Chapter 18

Liam

I drove in silence. The car felt too small for the fury consuming me. I heard her breathe, slow, heavy from the alcohol. Still, each sound from her struck me like an invitation. When I finally parked in front of the mansion, I stayed a few seconds without moving. I could simply leave her there, sleeping in the back seat like any other. But Kyra was not any other. She never had been and never would be.

I got out of the car, walked around to the back door and opened it. She looked at me with half-closed eyes, makeup smudged, lips parted. Beautiful. Even destroyed, she was still beautiful.

"Let’s go." My voice came out firm as I faced her.

She shook her head, like a sulking child.

"I don’t want to... you hate me..." the whisper barely reached my ears. "Go, I’ll get out of your car as soon as you turn your back."

I bent down and, without asking permission, slid one arm under her legs and the other around her waist, lifting her. Kyra gasped, surprised, but made no effort to free herself.

"Let me go..." she moaned, weak.

"Shut up." I snarled low, climbing the entry steps. "You caused enough trouble for today."

We crossed the hall in silence. Julie slept in her room, oblivious to the storm that was the nanny I had dragged into our lives. I took Kyra to the guest room — hers. I pushed the door with my foot, walked to the bed and deposited her on the mattress. She tried to sit up but toppled to one side, laughing bitterly and then collapsing on the floor.

"See? I’m good for nothing. Not even to stand up."

"Maybe because I don’t want you to."

I felt my jaw clamp.

I knelt by the bed and pulled her delicate feet. I removed the worn sandals and tossed them into the corner. I lifted her from the floor and placed her on the bed, then pulled the sheet and covered her. Not out of kindness, but because it was my duty as a man at that moment.

My gaze ran over every detail of her. The wrinkled pajamas, the tangled hair, the cheap perfume mixed with the smell of alcohol. And everything in me shouted: She would be perfect chained. The image came so clearly that I closed my eyes for a moment. The basement, the room no one else knows, flashed in my mind like a constant temptation. The wooden cross, the chains, the whip hanging. And Kyra... kneeling, submissive, eyes wet, begging not for pity but for more.

I opened my eyes and found her watching me, confused, vulnerable.

"What are you thinking...?" she asked, almost a whisper. "Are you going to send me away after today? Or tell me that your Ana never embarrassed you?" — She laughed in a sarcastic tone, as if it were a tired joke between us.

I stood up abruptly.

"Nothing that concerns you." I hardened my voice before leaving the room and slamming the door.

But the truth is everything about her concerned me. I went straight to the basement. The key turned easily, and upon entering the BDSM room, I felt the cold air welcome me. The chains clinked as I ran my hand along them. I walked to the leather chair and threw myself into it, pressing my eyes with my hands.

To avoid going mad, I needed another woman.

I called one of the usual submissives. Tall, thin, long brown hair. She arrived in less than an hour, obedient. I dressed her, ordered her to kneel. She was perfect, almost perfect.

I closed my eyes and imagined Kyra in her place — for the second time in a row. Her skin, her look, her trembling lips. Everything reminded me of her, but again it was a failed temptation, because she wasn’t the damn nanny of my daughter.

"Sir...?" the submissive called, insecure.

I opened my eyes. The illusion dissolved. It wasn’t Kyra. It never would be. I stepped back, irritated, banging on the door for her to leave. I was alone again, with the suffocating feeling that I was losing control. And all because of a woman I had humiliated, pushed away, and now sought redemption in resemblances that might remind me of her.

Kyra

When I opened my eyes, it was already dawn. My head was throbbing, and the bitter taste of alcohol still burned in my mouth. I was in bed, covered, feet bare. Then I remembered Liam’s face and his small kindnesses. The removal of shoes, the sheet pulled up over my shoulders, I even remember him turning off the lights.

Why did Liam care? Why, after crushing me with cruel words, would he come rescue me as if I were a lost child?

I rolled onto my side, hugging the pillow. His scent still lingered in the air of the room. I hated it. I hated how safe it made me feel, even after everything. I wanted to get up, leave, but my legs were still heavy. Then I heard it.

Footsteps in the hall. Then silence. Then a door being locked. Just like the other time. The noise came from the same place — could it be a secret room?

Curious, I got up slowly. I went to the window and saw the mansion’s reflection in the glass. The basement lights were on. My heart raced. What was Liam hiding down there?

I returned to bed, restless. No matter how much I tried to convince myself I didn’t care, I knew it wasn’t true. Because, somehow, I was already trapped by him. And maybe he knew that better than I did. Part of me simply didn’t want to admit it.

And as much as I want to run, I still can’t. It would be inhuman of me to leave on the eve of Julie’s birthday. It would be cruelty. Isabelle would already have left, fled at the first chance, but I am Kyra now. I want to be different from what I couldn’t be beside Marcos. But it seems Liam suffocates everything I once called freedom, and in a way, that destroys me more than I’d like to admit. Because it’s not only for Julie that I stay, but also for Liam.