer palette. She looked in the mirror, her heart hammering. The skin around the mark was already raw and angry. "Tell Finn I'll join him for lunch. My head is splitting."

"I’m afraid that won't do, Madam," Arthur’s muffled voice came through the door, sounding unusually firm. "Master Finn was quite specific that he had been busy with work neglecting you so he wants to make up for it. And... well, Young Master Ronan has decided to join the family for breakfast today. It’s the first time in months. Mrs. Eleanor has declared that since everyone is finally having breakfast together, the table must be complete."

Rissa froze, the concealer brush slipping from her fingers.

Ronan! He wasn't just staying in his wing; he was coming out to play. She knew exactly why he was showing up. He wanted to watch her drown in her own guilt.

"I'll be down in five minutes," she snapped, her survival instinct finally overriding her fear.

She scrambled to her wardrobe, pulling out a high necked blouse with a pussy bow tie. It was stiff and formal, but it was the only thing that could mask the bruised mess of her neck.

She layered on the makeup, wincing as the brush hit the tender skin, and rushed down the stairs. When she entered the dining room, the air felt thick enough to choke her.

Finn was at the head of the table, his eyes fixed on a tablet, looking as cold and unreachable as ever. But it was the man to his right who made Rissa’s blood turn to ice.

Ronan was lounging in his chair, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattooed forearms, slowly rotating a crystal glass of orange juice as if it were wine.

"Ah, Rissa. Finally," their mother, Lady Eleanor, chirped from the foot of the table. She gestured to the empty chair beside her. "Come, sit. You look a bit pale, darling."

Rissa sank into the chair, her legs feeling like jelly. She didn't dare look at Ronan, though she could feel his gaze burning holes into the shirt she was putting on.

"So," Eleanor began, reaching over to pat Rissa’s hand affectionately. "I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she smiled. “How is Finn treating you, truly? Is he being the attentive husband I raised him to be?"

Rissa glanced at Finn. He didn't even look up from his screen. "He's... fine, Mother," Rissa lied, her throat tight.

"Fine? Just fine?" Eleanor huffed, her eyes narrowing at her eldest son. "If he bullies you, or if he's being too business minded to remember he has a beautiful wife, you let me know immediately. I’ll personally see to it that he—"

"I don't think bullying is the problem, Mother," Ronan smirked.