THREE

I found myself seated on the floor, overwhelmed by a profound sadness that seemed to permeate the air around me. The room was enveloped in an eerie silence, broken only by the faint scratching of my pen against the blank page before me. It felt as though the pen itself struggled to give voice to the swirling emotions within me.

I had desperately wanted to write down exactly what I felt, but somehow the paper stayed empty, and I couldn't have described it any better.

The events of the previous day still consumed my thoughts, its memory hauntingly vivid. Despite my efforts to eject the image, his impassive face persistently plagued my consciousness.

His eyes, a piercing shade of cyan-blue, delved into the very depths of my soul the moment I had entered the room.

The room itself was an absolute marvel to behold, an exquisite display of opulence and grandeur. Time and time again, the room's sheer magnificence continued to captivate me.

At the far end, an enormous bed exuded luxury, its pristine white silk sheets shimmering under the gentle chandelier glow. Every corner boasted a meticulous arrangement of expensive furniture, adorned with delicate embellishments. And then there were the breathtaking velvet curtains, which, when drawn back, revealed the meticulously manicured gardens outside.

Yet, amidst this splendor, however, a subtle undercurrent of dark aura and fright enclosed me.

Damian stood there, hands casually tucked into his pockets and lips stretched into a knowing smirk, I felt myself being stripped under his hunting gaze.

My heart constricted as I watched him scrutinize me like I was nothing more than an object of experimentation. The room, though spacious enough to occupy tens of persons, suddenly felt suffocating under his penetrating eyes.

Slowly, he moved towards me, not breaking eye contact. Each step he took intensified the gravity of the moment.

With bated breath, I hesitantly retreated, my focus solely fixed upon his intruding presence, ignorant of any possible collision within the dimly lit confines of the room.

“Strip,” he commanded, suddenly halting in his tracks.

Every fiber of my being tried as much to rebel against his order. I couldn't bring myself to comply with his demands, to give myself over to his twisted desires. But I had no choice. My papa’s life hung in the balance.

With trembling hands, I reached for the buttons of my blouse and began to unfasten them. Each one felt like a weighty reminder of the sacrifice I was making.

Tears gushed down my face as I undressed, the vulnerability and humiliation consuming me.

Standing there, exposed and broken, the psychopath approached me, his eyes gleaming with a disturbing blend of desire and triumph.

His towering figure loomed just a foot away, and his finger vigorously lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.

Instinctively, I recoiled at his touch, a shiver running down my spine. But before I could utter a word, a sharp, buzzing sound filled my ears, and in an instant, his hand came crashing across my face.

He slapped me.

The force of the blow sent shockwaves through my body, leaving me stunned and reeling from the pain.

He leaned closer, and my breath hitched in my throat.

“Why, dear wife, do you flinch?” he taunted, his voice laced with a chilling edge. “I don't bite, do I?”

His hot breath grazed my neck, sending an unsettling chill through my body. The pungent odor of alcohol filled the air, intensifying the already suffocating atmosphere.

His brows furrowed, his eyes fixated on my trembling lips. With a mixture of desire and longing in his gaze, his finger trailed lightly across my lips.

Disgust surged within me, but I felt utterly powerless in his presence.

I turned my face away from him, desperate to escape his gaze, a single tear staining my pale complexion.

My veins pulsated with a mixture of fear and anger, and my chest felt as if it would burst under the weight of my emotions.

A sob caught in my throat, and I choked on it as his hands cupped my face, trapping me in his control. His touch, always suffocating and invasive, now felt strangely gentle.

“Sirena,” he called out softly.

It felt abnormal hearing him call my name but at most, I was more terrified than ever. Something was wrong. Damian was not one to be gentle or soft.

“Get the birds out of here.” He suddenly let out, laughing. “I'm Batman!”

Beads of sweat covered my body as I locked eyes with him, searching for any sign of what lay behind this unexpected change.

I struggled to break free from his grip, desperation fueling my movements, but his hold on my arm was unyielding. There was no escape, and a sense of dread surged through me.

Fear consumed every fiber of my being as I screamed in terror, convinced in that moment that he intended to harm me, or worse.

"You're hurting me!" I wailed, my voice filled with anguish, as he cruelly gripped my hair, inflicting a searing pain.

The tears streamed down my face, mingling with my cries of distress.

His demeanor had suddenly changed.

Before I could comprehend what was happening, a wave of horror washed over me as he callously tore my underwear and flung me to the cold, unforgiving floor. The world spun around me, and I felt utterly violated and helpless in the face of his brutal actions.

“You are my whore, Sirena,” he uttered. “You are mine.”

And right there on the cold floor, with my legs spread out wide, he invaded me roughly.

As I lay there, tears spewing down my face uncontrollably, his relentless assault continued, each moment stretching into what felt like an excruciating eternity.

But then, abruptly, everything came to a halt. The room plunged into an eerie stillness, broken only by the sound of my own ragged breaths. I couldn't make sense of what was happening.

Either I should be relieved or even more terrified?

Seconds crawled by slowly, each one dripping with anticipation and dread. His motionless form loomed over me.

The weight of his heavy, robust body was now pressing down on me, leaving me feeling trapped and suffocated.

Summoning every ounce of courage, I reached out to touch him, my trembling hand hovering above his body. The air was thick with tension, my heart pounding in my ears like a drumbeat of uncertainty.

No response. No reaction.

The absence of his voice, his touch, or any indication of life sent chills down my spine. It was as if he had become a statue, cold and frozen in time.

The silence in the room amped up the sound of my own racing heart, pounding against my chest like a desperate plea for escape. I felt a growing sense of terror, a primal instinct warning me that something was terribly wrong.

Mustering whatever intrepidity I had left, I called out his name, my voice quivering with fear and desperation.

"Damian," I whispered shakily, my words hanging in the heavy air, begging for any sign of life, or a flicker of movement.

Just anything to shatter the suffocating silence.

But still, no response or reaction whatsoever.