Chapter 2

I couldn't.

And that cruel, inescapable truth made my stomach twist, made my hands press weakly against the tiled walls as a wave of helplessness crashed over me.

Colton was suffocating, a force so toxic, so all-consuming, that I could feel his presence even when he wasn't in the room, his voice still lingering in my head, his touch still burning on my skin. He was possessive to a terrifying degree, controlling every inch of my existence, dictating my every move, ensuring that I never forgot who I belonged to.

It made me sick.

Made me want to scream until my throat was raw, until the walls cracked, until the world heard me.

But I knew it wouldn't matter.

Because no matter how much I fought, no matter how much I despised him-

Colton would never let me go.

And that realization, that awful, soul-crushing reality, made me feel more trapped than ever.

I was in the middle of dabbing ointment onto the fresh bruises lining my arms when the door swung open without warning. My heart lurched, my breath caught in my throat, and my grip on the small container nearly slipped from my fingers.

And then I saw him.

Colton.

His towering figure filled the doorway, his sharp eyes locked onto me with an unreadable expression. The moment he stepped inside, his scent invaded the room-thick, overwhelming, intoxicating. It wrapped around me like an invisible chain, suffocating in a way that made my knees feel weak. Why? Why did he always let his pheromones seep into the air whenever he was near me? Was it intentional? A way to remind me of his control? Or was he simply that possessive, that territorial, that he felt the need to mark his presence even without touching me?

I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze downward, not daring to meet his eyes. My hands trembled slightly as I resumed applying the ointment to my bruises, trying to ignore the tension thickening in the room.

"You're awake," Colton stated, his deep voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

I didn't respond. I couldn't.

I merely nodded, my fingers tightening around the small bottle as he removed his coat, tossing it carelessly onto the nearby chair. He wasn't supposed to be back this early-usually, he stayed out until late at night, leaving me alone with only my thoughts and the dull ache of my wounds. But now he was here, standing only a few feet away, his presence pressing down on me like a shadow I couldn't escape.

I kept my movements slow, deliberate, trying not to betray the nervous tremor running through me as I dabbed more ointment onto my wrist. But I knew he saw it. He always saw it.

And I hated that.

I hated that I could never hide anything from him.

Colton silently lowered himself onto the bed beside me, his heavy presence sending an unsettling chill down my spine. I kept my gaze lowered, pretending to focus on the ointment in my hands, but I could feel his eyes roaming over me, taking in every mark, every bruise, every wound that marred my skin.

A sharp frown tugged at his lips when he noticed the medical supplies scattered around me, and before I could react, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist with a force that sent a sharp jolt of pain up my arm.

I gasped, my body tensing instinctively as his fingers tightened, his grip unrelenting, almost crushing.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, laced with a quiet fury that made my stomach twist with dread. He squeezed even harder, making me wince, the ointment slipping from my grasp and rolling onto the floor. "Are you trying to heal yourself just so you can escape me?"

His words hit like a slap, cold and accusing, as if he truly believed that was my only reason for tending to my wounds-as if my pain, my suffering, my need to breathe without constant agony, was some kind of betrayal.

I immediately shook my head, desperation clawing at my chest as I silently pleaded with him to believe me. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my body to stop trembling, to stop showing weakness in front of him. With shaky hands, I quickly signed, my fingers moving frantically as I tried to explain.

I just want to clean my wounds.

That was all.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

But my silent plea meant nothing to him.

Colton's expression darkened, his jaw clenching as anger flickered across his features. "I don't care," he snapped, his voice rising, raw with possessiveness and something dangerous lurking beneath it. "You're not treating anything-because you're not leaving me!"

Before I could react, before I could even process his words, he shoved me-hard.

The world tilted, my body colliding with the cold, unforgiving floor. A sharp gasp tore from my throat as the impact sent pain shooting through my already battered frame, my breath hitching as I struggled to push myself up.

My hands trembled against the smooth surface, my mind reeling, my heartbeat hammering so loudly in my chest it drowned out everything else.

I could feel his gaze burning into me from above, unwavering, unrepentant, as if daring me to fight back, to deny him, to prove that I was still mine-but I couldn't.

Because I wasn't.

I never had been.

Colton had made sure of that.

I groaned, my body shaking as I tried to push myself up from the floor. But the effort was futile-my arms and legs felt like they were made of lead, trembling with exhaustion and pain from the abuse I had endured, and I could barely lift myself. The weight of everything-of the physical wounds, of the emotional toll, of the constant fear that gripped my chest-seemed too much to bear. And then, just like that, the pain surged again, like a new layer added on top of everything else, pulling a sob from deep within me. I couldn't help it. It was too much.