Chapter 2 ~ Vulnerabilities

{Alora’s POV}

Fear hit me before anything else.

It rushed through me, sharp and instinctive, setting my pulse racing as my body reacted faster than my thoughts could form. I stepped back then, turning on my heel, already calculating distance, already preparing to run.

His hand clamped around my wrist and killed my entire plan.

The grip was brutal— fingers digging into bone, nails biting into skin as he yanked me forward with sudden force. I stumbled, the useless folder slipping from my grasp and scattering papers across the carpet.

“Don’t be difficult,” he said mildly now, as if correcting bad manners.

I twisted, trying to pull free, but he was stronger than he looked. With my failed struggle, the door slammed shut behind me, the sound loud and final. With that, he shoved me hard and I crashed into the wall.

Pain bloomed along my shoulder, but I barely felt it. Panic swallowed everything else.

I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out.

Not a sound. Not even a breath.

It was just silence and it was a suffocating one.

My chest heaved as I tried again— harder this time, forcing air through my throat until my vision blurred.

Still nothing.

The realization struck with horrifying clarity: no one would hear me. No matter how much I begged. No matter how loud my terror felt inside my head. I was trapped. 

His smile widened now.

“Ah,” he murmured. “That’s right. You can’t yell like the others.”

I reached for my phone then, my fingers trembling as I fumbled for it in my bag. My hands were slick with sweat, but I managed to pull it free and hit the—

He snatched it away. He snatched it away effortlessly and tossed it onto the bed behind him.

“Now, now,” he said. “We’re not involving outsiders.” He smirked weirdly. 

I backed away until the edge of the bed pressed against the back of my legs. I was alarmed but not a sound was coming out of my lips.

“Your husband mentioned this,” Damien continued. “Said you were… special.”

My stomach dropped at his words.

Victor?

The name burned through me like acid and I immediately reacted.

I shook my head violently, signing without thinking, my movements frantic. >You’re wrong. There’s been a mistake. I just came to deliver—

He laughed, cutting me off as he was properly amused.

“There’s no mistake,” he said, shocking me with the fact that he easily understood my hand signing. “You were delivered to me.” He smirked again.

I backed away slowly now with a heaving chest as the weight his words caused a war in my head; shock, disbelief. Doubt. 

I then tried to run but he lunged suddenly, roughly shoving me down onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath my weight as panic tore through me in waves. I tried to crawl backward, but he grabbed my thighs and dragged me back like I weighed nothing.

I clawed at his arm, kicked wildly, but he only tightened his grip.

“Relax,” he voiced, leaning over me. “Struggling makes it less enjoyable.”

Tears streamed down my face now as I tried to scream again, my throat burning with the effort. I pounded my fists against his chest, against the bed, against anything within reach… but none of that affected him.

He was enduring and his countenance said that this wasn’t his first rodeo. 

He caught my chin in his hand now and forced my face up even while I struggled. 

“Still trying,” he observed. “You’re spirited. I like that.”

Then he reached into his pocket.

Before I could react, he bruised my mouth open and immediately poured something bitter and chemical-tasting onto my tongue.

I gagged, coughing violently, trying to spit it out, but he covered my mouth and nose until my body betrayed me and I swallowed.

“There,” he said, releasing me. “That’ll help.”

I stared at the ceiling now. I was panting wildly in my mixture of exhaustion and panic.. 

And just then my limbs began to feel heavy. It happened almost immediately, as a creeping weakness spread through my arms and legs, turning panic into sluggish terror. My thoughts blurred, like they were slipping through my fingers no matter how tightly I tried to hold on.

I shook weakly now, tears soaking into the sheets beneath me.

Damien rose back to his feet and straightened, watching me with obvious satisfaction.

“You see,” he said, “this is why Victor chose me.” He remarked. “I appreciate… vulnerabilities.”

He picked up his phone from the table then and tapped the screen after which a voice filled the room.

Victor’s voice.

Calm. Businesslike.

“Two million. Clean. No complications.” He said calmly. “She won’t be much trouble so just do what you have to do.”

The sound hit me like a physical blow, bruising away all the disbelief in my chest and replacing it with piercing pain. 

The recording ended and a crushing silence rushed in, but my heart was already crushed.

The sound of his voice— so familiar, so casual, cut deeper than anything else Victor had ever done to me. 

This wasn’t a misunderstanding or something that could be doubted any longer. It was real.

A deal had been made… and I was a pledge. 

I still couldn’t believe it nonetheless. I couldn’t believe that all my effort to bind our family together despite being pushed away by Victor was repaid this way.

— me being treated like an object.  

It hurt so bad and I sobbed silently now, my body wracked with shaking as more despair crushed down on me. Five years of marriage collapsed into nothing. Every promise. Every quiet morning. Every lie I had swallowed because I couldn’t speak… wasted. 

It hurt even more that Victor had decided to do all this on our anniversary. 

Damien watched me fall apart now like it was entertainment. Then after a moment, he spoke, addressing his desires.

“Women like you,” he muttered, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, “are my favorite. The world already decided you don’t matter. I just… take advantage.” He rested one knee on the bed as his shirt came off. 

“So if you look at it properly, I’m not the bad guy here. In reality, I’m doing you a favor— making you matter; matter to my dick.” He said and rage flared through me suddenly, cutting through the fog of emotions like lightning.

No.

I won’t be used like this.

Not by him… or anyone!

As he leaned closer, distracted by his own anticipation and hunger, my hand quietly brushed against something solid on the nightstand.

A heavy glass vase.

I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate.

With a burst of force, I grabbed it with both hands and swung.

The impact was sickening and definitely loud.

He screamed as glass shattered, blood spraying across the sheets as he stumbled backward. The sound tore through the room, raw and furious.

I rolled off the bed then, ignoring the dizziness, ignoring the weakness screaming through my limbs. I kicked him hard in his in-between when he reached for me again, sending him crashing into the wardrobe, bleeding and groaning.

“Bitch!” he roared.

I ran.

It wasn’t really running, as my feet barely obeyed me. But I tore open the door and stumbled into the hallway. 

Almost immediately, shouts erupted behind me from a distance… and then heavy footsteps followed.

Damien’s bodyguards. He had called for them.

Panic surged anew.

I ran blindly now, staggering and pounding on doors as I passed them. The air thinned and it was just me, my racing heart, and my fists slamming hard against wood, praying someone would answer.

Nothing.

One door after the other.

Locked. Silent. Unforgiving.

The drug or whatever Damien had given me clawed at my senses, my vision narrowing, my strength fading with every step.

His men were closing in as I could hear them clearer now— boots against carpet, voices shouting, threats threaded with cruelty.

At the end of the hallway, there was one last door and I heaved with my last string of hope as I got to it.

At once, I slammed my hand against it desperately, my body trembling as I prayed to a God I wasn’t sure still heard me due to voicelessness. 

Please…

I cried. 

Please…

The footsteps were right behind me.

God please…

They got close. Hands reached out.

And then—

The door opened.