TAKE ME, RUIN ME: CHAPTER 9

TAKE ME, RUIN ME: CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 9: THE MARK OF SILENCE

ADRIAN'S POV

The rage is eating through my body, and I can't control it. It feels like a living thing, clawing at my insides as I sit behind my desk. I shift in my seat, a deep, heavy frown carving lines into my face. My eyes are locked on Aria, specifically on that large, red, angry mark that slashes across her neck. My brain is buzzing with a thousand questions, none of them good.

What the hell is that? That mark certainly wasn't there yesterday when I was pinning her against this very table. Where did it come from?

I can’t just sit here and look at her from a distance. I push back from my desk and stand up, my movements jerky and sharp. I walk around the table, heading straight for her. She must hear the heavy thud of my shoes on the carpet or feel the shift in the air, because she turns around immediately. She looks at me with a mix of curiosity and worry, her small hands clutching her purse.

"Sir, what... what is wrong?" she asks. Her voice is a little breathless, and her eyes are searching mine.

I don't answer. I just step closer, stopping only when I am inches away from her. Up close, those sharp, crystal, icy gray eyes pierce deep into my soul. She is so beautiful, but she looks so incredibly vulnerable right now. Seeing her like this makes the rage in my chest feel even hotter, like it’s tearing through my very organs.

"Turn around," I say. My voice is sharp, an order that leaves no room for debate.

Instead of obeying, she pulls her arms inward, hugging herself tightly. Her knuckles are white. "Turn around? Why? For what purpose, sir? Why... why should I turn around? What do you want?"

Her voice sounds defensive, almost panicked. It makes me squint at her, my suspicion growing. She obviously doesn't want me to see what’s behind her. I grind my teeth together, the sound echoing in my head. Is she kidding me right now? I came here for revenge, but this—this feels like something much darker.

I lose my grip on my patience. I reach out, grab her shoulder, and spin her around with a sudden burst of force.

"What the hell are you doing? Let me go!" she screams, her voice echoing off the office walls.

But I don't let her go. I hold her shoulders tightly, keeping her back to me. I reach out and pull down the slight collar of her office shirt, the fabric resisting for a second before it gives way. I look down, and my breath hitches in my throat.

"What the hell are you doing, you pervert?" she screams, struggling against my grip. She tries to shove me away, to escape my hold, but I don't give her the chance. I am too busy looking at the horror written on her skin.

"If you love your job, I would advise you to stay still," I bark. My voice is loud, booming in the small space of the office.

She freezes instantly. I can feel her trembling under my hands, but she stops fighting. I observe the mark behind her, and the warmth drains out of my body. My knees feel weak, and for a moment, I think I might actually be sick.

The mark is so loud, so angry. It looks like a long, raised welt caused by a very large wire or a heavy belt. It’s as though she had been beaten brutally across her back. The skin is raw and discolored, and the sight of it makes me cringe with a physical pain I wasn't expecting to feel.

" Where did you get this mark from?" I ask. No response.

Before I can say anything else, she tears herself away from me with a violent jerk. She spins back around, immediately hugging herself again, pulling her collar up to hide the evidence. Her face is flushed with a mix of shame and anger.

"You have no right to pry into my life like that!" she yells, her voice shaking. "This is my body, and you can't just take it as if it's yours. You have no right!"

The rage inside me climbs even higher at her words. It’s an excessive, burning heat that I can't push down. "That was not my question," I say, my voice low and dangerous.

"It's none of your business!" she screams back. "Get the hell away from me!"

I close my eyes for a second and exhale, trying to find some shred of calm. "Look, Aria—"

"Do not call me!" she snaps.

I’m stunned. Why is she suddenly being so mean and angry? And why is she trying so hard to cover this up? It’s written all over her face—the fear, the pain. "Where the hell did you get that from? What happened to you?"

"It's none of your concern," she says, her jaw set. She turns and tries to walk away, heading for the door.

I feel a wave of desperation wash over me. I can’t let her walk out like this. I stride up to her and grab her shoulder again, stopping her in her tracks. She spins around to look at me, her eyes blazing with a fierce, hot anger.

"Look," I say quickly, raising my hands in a gesture of peace. "I am sorry, okay? I am really sorry. I'm sorry about how I've been treating you, how harsh I've been, everything. I am absolutely and seriously sorry."

She stops struggling, but she doesn't relax.

"Please, you have to calm down," I continue, my voice softening. "That doesn't look good on you, Aria. I don't know what happened, but it's getting me scared right now. Where the hell did you get that mark from? Who did this? Who flogged you? Was it an accident, or was it something else? Are you sure you don't need to get yourself checked by a doctor?"

She freezes. She stands there, just looking at me, and for a moment, the anger in her eyes fades. I see them shimmer, looking glassy as if she is about to cry right then and there. But the moment she blinks, the vulnerability is gone, replaced by a cold wall of steel. She closes her eyes and takes a long, slow breath.

"Nothing. I am perfectly fine," she says, her voice regaining its strength. She frowns at me, her expression hard. "It's just... none of your business. It would be best if you desist from stepping into my private life, Mr. Adrian."

Her voice is professional and clipped, the tone of an employee talking to a boss she doesn't like. She is pushing me away with everything she has, and God, I don't know why that stings so much. It feels like a physical ache in my chest.

I clench my fists, glaring at her, unable to find the words to break through her defense. She turns around, still hugging herself as if she’s trying to hold her soul together. She grips the doorknob, twists it, and walks out of the office, shutting the door behind her with a soft, final click.

I remain standing there, frozen in the middle of the room. My eyes are wide, and my eyebrows are furrowed together as I gaze at the closed door. The image of that red welt is burned into my mind. I am so not letting this go. I need to figure this out, because I can't help the panic tearing through my heart right now. I need to know the bastard and the maniac who laid a hand on her.