7

Sloane's POV

The next day, I woke up tired, my body aching in ways that made every small movement feel like a reminder of the night before. My thighs burned.

The space between them throbbed with a dull, insistent pain that refused to fade.

When I came out of the bathroom last night, he pushed me to the bed again and fucked me.

Kaelan didn’t stopped fucking me until I pretended to fall asleep.

Even then, his hips had kept moving, while he moaned another woman’s name against my neck.

“Lark is the woman I loved, not you.” The words still sat in my ears like something sharp left behind. I stared at the ceiling for a long minute, listening to the quiet of the room, before I finally sat up.

My arms shook a little as I pushed myself to the edge of the bed. I managed to get down and walked into the bathroom on unsteady legs.

The shower helped, but only a little.

Hot water ran over my skin and eased some of the stiffness, yet it couldn’t wash away the ache or the memory of his voice.

Sometimes I wondered if he ever had any humanity left in him.

If he did, that part of him, whatever people called a conscience should have told him I was innocent. That I didn’t deserve to be treated like a slave in the house that was supposed to be mine now.

But maybe that was simply how my destiny had been written. I have to suffer. I have to take the blame for things I never did. First my parents. Now the family I married into.

I let out a deep breath and pressed my forehead against the cool tile for a second. I couldn’t cry again.

I hated the way tears made me feel weak, small, like I was giving them exactly what they wanted. I have never been a weak woman, and I refused to become one because of people who didn’t know my worth or didn’t care about my existence.

When I was done, I stepped out, dried off, and wrapped myself in a bathrobe.

Then I walked into the closet. The maids had already laid out my clothes for the day. A yellow flare short gown waited on the chair, bright and cheerful in a way that felt almost mocking. Matching heels sat beneath it.

Why yellow again? I hate yellow. My favorite color has always been pink—soft, quiet, that felt like me. This shade of yellow made me look like I was trying too hard to be bright when everything inside me was gray.

One of the maids entered and bowed low.

“Ma’am, Mrs. Thorne summoned you. She said you should meet her downstairs as soon as possible and the visitors are waiting.”

I raised a questioning brow. Visitors?

“Yes, Ma’am. Please get dressed quickly.” She bowed again and left without another word.

My legs still trembled, every step reminded me of last night. The thought of wearing heels made my stomach tighten.

The heels would only make me clumsier by the end of the day, and the last thing I needed was to stumble in front of whoever was waiting downstairs.

I went to the shoe rack and searched for something that would match the gown without thinking further.

I found a pair that looked close to the same soft yellow, lower heel. I checked the size. It was mine. Relief mixed with the dull throb between my thighs as I wore them.

I dressed as fast as I could, the fabric of the gown cool against my skin.

When I stepped back into the bedroom, I noticed the tray of juice and a hamburger.

My stomach grumbled the moment I saw them.

Without thinking, I sat on the edge of the bed and ate quickly, washing the food down with the juice. It was cold and sweet and the only thing that had felt remotely kind all morning.

I went back to the mirror after that, applied makeup with steady hands, and finished with lipstick.

The face looking back at me looked put-together.

Presentable and nothing like the woman who had spent the night being used while another name was whispered against her skin.

Finally done, I stepped out of the room and walked downstairs empty-handed. I didn’t even have a phone to take with me so what's the point.

The hall was decorated properly with flowers, soft lighting, the kind of careful arrangement that suggested celebration or at least important company.

What are they celebrating?

Then I saw Kaelan’s back near the far end of the room. I would have recognized him anywhere, even from behind. The set of his shoulders, the way he stood. My feet slowed for half a second.

Before I could take another step forward, a hand grabbed my arm and spun me around hard.

A slap landed across my cheek before I could open my mouth. The force of it snapped my head to the side.

My palm flew up to cover the stinging skin.

Kaelan’s mother stood in front of me, her eyes blazing.

“You bitch! How dare you play this family? Is the Thorne family a joke to you? Huh?!” She yelled the words so loudly they seemed to bounce off the walls.

What is she talking about?