Chapter 28
28
T he sharp bite of metal around my wrists and the damp chill seeping into my bones drag me from unconsciousness. The drug Josiah used leaves a brutal headache, and my vision swims, but even through the haze, I recognize my surroundings. The flickering bulb overhead casts just enough light to reveal the cold stone walls—haunting reminders of a place I thought I’d escaped.
I gasp in pain as I try to sit up, my head pounding harder with the effort. The familiar ache only amplifies the dread coiling in my chest.
When I’m finally able to open my eyes without the world spinning, I glance down at my gown—once perfectly elegant, now a shadow of what it was. Torn and soiled, its rich velvet stained with grime. A swell of emotion rises in my throat, but I force it down. The gown is the least of my concerns, though it’s easier to focus on than what’s really happening.
The sound of slow, deliberate footsteps descending the stairs breaks the silence, each echoing step a jagged beat that intensifies the throbbing in my skull. I don’t need to look to know who it is. I can feel his presence already.
Josiah steps into view, hands casually tucked into his pockets, but the rage radiating off of him is unmistakable. His eyes burn with fury, each glance like a lash against my skin. The air around him seems to grow heavier, suffocating, and I can feel the weight of his presence pressing down on me.
“Welcome home, Celestina,” he sneers, his voice dripping with venom, the mockery in his tone making it clear how little he values me. “And a merry Christmas to you.”
I don’t answer. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
He crouches down, bringing himself closer, his gaze piercing mine as he lingers over me like a predator eyeing its prey. His lips curl into a sneer that twists my insides. “I’ve prayed for you every day, you know. Prayed that you’d find your way back to the Light. But instead, you’ve let the devil consume your soul.”
When I don’t respond, Josiah’s eyes flash with irritation, the tightness in his jaw betraying his control. “Don’t think I don’t know about the man you were with at the gala. I can practically feel the darkness he left on your skin. I know you let him touch you.”
My lip twitches, but I force my voice to stay steady, the words slipping out like silk. “Well, if that’s what you think, Josiah, you’re in for a rude awakening.”
He studies me for a long moment, trying to gauge my response, his gaze sharp, searching for cracks. “How so?” he finally asks, his patience wearing thin.
I lean forward just a fraction, a slow, sinful smile spreading across my lips. “It wasn’t just the one devil,” I drawl. The smile that curves my mouth is pure sin itself, and I know without a doubt that it’s enough to stoke the fire and brimstone in him.
His sneer falters, just for a moment, as he processes my words. “What are you talking about?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous, jaw ticking, fists clenching.
I lean back against the wall, a faint laugh slipping free despite the dull ache in my head, despite the dizziness threatening to take me down. “I’ve been living with three men, Josiah. I love them. Each of them. Just as they love me. And they’ve all more than touched me.”
The reaction is instantaneous. Before I can blink, his arm swings out, a backhand that snaps my head to the side with a sickening crack. Pain explodes across my cheek, the throbbing in my skull intensifying to a degree that makes my stomach churn. I fight the wave of nausea that crashes over me, but I don’t let the pain show.
“You disgusting, ungrateful whore,” he hisses, standing tall enough to loom over me, his presence suffocating. “Our wedding is set for New Year’s Eve, one week from today. And I will spend the rest of your life using every means necessary to purify your soul. You’ll beg, Celestina. And I’ll enjoy every second of it.”
I turn my head, glaring up at him with as much defiance as I can muster. “You can try, Josiah. But when they come for me—and they will come—you’ll wish you’d never touched me.”
His laugh shatters the silence that had begun to stretch between us, like shards of glass splintering inside my skull—dark, humorless. “Oh, I’m counting on it,” he says, his smile widening. “They’ll come, and you’ll watch as I slowly destroy them, piece by piece. I was expecting just one, but three? Now that’s a real treat. Consider it a wedding gift.” He leans closer, his voice a venomous whisper. “I’ll make sure the last thing they see is my hands, leaving marks all over you.”
He goes into grotesque detail, each word more twisted than the last, savoring every cruel scenario. His voice is painfully sharp, like claws scraping across my aching skull, as he describes how he’ll destroy them. He claims it will bring him pleasure to be the architect of their misery. He promises to make them witness every depraved act he plans to “restore my purity,” before sending them to the fiery pits of hell. Each sentence is a strike, meant to tear me apart, but I refuse to let them touch me.
Ignoring him is my only power. Every word I don’t respond to is a silent blow to his ego. I force my gaze down, focusing on my broken nails as if they’re more important than the horrific agenda spilling from his lips. I tut, as if irritated by something trivial—like he’s not even worth the iota of my attention. In that moment, I decide: He isn’t. His words don’t exist in my world. The only thing that matters is the distance I create between us with every second I don’t react.
He can talk, but with silence, I’ll win.
His composure fractures, and with a swift kick to my gut, he knocks the breath from my lungs. I try to retaliate, but the chains yank me back, and I glare at him, my vision blurring from the pain. The defiance in my eyes seems to unnerve him, making his nostrils flare.
“What’s wrong, Josiah?” I force the words out, my voice shaking but laced with defiance. “Afraid of a little thing like me? Is that why you need to chain me up?”
He doesn’t answer, but the tension in his jaw tightens, betraying his irritation. Instead, he straightens his jacket, eyes scanning me with a look of disgust.
“You’re going to rot down here in that filthy dress, and think about what you’ve done,” he spits, his voice colder than ice. “By the time our wedding day comes, you’ll be begging me to save you.”
