CHAPTER SIX: The Shocking Moment He Entered

"You're a monster! I hate you so much!" Her words were a physical blow, slamming into me, making me profoundly uncomfortable. They were true, of course. I had crossed a line with her, an unforgivable one.

I shouldn't have introduced her to this dark part of me, not so quickly. But I couldn't help it. I was blinded by a hunger—a lust—that consumed me. I am a monster, I know that. But even if I could somehow shed this skin, what would it matter? What assurance could she give me that she would ever truly love me? She already had a fiancé, a life, long before I ever entered her world.

“I am so…” I was trying to apologize, to somehow undo the damage, when the shrill ringtone of my phone shattered the moment. I turned to see Bryan approaching, holding my phone out with a slight bow.

"Mr. Clarks, sir," he said, his voice a crisp formality. I took the phone from him, a sense of betrayal washing over me. I felt like a traitor for having to pick it up, for having to leave this moment with her, however fraught it was. I tapped the ‘answer’ button and pressed the phone to my ear.

"Hello, Mr. Norman. I'm calling to remind you about fulfilling your lawful obligations for my company. So that you wouldn't forget any of your promises," her father had said.

To me, the words sounded desperate, making me boil from within. I stood still, trying to understand the kind of person this man is. I looked around to make sure no one saw my discomfort.

“Hello… hello!... sir!Hello!” His voice kept on sounding from his end, trying to make sure I don't disappoint him on our deal.

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Aliya's POV

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The words came to me as a sharp sting, piercing the quiet stillness of the room. I sat, a silent statue, as the conversation between my husband and my father unfolded, their voices the only sound in a world that had suddenly gone mute.

My tears had long since dried, leaving a stinging trail on my cheeks—a testament to a grief so profound it had left me hollow.

"I will surely do that once I have finished settling down with my wife," my husband affirmed. The chilling finality of his tone was echoed by the 'hang-up' sound of a phone being dropped, a cold period at the end of a damning sentence.

"Bryan, send his share to him first thing tomorrow morning," my husband commanded, his voice sharp and unyielding. The words hung in the air, a cruel edict that promised betrayal.

"Yes, sir," Bryan's voice was a whisper, a faint echo of the innocent and obedient aide. I felt a visceral pang, a gut-wrenching realization that this new reality was one I couldn't escape.

The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thick with the unspoken consequence of my father's actions.

This place was a hostile new environment, one where the carefully crafted foundation of my life was being dismantled, brick by brick, just in one night.

Sleep, a luxury I rarely afforded myself in unfamiliar surroundings, seemed impossible tonight. I knew I couldn't simply walk away, couldn't clean up this mess, and pretend it hadn't happened. My new environment, which I saw as beautiful, now felt like a cage, and I, the solitary bird, could only sit and watch as my wings were clipped.

My husband appeared again, a shadow filling the doorway, his face a mask of cold emotion. A hollow ache formed in my chest as his words sliced through the silence: "Won't you love to know where you are going to have your night rest, wifey?"

I stared at him, the sight of him twisting something deep inside me. I tried, with every ounce of my being, to conjure up some hate, some venom, but there was only a vast emptiness. It felt like trying to force my own heart and mind to turn on me, an impossible task. My breath caught in my throat as he stepped closer, the air in the room growing thick and heavy.

In the silent aftermath, a coldness settled in, a stark contrast to the familiar warmth I once shared with my mum. I traced the shape of the bathroom with my eyes. Each object—the tub, the glass door, a smooth looking white towel— feels foreign, imbued with an unsettling stillness.

The words "I hate you" still hang in the air, a bitter echo. But my mind, in its quiet honesty, rejects them. It wasn't hatred that propelled those words, but something else entirely—a confusion so profound it had to be articulated.

I searched his face for a clue, for a flicker of recognition but found only an inscrutable mask. Was he always this way? Did some darkness seep into him when I wasn't looking? I replay the moments leading up to it, searching for a sign, a whisper of what was to come. I wondered, why the silence? Why the lack of a warning? A warning that could have saved me from this bewildering pain.

I considered the possibility that he finds pleasure in causing harm, a thought so monstrous it feels like a violation in itself.

And as I sat there, the weight of that possibility pressed down on me, and a new, bitter truth began to form. In the stillness of my mind, I find myself nodding, a slow, sombre admission that perhaps the answers to all my questions are a painful "yes."

I needed to move, to find something to wear, to do anything other than stay frozen in his presence. My hands, trembling, went to the water, covering my body with a shield of my knees, a desperate attempt to hide.

He saw my fear, my shame, and a cold smile touched his lips. He was a monster, but I had to face him.

My voice, when I spoke, was a whisper, a plea for privacy. "I... need..." The words scraped my throat, ragged and dry. I tried to clear it, but a sudden dizziness made my head spin. I just needed a simple thing—a cloth to wear. But there was no reply.

He just left.

Relief washed over me, a warm, liquid feeling that was quickly replaced by a wave of crushing anger. The crimson-stained water in the tub looked like a battlefield, a reminder of the fight I had just endured.

My hips ached, but I finally managed to stand, a victory won through the sheer force of will. I drained the tub, the swirling water a mesmerizing vortex as my fear and rage swirled away with it. The water was a comfort, a warm blanket against my skin.

When it was gone, I reached for the thick, white towel and wrapped myself in its soft embrace, hiding my nakedness, my vulnerability.

As I did, Collins entered the room, his presence a silent accusation behind me. I turned to look, to confront him, and in that shocking moment, the towel wrapped on me fell to the floor…