Chapter 13 #3
“No. There was always this voice in the back of my head, so small I could barely hear it, whispering that they were wrong. That what I’d seen was real.” She looked up at him. “Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense.” His fingers combed through her hair with gentle precision. “Gaslighting is a weapon, printessa. They tried to steal your reality. But some part of you refused to let go.”
The understanding in his voice made tears prick her eyes.
“Once you’re there and they realize your family has no interest in letting you out, they move you to a different floor.
The rules are different there. The rooms aren’t cleaned as often.
The food’s not as fresh. And the orderlies…
Well, they follow different rules, too.”
“Tell me.”
She didn’t know where to start or how much he wanted to know.
In a way, if felt like a relief to unburden herself to someone who might actually care, someone who could spare an ounce of compassion for all she’d suffered.
However, self-preservation kept her silent.
If she told him, he’d know her darkest secrets and see her truest shame.
She thought about the bars on the windows that cast prison shadows across their beds. About the orderlies who enjoyed their power a little too much, who found excuses to conduct ‘wellness checks’ that left the female patients violated and cowering.
“There was one orderly,” Marigold whispered, her eyes trained on the bookshelves ahead. “Willum. He only worked at night. And when he made his rounds, he’d…”
Her mind jumped to the last time she tried to tell on Willum. The doctors said she was having more paranoid delusions. They increased her medication until she could barely form complete sentences. That made Willum’s job a lot easier.
Ash’s jaw clenched, muscle jumping beneath his skin. “What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does. I can see it still has power over you.”
“I was one of the lucky ones. My meds were strong. I couldn’t feel or think. In a way, I’m grateful. My roommate wasn’t so lucky.”
Ash hissed a sharp Russian profanity. “What did he do to her?”
“I don’t know. But afterwards, she found a way to break a mirror in the bathroom.
They’re supposed to be shatterproof, but she somehow got it to break.
They put her in a padded cell and gave her a strong sedative.
But she hid a shard of glass without them seeing.
Hid it for weeks.” Marigold’s voice cracked.
“I woke up one morning and she was just... gone. Blood everywhere. They told us she’d been transferred, but I saw them wheeling out the body bag. ”
“Fucking hell.” Ash pulled her closer, his arms becoming a fortress around her trembling frame. “How did you survive it?”
“I learned to play their game. To be the perfect patient. Compliant. Medicated. Grateful for their help in overcoming my delusions.” The words tasted like poison, but she swallowed down the fear and pushed herself to go on, to finally unburden herself.
“I smiled when they praised my progress. Thanked them for saving me from my own mind. Let them believe they’d broken me completely. ”
“But they hadn’t.”
“No. I was planning. Waiting. Learning their routines, their weaknesses.” She took a shaky breath. “Willum liked me. Thought I was... grateful for his attention. He started giving me privileges. Longer visits to the library. Access to areas I shouldn’t have been able to reach.”
Ash went very still. “What kind of attention?”
The question hung in the air like smoke. Marigold closed her eyes, remembering hands that shouldn’t have touched her, promises whispered in the dark about special treatment for cooperative patients.
“The kind that made my skin crawl,” she said finally. “But also the kind that gave me leverage.”
“Leverage how?”
“I had to get home. Patients on my floor rarely got to leave, but Willum had a master set of keys.” She swallowed hard, tasting shame and desperation. Tasting blood. “All I had to do was show a little gratitude.”
Ash’s breathing went shallow. “What did you do?”
“What I had to do.” The words came out flat, emotionless.
He turned her chin, forcing her to meet his stare. “Is he still alive.”
“No.”
She waited for judgement, but his expression only showed comprehension. “Then you ran?”
“I ran. As soon as the shifts changed, I was out the door. I stole clothes from the laundry, money from the office safe, and I took a bus back home. My father thought I had approval to leave. By the time they reported me missing, I’d already had the fight with Jordan and running for my life.”
“He was going to send you back to Whitmore?”
“Or worse.” She recalled how terrified she’d felt, trying to find a safe place to hide where someone wouldn’t turn her in. She trusted no one. She was hunted and Jordan would not stop until he made sure she was no longer a threat. “He won’t stop until he finds me. Until he silences me permanently.”