The darkness within me rages as she snarls at the sorry excuse of a man. I laugh, the sound thin and weak, yet it carries a manic rage that echoes through the empty cellar. It’s like a dozen versions of me are laughing at him in unison, and that thought fuels me, giving me the strength to look him dead in the eye and say, “Fuck you, Josiah. Behold, your harbinger of death.”
It’s a promise—one that rings with finality.
His eyes widen for the briefest moment, trying to mask his shock. I see the realization dawn on him—he was expecting me to crumble, to beg for mercy. Instead, I stand firm.
The silence that follows is thick, before he storms up the stairs, his fury palpable. He slams the door behind him, the force of it making me flinch, but my resolve never wavers.
I press my head to the wall, the adrenaline bleeding out, leaving room for every ache and pain to crash in. My chest heaves, tears clawing at the back of my eyes, but I bite them back, knowing they’ll only make things worse. Beckett’s grounding presence, Whit’s quiet strength, and Quinn’s wicked mouth—these thoughts are my anchor. They’ll come for me. I know it.
And if they can’t—for some impossible reason—I’ll fight my way out and back into their arms, just like they taught me.
This isn’t the end of my story.
Time blurs as my mind drifts in and out of sleep. The veil between memories and reality thins, making it impossible to keep them at bay. I’m sixteen again, dragged to this same cellar by my father for some minor infraction. Josiah waits, cold and smug, as he chains me to the wall. My terror seems to fuel him, his satisfaction in my fear unmistakable.
“You’ll learn obedience,” he says, his voice unnervingly calm. An eager gleam flickers in his eyes, as though punishing me is not just his right, but his divine purpose—and he will savor every agonizing second of it. He strips me of my clothes, leaving me exposed, shivering in the cold, vulnerable in a way that makes me want crawl out of my skin and leave it behind. I beg him to stop, telling him it’s not right, but he doesn’t listen. He tells me to be quiet, saying it’s fine because we’re betrothed.
That it’s his right, that I can’t tell him no.
The first time he forces himself on me, I scream, I sob, but he only laughs. My fear amuses him. He calls me ridiculous, insists it’s for my own good. When my cries don’t stop on command, his slap cracks across my face. His breath scorches my skin as he roars about how grateful I should be.
Grateful?
For what?
I can’t understand.
After that, the punishments come more frequently. My father searches for reasons to hand me over to Josiah. A bed left improperly made. Stepping outside my room without permission—even just to use the restroom.
My father doesn’t care how much Josiah hurts me because it elevates him in the covenant—and there is no greater honor.
He once told me to stop complaining—that this was the only value I had, the only way I’d ever mean anything to him. For a long time, I believed that if I could be perfect, I’d be enough, he’d love me. But now, I realize he’s never been capable of love.
At least, not toward me.
Each day I spend chained in his cellar, Josiah takes another piece of me, hollowing me out, leaving only what he wants to remain. I learn, out of necessity, to hide the best parts of myself—tucking them deep, locking them away where he can’t reach.
My mother told me not to let them break me. I don’t have the heart to tell her they already have.
Once, when the Covenant’s doctor visited, I told him what was happening to me, trusting him to help. That’s what doctors do, right?
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
He said defying Josiah was like slapping God in the face—then pressed a syringe into my arm, injecting something he claimed would prevent pregnancy.
Not thirty minutes after the doctor left, Josiah arrived. He never knocks. He simply barges in. I heard his footsteps pounding up the stairs, fear locking me in place. My body started shaking the moment he stepped into my room. He grabbed me by the arm, his grip bruising, and yanked me down the stairs, out the door. I didn’t go home for days.
When I turned eighteen, I moved into the Covenant’s college dorms. I thought I might be free of him, at least for a few years.
That was just a naive girl’s wishful thinking.
He still found ways to get to me. Not that he even had to try. Nowhere was safe. He made sure I never forgot—I was his.
Countless times, he barged into my dorm in the dead of night—no warning, no discretion. I’d wake, screaming, as he yanked me from bed by my hair. The girls I shared a dorm with could do nothing but watch in terrified silence, too afraid to move, too afraid to help.
After the first night Josiah dragged me out, the other girls began to warm up—lukewarm, at best. I think, before that, they had a fairytale vision of my life. A twisted romance, gilded in devotion.
Until they saw the truth.
Until they saw him .
Drifting back into consciousness is a mercy, the memory fading as the cold, damp air pulls me into the present. The cellar walls come into view, a harsh reminder of where I am. My body aches, my wrists raw from the chains, but the throbbing in my head is bearable. I force myself upright, relieved when the motion no longer makes me dizzy.
More painful memories threaten to pull me under, dragging me back to the mindset of the Celest I used to be, before I escaped. I inhale deeply, closing my eyes, and let the past few months push the horrors of before into the darkness.
Celestina no longer exists.
That part of my life is over.
She’s dead.
Buried in the past, along with the memories she carried.
“I’m not that girl anymore,” I whisper.
My past does not define me. It is not my future.
My future is coming for me. And this time, I’m not leaving my mother behind. She deserves happiness just as much as I do.
“Hold on,” I whisper, gripping the chains. “Just a little longer.”
I stretch out my legs, forcing the blood to flow, then push myself upright. It’s a struggle, but once I’m standing, movement comes easier. I have to keep my strength. I will walk out of here when the time comes.
They’re coming.
I can almost hear them now.
I haven’t forgotten who I belong to.
And they haven’t forgotten me.