Semua Bab The Silence Of His Vows: Bab 71 - Bab 80

The water shut off.Silence rushed back into the bathroom, broken only by the harsh, wet gasps tearing from my throat.I sat on the tiled floor of the shower, my back pressed against the cold wall, my legs drawn up to my chest. My wet hair hung in heavy ropes around my face, dripping pink water onto my knees. Blood from my hand mixing with the water pooling around me.Killian stood outside the glass door, watching me shiver."Get out," he ordered.I tried. I placed my good hand flat against the wall and pushed, trying to get my legs underneath me. They trembled, muscles refusing to cooperate.I slipped. My knee cracked against the tile floor hard enough to send pain shooting up my thigh.I stayed down, panting, staring at the drain where pink water slowly disappeared. I had nothing left.Killian opened the glass door and stepped into the shower. His expensive boots splashed in the water pooling on the floor.He grabbed my upper arm with one hand. Hauled me up like I weighed nothing.I

The light finally won.It pierced through my eyelids even when they were closed, a searing white lance that felt like it was cooking my brain inside my skull.I didn't know how long I'd been standing. My legs weren't legs anymore. They were columns that had stopped holding weight, nerves screaming signals my brain couldn't process.I swayed.Keep standing. If you fall, he adds time.But the command didn't reach my muscles. The connection was severed somewhere between my brain and my body.I'm human. Humans have limits. I've reached mine.The room tilted sideways. The white walls dissolved into gray.I fell.I hit the concrete with a bone-jarring crack. My cheek slammed against the floor hard enough that I tasted blood.Darkness rushed in. Blessed, cool darkness. I let it take me. Let the floor hold me for the first time in hours.My body can't do this anymore. I'm not built for this.Splash.Ice-cold water hit my face.I gasped, sputtering, inhaling liquid. I choked, my body arching in

The fire was lit.Orange flames licked at the logs, casting a warm, dancing glow across the dark library. It should have been cozy. Beautiful even.But to me it looked like a mouth opening wide to swallow the room whole.I stood up from the hearth, wiping my soot-stained hands on the dirty apron. My head felt strange. Light. Like it was filled with air instead of anything solid.The room wasn't just spinning anymore. It was tilting, pitching like I was standing on the deck of a ship in a storm.Bring me a drink. Scotch. Two fingers.Those were his orders.I took a step toward the bar cart in the corner.My foot didn't find the floor. It found empty air.The sound of my heartbeat was deafening. Thump-thump-thump. It drowned out the crackle of the fire, drowned out everything except that pounding in my ears.Then the sound stopped.My vision tunneled. The edges turned black, then gray, then white.I didn't feel the impact when it came.Didn't feel my knees hit the rug. Didn't feel my hea

The silence in the servant's corridor was different now.Before, it had been the silence of invisibility. I was a ghost haunting the edges of the house, ignored and erased.Now it was the silence of held breath.Every time I passed a guard, conversation stopped. Eyes followed me. Heavy. Lingering. They didn't look at my bucket or scrub brush anymore. They looked at my legs beneath the gray hem. They looked at my mouth.Inspecting the goods.Killian's words from the foyer hung in the air like poisonous fog. He had branded me in front of twenty men. Told them I was his to do with as he pleased. And now every man in this house wondered what that meant.I kept my head down, hugging the wall as I carried a stack of linens toward the laundry chute.My burned hand throbbed under the dirty bandage. My stomach was a hollow pit gnawing at itself.But it was the shame that made me stumble.I wasn't a princess anymore. Wasn't even a prisoner.I was a spectacle.Click.The intercom on the wall buzz

The study was dark, lit only by the blue-white glow of the monitor and the orange ember of a cigarette burning in the crystal ashtray.Killian Alatorre sat in the high-backed leather chair, a glass of amber whiskey untouched on the mahogany desk. His hand rested on the mouse, his index finger hovering over the button.Click.The video rewound.Play.On the screen, Luna's face filled the frame.It was the moment just before she cried. The split second where her composure fractured, where whatever mask she'd been wearing dissolved completely, and something raw peered out from beneath the grime and the painted bruise.Killian leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.He watched the way her throat worked as she swallowed a sob. Watched the way her pupils dilated wide, the hazel green nearly disappearing into darkness. Watched the tremor in her bottom lip—microscopic, involuntary, the kind of thing no acting teacher could coach.He froze the frame.Stared at her eyes.He was looking for the lie.