All Chapters of The Silence Of His Vows: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The numbness was a shield.It was heavy like a lead vest, making every movement difficult, but it stopped the arrows from hitting their mark.I sat on the mattress in the windowless room, staring at the gray wall. My hands were folded in my lap. My burned hand was wrapped in fresh gauze—not by a doctor, but by me, using supplies I'd stolen from the bathroom trash when Carmina wasn't looking.It throbbed. Of course it throbbed. But if I didn't acknowledge the pain, if I pretended it was happening to someone else, maybe I could survive another hour.This isn't strength. This is just... not dying yet.Knock.Not a knock. A kick.The door swung open.Marco stood there looking tired. He looked at me with a strange expression—not pity, not hate. Something else. Unease maybe."Up," he said. "The Boss is eating. He requires service."Terror shot through me.Service. In his room. Alone with him.But I stood up anyway because I had no choice.I didn't let my legs tremble even though they wanted

Morning arrived with a boot to my ribs.Not a kick meant to break bone. Just a nudge. A reminder of where I was and what I was."Up," Killian ordered.I uncurled from the rug slowly, my body stiff and aching. My joints locked up from sleeping on the cold floor, the damp draft that swept under the door all night seeping into my bones.I sat up, pushing hair out of my face with trembling fingers.Killian stood over me, fully dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my father ever spent on me. He held a cup of coffee. The steam rose in lazy curls, smelling like heaven.He watched me. His eyes fixed on something, studying.I froze under his stare, not understanding what I'd done wrong now.What is it? What does he want?Killian took a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze narrowing."You're hiding," he stated flatly.I blinked. Hiding? I'm sitting right here on the floor where you left me."You use it like a wall," he continued, his voice cool and analytical. "You think if I can'

I didn't know how long I'd been hiding under the stairs.Time had lost its shape. It wasn't measured in hours anymore. It was measured in the throb of my burned hand and the cold seep of stone floor into my hips.I sat in the dark, my knees pulled to my chest, my arms wrapped around my shins.I reached up to touch my hair.My hand met air where the weight used to be. My fingers grazed the jagged bristly ends just below my ears.It was gone. The mornings with Mama. The braids. The gentle touch. All of it gone.I didn't cry. I'd cried in the bathroom. Cried until my throat felt like it was bleeding. Now there was nothing left but a dry hollow ache in the center of my chest.I wasn't a princess. I wasn't a bride. I wasn't even a girl anymore.I was a gray thing. A ghost haunting the crawlspace.Clack. Clack. Clack.Footsteps.I pressed myself deeper into the shadows, making myself smaller. Please don't see me. Please just let me disappear.The footsteps stopped.A shadow fell over the sma

The chain rattled.It was the first sound of the morning, a metallic scrape against wood that pulled me out of the gray fog I'd been floating in.I woke up on the rug at the foot of Killian's bed. My body was curled into a tight knot, knees pulled to my chest, spine pressed hard against the mahogany bedpost where the leather cuff held my ankle prisoner. The position was instinctive, protective, like I was trying to make myself small enough to disappear.My neck was stiff, locked at an angle that sent sharp twinges down my shoulder when I tried to move. My hip throbbed with a deep, bruising ache from hours pressed against the floor through the thin Persian rug. The fur was soft against my cheek but it did nothing to cushion the hardwood beneath.I opened my eyes.The room was gray with early dawn light filtering through the heavy curtains. Shadows clung to the corners like they were afraid to let go.Above me, the mattress shifted with a creak of expensive springs.Killian sat up. The r

I hit the marble hard. My hip. My shoulder. My cheek.The impact rattled my teeth. The room tilted sideways and started spinning like a carousel picking up speed.I lay there, gasping for air that wouldn't come, clutching my side where the handle had struck.Breathe. You have to breathe.My body finally remembered how. Air rushed back into my lungs in a painful, wheezing gasp.Silence.Killian had stopped talking.I heard his footsteps approaching across the polished marble. Slow. Measured. Deliberate.The sound of a predator approaching wounded prey.He stopped. His shoes appeared in my limited field of vision. Black leather. Perfectly polished.I looked up.He was a tower of black and white against the spinning ceiling. Tall. Solid. Unmovable."You broke the plaster," he said.He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the wall where the machine had crashed. At the spiderweb crack radiating out from the dent.Then he looked down.His gray eyes met mine."Get up."I tried.I pushed my