CHAPTER 7

Dahlia’s POV

My hands went to the clasp of my bra. I hesitated, biting down hard on my lip, but I knew refusing wasn’t an option. Not with him. Not with the way his eyes burned into me, daring me to disobey. With a shaky breath, I unclasped it. The straps slipped down my arms and the bra fell to the ground. My arms shot up to cover my breasts, heat rushing to my cheeks as shame and fear fought inside me.

I didn’t take off my panties. I couldn’t. It was the only piece of myself I could still cling to, the only shred of dignity I had left.

On legs that felt like they weren’t even mine, I walked to the bed. Each step echoed in my ears, heavy and final, like walking toward a grave. My knees almost buckled as I climbed onto the bed. The sheets were smooth and cold against my skin, making me shiver harder. I lay back, stiff and trembling, and forced my legs apart just like he had ordered. My face burned with humiliation, and I shut my eyes tightly because I couldn’t bear to see him watching me like this.

The silence dragged on. I could hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. Seconds stretched into what felt like forever. Then—the mattress dipped under his weight. My whole body tensed as the scent of his cologne and something darker—something metallic, like dried blood—filled my nose.

I knew he was on top of me now. Close. Too close.

I clenched my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear, wishing this wasn’t real. But then his voice came again, low and sharp.

“Open your eyes.”

I froze, hoping he wouldn’t repeat it. But he did. Louder. Harder.

“Open them.”

Slowly, with every ounce of courage I had left, I forced my eyelids to lift. His gaze was waiting for me, pinning me to the mattress, cold and unyielding. It was like looking into the eyes of a predator. My throat tightened and I couldn’t swallow.

His hand came down, slow and deliberate, brushing over my shoulder. Even the lightest touch made me flinch so hard that he let out a dark chuckle.

 “Tell me…” he drawled, his lips curling with cruel amusement, his voice so low it made the hairs on my neck rise. “Are you a virgin?”

The question struck me like a thunderbolt, sharp and humiliating. My mouth parted, but the words refused to form. My tongue felt heavy, useless, stuck in my dry mouth. Heat rushed into my face, hotter than fire, burning my cheeks as if he had set them aflame. My chest rose and fell too quickly, and I forced my eyes away from his piercing gaze, staring instead at the dark sheets beneath me. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t bear it.

When my silence stretched too long, when the trembling of my body wasn’t enough of an answer, he tilted his head, his silver eyes glinting with wicked amusement. His smirk deepened, twisting into something cruel and knowing. “Your blush tells me enough,” he said softly, his words smooth like velvet, but sharp like a knife hidden beneath it.

Shame clawed at me. I felt like my skin was stripped away, leaving me bare—not just my body, but everything. My secrets, my innocence, my fears—they all lay in the open under his gaze. I wrapped my arms tighter around myself as if that flimsy gesture could shield me, but it did nothing. His eyes saw everything.

And worse than that, I knew this wasn’t the end. This was only the beginning.

He leaned closer, his breath brushing over my face, warm and heavy, carrying his power with it. My heart thundered in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears so loud it drowned out my own thoughts. His voice dropped even lower, like a promise and a threat all at once.

“When I f-ck you for the first time,” he murmured, his eyes locked on mine, “it will be because you want me to. Not because I forced you.”

I shivered at his words, not knowing if it was relief or terror that made me tremble harder. My lips parted like I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t. No words came out.

Then, just like that, he pushed himself off me. The sudden absence of his weight made the bed shift, and I sat there frozen, clutching the blanket to my chest like it was the only thing keeping me alive. I watched him as he stood tall, his movements controlled and powerful, and walked toward the bathroom.

He reached the door but stopped. His hand rested on the frame, and he turned his head slightly, his sharp profile lit by the dim golden glow of the lamp. His eyes flicked back to me, pinning me one last time.

“Go to bed,” he ordered, his voice cold and final, leaving no room for argument. Then he disappeared into the bathroom.

I let out a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My whole body sagged as if I had been standing at the edge of a cliff, clinging to the rocks for dear life, and had finally pulled back.

I turned onto my side, curling myself into the smallest ball possible, and pulled the blanket over me. The soft fabric scratched at my skin, but it was the only comfort I had. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out everything, trying to pretend I was anywhere else.

The sound of running water filled the room a moment later, muffled but steady. I stared into the darkness of the pillow, counting every drop, willing the seconds to pass faster. My body was tense, every muscle stiff, as if at any moment he would return and climb back onto the bed.

But he didn’t.

When the water stopped, silence fell again. The bathroom door creaked open, and I held my breath, listening. His footsteps moved slowly across the room, heavy but calm, the sound making my heart hammer harder with each step. He didn’t pause by the bed. He didn’t speak.

Then, the door clicked shut behind him. He had left.

For a long while, I just lay there, staring into the dark, unable to move. My mind whirled with too many questions. Where did he go? Why leave me alone? Did he mean what he said—that he wouldn’t force me? Could I even trust that?

But above all the questions, one thing rang the loudest in my head.

He knew I wasn’t Denise.

And still… he kept me.