บททั้งหมดของ His Omega, His Punishment : บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

Clara’s POV The door shut behind me with a hard, deliberate snap as if the world outside—Taehyung and his shadows and his empire—could be held at bay by a single slab of painted wood. I pressed my back to it anyway, sliding down a few inches until my trembling knees found purchase on the cold, black-marbled tiles. My breaths came shallow, uneven, barely more than shivers that never reached air. Here, everything was white stone and glass with gold fixtures. A room made for queens and brides, not prisoners. My reflection wavered in the mirror above the double sinks: pale, tangled, new bruises blooming violet beneath the vulnerable arc of my jaw. The red bite of his mark—a constant, burning reminder of what I’d become. I flicked on the tap. Cold water gushed out in a glittering arc, louder than my own heartbeat at first, until I bent close to scoop it—over and over—against my cheeks, rinsing away tears I refused to let fall. My eyes stung. It did nothing for the emotion stranglin

Clara’s POV The corridor outside the dining hall felt longer than usual, lined with old portraits and heavy, oppressive silence. My footsteps faltered on the rug; I could have sworn I felt not only the eyes in the paintings watching, but whispers clinging to my hem. My hand gripped the banister at the top of the stairs, knuckles ghost-pale, steadying myself. I knew the moment I entered, all pretenses—of peace, of security—would fall away. I could feel myself bracing, fragment by fragment, for Taehyung’s gaze. A servant in gray hurried past, head down, not meeting my eyes. Most did not these days. I was tainted by violence and rumor, by a bloodstain that would not wash out—hers or my own, it no longer mattered. Even the sun, slanting through the tall windows, held itself a cautious distance from me. I swallowed hard and stepped inside. The dining room was already full, though there was no sound besides the tick of the grandfather clock and the soft chime of crystal and porcelain.

Clara’s POV The dining room emptied in choked, ritual silence—a theatre of discomfort, each player bitterly rehearsed. Evelyn, first. She stood with a dancer’s cruel precision, pristine skirt swirling, raking eyes up and down my trembling form. Her gaze lingered at my throat, at the bruised, bitten wound beneath brittle lace. I wondered if she counted the purple stains there like tally marks on a cell wall. Minho followed her, leaving his knife askew on the silk runner, chair scraping farther than needed. He paused behind me. I could smell the pine and sweat of his skin; feel his contempt flickering over my scalp like drizzle. I did not turn to meet his gaze. I couldn’t. Seol moved last, shoulders hunched, chin tucked—her plate trembling in both hands. She hovered, a whisper of apology dying unsaid on colorless lips, then shuffled out, eyes glued to the floor. Of all of them, her silence ached the worst. I sat, a grotesque centerpiece—white-dressed, marked, exposed to the vast

Clara's POV The moonlight filtered through the thin lace curtains like ghostly fingers, casting erratic silver patterns across the worn floorboards of the bedroom. I huddled on the edge of the massive four-poster bed, knees drawn tightly to my chest, arms wrapped around them as if they could shield me from the suffocating quiet of the house. The air was thick with the scent of pine from the surrounding woods and the faint, lingering musk of Taehyung—his presence a constant ghost even when he was gone. He'd left hours ago for a pack meeting, his parting words a curt command: "Stay put, Clara. Don't make me regret leaving you unchained." His voice had been laced with that familiar venom, a reminder that I was no longer the girl from the garden but his possession, his prisoner in this gilded cage of a manor. The clock on the mantel ticked relentlessly, each second stretching into eternity. My mind wandered to the bruises on my wrists from earlier that day, faint purple blooms where h

Clara's POV Garrick froze atop me, his drunken haze shattering into pale, wide-eyed terror. "A-Alpha... I-I didn't—" he stammered, scrambling off me in a pathetic scramble, his hands shaking as he tried to pull up his pants. But it was too late. Far too late. In a blur of motion, Taehyung crossed the room, his strides predatory and swift, like a shadow come to life. He seized Garrick by the collar with one hand, yanking him upright as if he weighed nothing more than a rag doll. The guard's feet dangled off the ground for a split second before Taehyung hurled him into the opposite wall. The impact was thunderous—wood splintering, a painting crashing to the floor in a shower of glass and frame shards. "You fucking dared to touch what's mine?" Taehyung snarled, his voice echoing with alpha authority that pressed down on me even through my haze of fear. He advanced, fists flying without mercy. The first punch connected with Garrick's jaw, a sickening crack of bone that sent blood spra