Chapter 3: [Beautifully Ruined]

The morning arrived with no mercy, no warmth. It did not creep in with the hopeful glow of sunlight or the gentle melody of birdsong, but with silence so heavy it felt like judgment. Shame settled over me first. And then—worse than shame—satisfaction.

[Raphael Pov]

My eyes fluttered open slowly, my lids sticking slightly as if my body was reluctant to face the aftermath. The soft, pale light leaking through the curtains was too kind for what I felt. My head throbbed faintly, but it was nothing compared to the ache low in my spine. The sheets beneath me were damp and rumpled, clinging to my skin. When I shifted, a sharp sting radiated between my thighs, forcing a tight breath through clenched teeth.

I froze.

There was something wrong. Something violated. Tender. Marked. My fingers trembled as I slid them beneath the sheets, down between my legs. My breath caught. The sensation was raw, the skin there swollen and sticky with dried fluids. Some patches had a crusted texture that was unmistakably blood.

I pulled my hand back. Crimson specks clung to my fingers like some cursed reminder.

I didn’t cry. Nor did I Didn’t scream.

Instead, I smirked.

The room was quiet. Empty. No sign of him. Just the scent he left behind thick in the air, choking. Sweat. Musk. S*x. His presence still lingered, ghostlike, painted on my skin, soaked into the bed. At the foot of the mattress, his military coat was draped in careless abandon. It looked heavy. Still stiff with dried cum.

I grabbed it, dragging it onto my lap like a corpse. My nails bit into the fabric.

And then the memories struck.

His voice, guttural in my ear. His mouth, bruising mine. My body breaking beneath his legs wide, back arching, breath hitching as I moaned and cursed and clung to him.

His growls. His hands on me. My begging.

The way his cock pulsed inside me when I told him to ruin me.

My face flushed violently.

I pushed the coat away with a hiss, disgusted at myself but my fingers were already reaching for it again. I pressed it to my face, inhaling deep, trembling..

I did it with him. Still it's like a dream. they're was a time when I was hopelessly in love with him. My childhood puppy love he was my hero.

Now I want nothing but to destroy him, And I will.

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. Time was liquid in the haze.

Eventually, I sat up. Every movement ached. My thighs screamed with each shift. My body was a battlefield. Proof of his touch. Proof that I had begged for more.

Dragging myself to the mirror, I braced for what I would find.

I didn’t expect the full extent.

My neck was a map of red and purple bruises, thick hickeys layered like ink stains. Bite marks scattered down my chest. Finger-shaped bruises clung to my waist and hips. The inner sides of my thighs were covered in faint scrapes and vivid welts. My lips were puffy and cracked, kissed too hard, too long.

I looked ruined.

Beautifully ruined.

"I’m not your fucking conquest," I whispered to the mirror. But my hand didn’t tremble as it traced the bite on my collarbone. I didn’t look away. I smirked.

No. This wouldn’t be my shame.

This would be my weapon.

I would wear these marks like armor. Let them see what the kingdom’s perfect General And that Arthur's perfect Heir, Did to his stepbrother. Let them try to unsee it.

[King Name Full name is Arthur Rheon Valerian]

I slipped into a sheer pair of white shorts thin enough to be indecent, no undergarments. A matching shirt clung to my frame, transparent where the bruises were worst. My nipples were visible through the fabric. My body looked like temptation after war.

Over it all, I pulled on Xavier’s coat.

It smelled like him.

I looked like sin, draped in victory.

Perfect.

When I stepped into the hallway, the two guards standing outside stiffened. Their eyes widened, pausing on my thighs, then rising to the bruises blooming along my neck and the unmistakable coat I wore like a lover’s embrace.

I kept my head bowed. Limped slightly. Said nothing.

Let them think I was fragile.

Let them think I was prey.

The marble beneath my feet was cold. Each step stung, each shift in my body a reminder of what had happened. But the pain wasn’t just pain now. It was a message.

When I finally reached my room and locked the door behind me, I laughed.

Soft. Dark. Muffled against my palm.

Checkmate.