Chapter 20, Xan
The aftermath is something to relish. There is nothing quite like lying next to your partner, lighting a cigarette, and letting the world fall away as we both sink into the post-coital silence.
The smoke curls up, filling the space, and for a moment, it’s just us—no words—just pure satisfaction. But tonight, the usual peace I crave after is nowhere to be found, thanks to that bitch, who is slowly bleeding out at the foot of the bed.
I turn to Mira as she sits up to run my fingers gently down her bare back. The calm that should be ours feels tainted; the stillness of the room filled with the faint sound of Julian’s struggle.
Goosebumps rise on Mira’s skin, and I cannot help but imagine how her breast must look from his vantage point, the thought of it filling me with a burning rage that I can barely keep contained. I grab my hoodie and drape it over her shoulders. She remains still, her eyes glued to her ex-lover, mind clearly elsewhere. I can see it in the way her brow furrows, how she is caught in a tornado of doubt. I cannot blame her—it is a lot to take in. But there is no going back now. Not when we are this far gone.
“You know he’s getting exactly what he deserves, don’t you?” I ask Mira calmly, yet authoritatively. “My approach may be harsh, though it is far from unjustified.”
I see her gaze drop to the floor.
“You’re not doing anything to him he did not bring upon himself. He’s a fucking loser. You deserve nothing less than the best, little fox.”
Her body shivers increasingly and after a moment of reluctance, she gets up. I stay quiet, letting her take the lead, my eyes tracing every movement she makes. Julian’s gaze widens, a mix of fear and anticipation hanging, wondering what is coming next.
She stands beside him; her figure looming over like a silent executioner. The knife gleams in her hand, a dangerous reflection of her determination. Swiftly, she pulls off the tape, the sound of it tearing through the room. There is a subtle tremor in her fingers as she places the blade just close enough to remind him of the power she now holds. Julian’s eyes widen with distress. Sadly for him, there is no mercy in hers—just cold, controlled resolve.
“Please, Mira, stop! I’m… I’m sorry! I swear, I didn’t mean it! Don’t… don’t do this—it’s not who you are!”
His words come out in a frantic rush, each one dripping with the desperation of a man who is aware he is spiraling down. His eyes are darting between her and the blade, a flicker of agony as he tries to cling to any shred of hope. Mira’s laughter erupts, jagged and manic, as her voice quivers with fury.
“Not who I am? You don’t know a fucking thing about me!” she spits, her words like daggers aimed at him. “You never gave a damn to figure out who I really was. Maybe if I had a goddamn dollar sign branded on my forehead, you would have bothered to listen!”
Her chest heaves with rage, and her grip on the knife tightens, as if it is the only thing keeping her tethered to some semblance of control. Her eyes blaze with a fire born of years of resentment as she takes a step closer. Despite everything, I cannot help but get hard again, the intensity of Mira’s wrath almost makes me forget the gravity of what we are doing.
Seeing her like this, taking the reign of her own destiny, her skin glistening with sweat, her wild red hair tumbling in disarray, naked and unrestrained—not once I have seen anything so beautiful. She radiates a newfound strength, reborn right here and now, and I am truly captivated—pulled toward her in ways I never expected.
With every word she spits, my body stiffens, the tension coursing through my legs and I am compelled beyond reason, I seize the primal surge that consumes me. I massage my cock with intense fervor, veins straining under the pressure, pulsing like a wild heartbeat.
“You always shoved me aside, like I was some fucking afterthought. You always had something more important. Well, guess what? I’m done being your second choice.”
I watch her, spellbound, as she hovers over him—Julian, strapped down, powerless, reduced to nothing more than a whimpering heap at her feet.
There is no escape for him. No mercy coming.
Only her.
Fuck, I have seen nothing more feral, more perfect.
Julian thrashes weakly against the restraints, his wrists already bleeding. His voice cracks from crying.
“I was scared, Mira!” he croaks out, desperate. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know how to—”
“You didn’t know how to treat a human being, you mean,” she cuts him off coldly. “You didn’t know how to love something unless it stayed quiet and easy to manage.”
He shakes his head violently, choking on his own panic.
“I loved you! I did—I swear—”
“You loved the idea of me,” she spits. “You loved what you could use. You loved how easy it was to make me feel like nothing.”
She crouches down and I can see the moment Julian realizes she is not just talking anymore—she’s choosing.
“You made me feel like shit,” she repeats, quieter now. “But I am not nothing. I am everything you were too small to even fucking dream about.”
Julian sobs harder, pulling helplessly at the ropes binding him to the frame.
“Please, Mira, please—this isn’t you, you’re not like this—”
Her smile is pure fucking nightmare fuel.
“No,” she whispers. “I’m better.”
Behind her, I grip my cock, painfully hard, watching her claim every shred of her destiny back—damn, she is magnificently violent. Julian squirms weakly against the restraints, a pitiful sound tearing from his throat as Mira stands over him, the knife glinting wickedly in her hand.
Julian’s face crumples, blood smearing the corners of his mouth.
“Mira, FUCK, please—”
He whimpers, sagging lower. She steps even closer, until the tip of the knife kisses his throat, trembling from the force of her fury.
