All Chapters of Prisoner of Shame: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

David believed he was healed. Or at least… healing. Calmer now. Balanced.In the weeks since Brielle had fallen asleep in his arms—her virgin blood still warm on his sheets, her trust still echoing in the hollow places of his soul—he hadn’t once felt the familiar tug of violence in his chest. Not the flicker of that old, feral rage.She was his serenity. His gravity. His redemption dressed in innocence and fire.He’d whispered it like a vow against her skin: I would never hurt you. And up until now, that had been true.She stayed most nights. Curled against him like she belonged there. Her scent soaked into his pillows, her moans still ringing in the corners of his memory long after sleep took her. And during the day, he kept his promise. He helped her study—reading ahead so he could guide her through the hard chapters, testing her with flashcards, teaching her memory tricks between kisses.Her grades climbed. Her confidence bloomed. She smiled more. Laughed louder. She trusted him no

The next morning, Brielle sent Lila off to school with a forced smile and an extra-long hug, clutching her sister like she was already losing her. The moment the door closed behind her, Brielle turned for the car, keys in hand, already reaching for the one person who always made her feel steady—David.But her phone buzzed.Unknown number.“Hello?” she answered.Her heart stilled. Then dropped.“Yes, this is her. What? …I’ll be right there.”The world blurred. Her knuckles went white on the steering wheel as she drove. Every red light felt like a betrayal.At the ICU desk, she forced composure into her voice. “I need to speak to Dr. Stevens. He called me about my mom—Marlene Whitmore.”“He’s in surgery,” the nurse said. “But Dr. Frear can assist.”The man who stepped forward was too young, too clean-cut for this kind of news. “I’m Robert Frear. I’m assisting on your mother’s case.”“I remember you. You were there when she was admitted.”“Yes.” He opened her chart with surgical precisio

Brielle lay curled beside David in the center of his cavernous bed, the silk sheets tangled around her legs, one bare shoulder peeking through. The room was quiet, softened by the amber light from the lamp on his nightstand. David sat against the headboard with a thick history book open in his lap, glasses perched on his nose, looking like sin dressed as sophistication.It had been a month since Marlene’s release from the hospital—and in that time, Brielle had slowly, almost unconsciously, begun to live here. Her scent lingered on his pillows. Her laugh echoed off the walls. Her clothes, once folded in an overnight bag, now hung beside his.She stirred, a soft sound escaping her lips as she stretched, arms overhead like a sleepy kitten. David didn’t look away from his page, but his focus had shifted the moment she moved.“Well, look who’s finally awake,” he murmured, voice a deep rumble.She blinked at him, smiling sleepily. “Didn’t mean to knock out.”He glanced at the clock. “You ne

Brielle woke to an empty bed and silence that felt too intentional.She slipped from the covers, her limbs sore and heavy, and padded barefoot into the bathroom. The light buzzed on with a quiet hum. What she saw in the mirror made her stomach turn.The bruise had darkened. What had been red and angry last night was now purple, edging toward black. It spread like a secret she couldn’t hide, curling under her eye, dipping into her cheekbone. She raised her fingers to touch it—slow, cautious. A breath hissed between her teeth.She didn’t hear him approach until his arms slipped around her waist from behind.David pressed his face into her damp hair and whispered, “I’m so sorry.” His voice was raw. Cracked at the edges. “I hate what I did. I hate myself for it.”Brielle stiffened instinctively. Her skin remembered before her mind could defend him. She tried to step away, but he only held her tighter.“Please… please say you forgive me.”She couldn’t speak at first. Her chest ached with w

One warm afternoon, Brielle was kneeling in the garden behind the estate, her hands buried in rich soil as she worked to clear a new patch for the roses. It was the only place she felt truly calm lately—alone, quiet, earth under her nails instead of David’s constant gaze.Then came the sting.She gasped, jerking her hand back. Blood welled from a deep slice across her palm, a shard of broken glass glinting beneath the dirt like a trap waiting all along.“Shit,” she whispered, cradling the injury. She hurried inside, her breath shallow, trying not to drip blood on the floor.David was in the kitchen within seconds.“What happened?” His voice was sharp with panic.“I cut myself in the garden,” she said, trying to wave him off. “It’s fine. Just a scratch.”He didn’t answer. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her hand with shaking fingers before scooping her up into his arms.“David—no. I’m not a child. I just need a bandage.”“Let me take care of you,” he murmured, voice low, almos