Ash was quiet for a long moment, processing her words.
When he finally spoke, his voice was rough with emotion.
“You did what you had to do to survive. To escape. To protect another girl from your brother’s depravity.
” His hand cupped her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You’re a fucking badass.”
Tears pricked her eyes at the fierce pride in his voice. “I’m damaged.”
“Regardless, your ours now.” He kissed her forehead with reverence that made her chest ache. “You survived hell to end up here, with us. That’s not a coincidence. That’s fate.”
“I don’t believe in fate.”
“One day, you will.” His lips found hers, soft and sure. “Believe that we’ll keep you safe. That we’ll make them all pay for what they did to you.”
The kiss deepened, and Marigold found herself melting into his warmth. His gentle seduction was comfort that reached beyond the flesh. His understanding wrapped her in warmth that soothed away bone-deep pain.
Ash lifted her, carrying her to the thick rug before the fireplace. His movements were unhurried, reverent, like he was handling something precious and fragile. When he lay her down on the soft fur carpet, she felt like a goddess being worshipped by her most devoted follower.
Deep, languid kisses put her in a drugged trance, and when he pressed his fingers inside of her, she was drenched for his touch. He stripped away her sweater, leaving her only in her boots. Hot kisses trailed down her torso, lower and lower until he was licking into her.
He took his time, but also pushed her. She traced her hands over his broad shoulders as he opened his pants and stared down at her. “I’ll erase the memories of any man who touched you before.”
There was so much she had yet to learn about him, but she believed, if anyone could erase her pain, Ash could. “Please.”
He pressed deep, staring into her eyes as he forced her to take every powerful inch of him. Shallow breaths constricted by the position forced her mind to stay present as he purposely let his weight sink into her. It was a good pain, the kind that made it impossible to forget who touched her.
“Feel how deep I fill you, printessa.” His hand pressed over her belly, just below her ribs. “Here. Deep. All the way inside of you.”
“Yes.”
“No matter how many times I break you, I’ll always put you together again. Remember? Trust.”
She nodded, unsure how she’d come to trust him so quickly, but unable to deny the fact that she did. “What if some parts of me are too broken to fix?”
“Nyet. If they truly broke you, you never would have made it this far. To us.”
He made love to her slowly, thoroughly, with a patience that spoke of infinite time and infinite care.
His hands mapped every scar, every tremor, every place where trauma had left its mark.
And where his touch lingered, the pain seemed to ease, replaced by warmth and belonging and something that might have been love.
He kept his eyes on her, watching her responses and studying her tolerance when he gripped her throat or pulled her hair. He liked manhandling her. Liked when he made it hurt because he liked kissing the pain away and putting her back together again.
When she shattered in his arms, it was with tears streaming down her face—not from pain, but from the overwhelming relief of being truly seen. Truly accepted. Truly cherished despite everything she’d been forced to do.
When they lay tangled together on the rug, watching flames dance in the hearth. Marigold confessed, “I like being with you.”
He shifted to hold her a little tighter, but said nothing. The storm outside had finally broken, leaving the world washed clean and new.
“Maybe you’re exactly what I needed, someone sturdy enough not to bleed from my rough edges.”
“I have rough edges, too. We all do.”
“I like when you put me back together again.” She stared at the flames and laughed to herself. “Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall…”
“If you’re expecting all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. I only share with my brothers.”
His words were playful, but also realistic. She shivered at the terrifying thought of Hunter. “What if I don’t want to be with them.”
He drew back to look at her. “Don’t be foolish, printessa. We can be very accommodating, but the rules are clear. To stay, we require your full consent.”
She tightly swallowed. “But Hunter hates me. He told me himself he has no interest in touching me.”
He pressed her head back down to his chest. “Eventually, that will change. Do yourself a favor and accept that which cannot be avoided.”
She sat up. “You can stop him.”
“Why would I?”
His question stung. “Because we…” She looked down and frowned. “Don’t you care about me?”
“Yes, but Hunter’s my brother.”
“So?”
“So, we have an understanding. I won’t betray him.”
“Even if he plans to hurt me?”
“He won’t.”
“He already has! Just tonight, he slammed me into the counter and threatened me. He’s cruel and—”
“Enough.”