บททั้งหมดของ The Debt Collectors Bride: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

The room smelled like old blood and rusty metal. It was the heavy, suffocating scent of a place where people came to suffer. Gideon hung from the ceiling by heavy chains. His feet barely touched the floor. His arms were stretched above his head, wrists bound so tightly that his fingers had long gone numb. Every breath pulled pain through his ribs. One eye was swollen shut. The other burned, dry and aching, forced to stay open because sleep was no longer allowed to him. He didn’t know how long he’d been here. He had no idea if he'd been there for hours or days. Time didn’t work the same in Black Tide’s hideouts. There were no windows, no clocks. Only pain and silence, broken occasionally by screams that didn’t always belong to him. Then, he heard it. The slow, rhythmic thud of boots. Gideon’s heart hammered against his chest. The door opened slowly, deliberately, as if whoever stood on the other side wanted him to hear every second of it. Silas Crowe stepped inside. He was dre

Sera’s pov: The moment I woke up, the first thing I felt was the silence. I kept my eyes closed for a long time, just lying there. I was waiting. I was waiting for the sound of his breathing, or the tiny shift of the mattress as he moved, or that strange, intense feeling of him that usually filled the air. But there was nothing. Just cold, empty space. When I finally opened my eyes, the spot beside me was vacant. The sheets were smooth and chilled. My chest felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. Damien was gone. I sat up slowly, the blankets falling away from my shoulders. The bedroom seemed so much bigger than it had last night. It felt colder, too, as if the walls themselves knew he wasn't there and had decided to turn frigid in his absence. I tried to tell myself that this was a good thing. I tried to force myself to feel relieved. This is what you wanted, Sera, I whispered in my head. Space. Distance. A chance to breathe without him watching your every m

Sera’s pov: It has been days since Damien left. I know because the light in this room has started to feel like a clock. Morning comes and goes without him checking on me. Night settles in without his quiet presence lingering near the door. Even time itself seems slower, heavier, like the mansion is holding its breath. For the first two days, I stayed in my room by choice. I told myself I needed the space to breathe and to process everything. But by the third day, the walls started closing in. The ceiling felt like it was dropping lower every hour. That was when I realized the truth. I wasn’t choosing to stay inside. I was being kept here. The realization hit me and I stood up immediately, my heart starting to race, and walked over to the door. I didn't knock, I didn't wait. I just grabbed the heavy gold handle and turned. It didn't budge. I frowned, my breath hitching as I tried again, twisting with both hands, using all my strength. Nothing.. it was locked. I stare

Sera’s pov:I didn’t sit down with a plan to paint.I only remember finding myself in front of the blank canvas, my brush already dripping with wet paint. The room was deathly quiet It’s been days since Damien left. I don’t count the time by the sun or my meals anymore; I count it by the weight of waiting. Waiting for news that never comes. Waiting for the sound of his boots in the hall. Waiting for this nameless terror to stop clawing at my chest.Before I could even think, my hands started to move.I went for the blue first. It wasn't a pretty, sky-blue. It was a deep, bruised, angry shade that bled across the white fabric like dark water swallowing something whole. My wrist started to ache as I pulled the brush in long strokes. I layered dark over light, creating shadows that felt heavy. I didn’t know why I was choosing these colors, but my gut told me they were right.The scratchy sound of the bristles against the canvas was the only thing I could hear. I tried to go numb. I trie

Sera’s pov:I sat by my window, hugging my knees to my chest and looking down at the garden. Everything outside was perfect. The hedges were trimmed, the paths were clean, and the fountain bubbled away as if the world were a peaceful place. But I felt completely wrong. I felt unsettled, like a vital part of my life had been ripped out, and no one had told my heart how to keep beating without it.I hadn't touched a paintbrush in two days.Every time I reached for one, my hand would just freeze. The colors looked like mud to me, and I couldn't make any shapes form on the canvas. My brain was stuck in a loop, replaying memories of him: the way he rested his forehead against mine, the heat of his hand in my hair, and the way his voice turned low and soft whenever he said my name. But then, the dark memories would crash in. I felt a sharp sting of guilt. Guilt for being scared of him, and an even deeper guilt for how much I missed him.A soft knock at the door pulled me out of my head."S