“I gave you everything, my mind, my soul, my skin,” she says, venom dripping from every word. “And you repaid me with empty promises and cold beds. So, tell me Julian…” She leans in, her mouth right by his ear, her hair brushing his bloody cheek. “Who’s disposable now?”
Julian suddenly lets out a laugh—high-pitched, broken, almost maniacal.
“You think you’re so invincible now?” he chokes out, his lips cracked and bleeding. “Look at you… miserable. All that anger—for what? You were never enough. Not then. Not now, nor ever!”
He spits blood to the side, sneering up at her with hollow eyes.
“You think you broke me, sweetie? You couldn’t even satisfy me. You are nothing, Mira! Just a fucking tight hole I couldn’t even use and a pretty face.”
I see Mira’s shoulders contract, the blade trembling slightly in her hand—rage and heartbreak colliding in real time.
She’s slipping.
Enough.
I step up beside her; the floor creaking under my weight, my hand ghosting the small of her back.
You’re not alone, little fox.
Julian’s sneer falters the second he feels my presence. I lean close to her ear.
“Make him fucking gargle his last breath.”
Her knuckles whiten around the handle while towering over what is left of him—a pitiful, broken thing, no more threat than a stray hissing at a lioness.
Julian tries to twist away,
“DAMN Mira, wait—PLEASE—!”
But she is already moving.
No mercy.
No more hesitation.
Game over.
The blade slides deep across his neck with a sickening ease. A wet, gurgling sound claws at the air before everything goes eerily still. He winces as the blood seeps, his last gasp fills the room and eyes widen. Mira just stands there, trembling, bathed in the aftermath, the knife slipping from her fingers and clattering to the floor. I catch her before she can collapse, wrapping her against me so fiercely, her skin fever-hot against mine.
My heart is a fucking war drum in my chest, hammering so loud I can taste copper on my tongue. A raw, instinctive part of me is filled with pride.
Look at her. Look at what she just did.
My little fox.
I nuzzle into the curve where her shoulder meets her neck, inhaling her sweat, her fear, her triumph. I don’t give a fuck that Julian’s corpse is still bleeding out at our feet.
Let it bleed. Let the whole fucking world burn.
I tilt her chin up roughly, forcing her to meet my eyes. She is dazed, tears clinging to her lashes, but she has never looked freer.
More mine.
“You did it,” I let out. “You chose yourself. You chose us, baby.”
She blinks, shivering, still lost somewhere between shock and euphoria. I lean down, brushing my forehead on hers with a tenderness that feels almost savage after everything we have just unleashed. She just buries her face against my chest, small gasps tearing from her lips, and it guts me.
“You’re okay, little fox,” I whisper against her hair. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
I scoop her into my arms, cradling her onto my torso like the precious treasure she is. Then, I walk toward the corridor to kick open the bathroom door to set her down inside. She sways on her feet while I keep a hand wrapped around her waist to steady her. The hot water roars to life, steam filling the small space.
I grab a cloth and start cleaning her carefully, washing away every drop of blood. Her skin pebbles under my touch. Goosebumps everywhere. Never once does she pull away. I catch a glimpse of her reflection in the foggy mirror—wide, hollow eyes.
She is mine.
Mine to protect.
She is also mine to put back together.
When I’m done, I wrap her tight in a towel, lift her again, and carry her out like she weighs nothing. I settle Mira onto the couch, tucking the bath sheet around my girl. She curls up instantly, fists clenching the fabric as if it is the only thing tethering her to the world. I kneel in front of her, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face.
“I’m right here,” I tell her, voice low. “I’m not going anywhere, ever.”
I stay there for a long moment, just watching her breathe until I finally pull away and grab my phone.
I wipe my hands off and lean back against the kitchen counter, watching her sleep on the couch. Still nestled in place, still haunted.
A pause. Lucian’s never fast, but he always answers.
I glance over at her. Her hair’s stuck to her cheek. There’s a streak of blood near her collarbone I did not manage to clean off.
I grit my teeth.
I glare at the screen like it just called me a simp.
Attached? Please. I have practically engraved her name on my ribcage—but I am not going to give Lucian the satisfaction of knowing that.
I almost laugh. That says it all, doesn’t it? A man who spits out a line like that could never love anyone—only owning, controlling, corrupting.
Another silence. A longer one.
I sit down beside her, careful not to wake her as I lower myself onto the verge of the couch. She is curled in on herself, her hair’s still damp, skin flushed from the heat of the shower—and everything that came before it.
For a long time, I just stare. Watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. The faint crease between her brows, even in sleep, her body’s still holding on to some last shred of fear or rage. I want to smooth it away with my thumb. I want to carve the world clean, so she never has to wear that expression again.
This girl walked into my life like a goddamn match dropped in gasoline. And instead of running from the flames, I lit one right back. I have killed for her. Lied for her. I just watched her become darker and stronger than anyone thought she could be—and fuck, I have wanted nothing more than I want this. Her. A future. Something real in the wreckage.
I was not supposed to feel this way. Was not supposed to let her in. But I see it now. Clear as day. She is not just a mission anymore.
She is the whole fucking reason.