All Chapters of CRUEL ROMANCE: MR. LANGSTON'S OBSESSION: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

TESSAThe casual reference to the transaction that has brought me here makes my stomach spasm with nausea.I want to scream at him, to tell him I am not an object, not a payment or a trophy, but the words catch in my throat.There is no point in fighting; it will only make him squeeze harder, push deeper, take more from me. So I fix my gaze on the ceiling and let the anger burn somewhere deep inside.Blaze shifts suddenly and releases my wrists, only to catch my arms mid-fall and drag them around his neck like a noose he’s making me tie myself.The sharp movement jolts through me and the sudden freedom startles me.The ache in my shoulders flares as the blood rushes back into my hands but it’s not freedom for long.His palm clamps over my mouth before I can make a sound, swallowing the broken whimpers that slip out between shallow breaths.My muffled protest disappears into his skin while his other hand is already on my thigh, spreading me wider before he hauls my leg over his hips an

TESSA A steady, rhythmic beeping pierce through the fog in my head when I regain conciousness. My eyelids feel impossibly heavy, and when I finally manage to force them open, the world comes into focus in painful, bright fragments. White. Everything is white. I try to move, and immediately regret it. Pain shoots through my lower body like lightning, radiating outward from my core in waves that make me gasp and whimper involuntarily. It feels like I've been torn apart from the inside, as if every muscle and nerve ending has been brutalized and left raw. "She's awake." The voice is soft, female, tinged with what sounds like relief. I turn my head carefully, afraid that even that small movement might trigger another wave of agony and spot three women stand near the foot of the bed, all wearing identical black uniforms with white aprons. The kind of formal maid's attire I've only seen in period films. They watch me with varying expressions of concern and nervousness. The olde

TESSA Time becomes a strange thing during my recovery. The medications make the days blur together in a haze of managed pain and monitored healing, while the nights stretch endlessly as I lie awake listening for the soft click of the door that might bring another of Blaze's visits. The deep, tearing pain in my core fades to a dull ache, and Dr. Walter's daily check-ups become less about assessing damage and more routine. "You're healing really well," she tells me on what I think might be the fifth or sixth day, I've lost count. "Young bodies bounce back fast." The way she says it, with that same professional distance she's kept throughout my treatment, makes it clear that my recovery is just another medical case to her. I'm healing well from being brutalized by my husband. How interesting for her notes. Mrs. Banas becomes my constant companion during these suspended days. She brings me meals I still can't stomach, coaxing me to eat with the patience of someone who gets that heal

TESSA Mrs. Banas draws my bath like she always does, but tonight something's different. There's this sadness hanging around her that I can practically feel. She won't look at me while she tests the water, doesn't say a word as she adds oils that make everything smell like jasmine and vanilla. The silence stretches between us, heavy and uncomfortable. Usually she hums while she works, some old Polish lullaby. Tonight there's nothing but the sound of water running and my own shallow breathing. "Mrs. Banas," I say quietly as she helps me out of my nightgown. She stops with her hands gentle on my shoulders. For a second I think she might actually say something - offer comfort or advice or just acknowledge what's about to happen. Instead, she just guides me toward the marble tub, her silence saying more than words ever could. The water feels perfect, warm enough to help my still-sore muscles but not hot enough to hurt. I sink into it, letting the oils work on skin that feels way t

TESSAThree weeks blur together in a haze of muffled sobs I've learned to swallow before they slip out.Blaze doesn't bother talking anymore during these visits. Why waste words when he owns me so completely? A look here, a gesture there, his hand pushing me where he wants… that's all our sick routine needs now.Some nights he wants my mouth. Other nights my hands. Always, he uses my body with the same brutality, like he's testing how much I can take.I've gotten good at reading the little signs that show his mood.My body's changed in ways that make me sick. The worst tears healed up, though new ones keep appearing.I don't bleed every time anymore, but it still hurts. What's worse is how I've started getting ready for him before he even asks, moving into position before he forces me, bracing myself before he demands it.I help destroy myself now. That truth sits in my gut like poison.Every morning brings Mrs. Banas shows up with birth control pills, reminding me that even getting p