Chapter X #2
He crosses the space between us so swiftly that I barely have time to register that he’s gripping my shoulder. “Come with me.”
“Silas, I said—”
“Now.”
He hauls me so forcefully I nearly fall out of my chair while trying to stand. His grip slips to my forearm—it’s too tight—and pulls me through the restaurant.
Into the hall.
Into the bathroom.
Silas shoves me in so hard my foot slips out of my slingback kitten heel. Then he slams the door shut behind us, turning the lock. It’s a beautiful bathroom—stone walls, marble countertops, golden stalls and huge gold-rimmed mirrors.
“Remember what you promised,” I say shakily.
He grins like a maniac, spinning me around so we’re both facing the mirror. He towers over me, his body looming like a predator. He grabs my left hand and holds it up.
“I don’t know. Do you remember what this ring means?”
I swallow thickly.
His hands fall to my waist, yanking me against his hard body, his lips against my ear.
“This is your last chance to tell me the truth, Eden.” He holds my gaze in the mirror.
“You don’t get to lie to me.” His breath is searing against my cheek.
“You went to see him after I proposed to you, didn’t you? And he touched you, didn’t he?”
“It’s not what you think—”
“You don’t get to lie to me!” he shouts, slamming my body down against the marble countertop. “You’re mine, Eden. I don’t know what fucking dreams he’s been selling you—but you belong to me.”
“I’m not a possession to be owned, Silas.”
An empty, hollow laugh echoes in the bathroom. “This rebellious streak… Did he trick you into thinking it would work? That you’d somehow be able to stand up to me if you defied me enough?”
My whole body is shaking, pain blooming near my hip bones. “I’m a person, Silas. An individual. I’m not something to be owned.”
“No, you’re something to be loved.” His voice is mocking. “That’s what he said to you.”
He grips my throat.
“Alright.” He says with a note of finality. “If he’s stained you with his touch, I’ll just have to make sure you don’t remember it.”
I don’t even get a chance to think about what he means. His grip on my throat cuts off my breath, then he pushes my body away so harshly, I stumble—but he grabs me by my hair, forcing me upright.
Pain slices my scalp. “Silas, please.”
His free hand starts to unzip my dress. “The time for begging has passed, my love. We could have had a wonderful dinner. A menu curated with your favorite foods. I have a room booked where we were going to have a beautiful candlelit night. I even tracked down that elusive Hermés bag you were after.” My dress falls in a pool at my feet.
“Now, look at what you’re making me do.”
He pulls my head forward, forcing me to look at myself in the mirror.
“You let that heretic defile you,” he hisses. “Now, I need to make you Holy again.”
“Silas, I told you that—”
“Shut up!” he screams, yanking my hair even harder. “The more you talk, the worse you make it for yourself.”
In the mirror, his icy eyes have melted into pools of boiling water I’m in my bra and stockings, the shadow of my black underwear visible through them. My face is streaked with tears even though I don’t remember crying.
This is what my life has come to.
Silas slams my head down against the marble countertop, pressing one hand against my cheek to keep me in place against the cold slab. I writhe and scratch at his arms, at anything I can find, but it’s no use.
My tights rip.
Then, my underwear.
“Silas, please…stop.”
He laughs again. The sound of a zipper.
I squeeze my eyes shut, a sob dying in my throat.
“You need to remember that you’re mine,” is all he says before he sinks himself into me.
It burns from the dry friction, and I feel myself stretching to accommodate him.
“Silas, please—”
His hand slams my head against the marble again. The words die in my throat as pain blooms across my forehead. Another thrust has my hips chafing against the counter top. His grip on my hair tightens.
“You’re mine,” he hisses. “I’m going to make you forget him.”
Another thrust. My insides feel like they’re being rubbed raw, his shaft scraping against me like sandpaper. He keeps going until the pain has my feet shaking, my body going slack against his.
How did things get like this?
I’m lost somewhere in my head, trying to escape the present, wishing I was somewhere else—in my bed back at home, sitting in the rose garden reading a book, sitting in Lucian’s cottage sipping a cup of tea in front of the fireplace.
A scream rips through me when he buries himself completely. My body finally starts responding, making it all a little less painful because of the wetness. Trying to help me endure.
“You like that, love? I can feel how wet you are,” he says, leaning over. His breath against my skin has my hair standing on edge for all the wrong reasons. “Admit it. You like it when I treat you like this—in fact, I think you love it.”
I don’t have a voice.
Squeezing my eyes even tighter, I try to put myself somewhere else. Maybe if I try hard enough I can wake myself up from this bad dream, or I can make myself so small nobody can find me. Anything to distract me from what’s happening.
“You. Are. Mine.”
Each word punctuated by a thrust.
“Say it.”
His words are swimming in and out of my consciousness. Silas jerks my head up so I’m looking at him through the mirror. I can barely hold his gaze—he looms over me like a sentinel of horror, his blue eyes as dark as midnight.
How did I not see this side of him before?
Looking back at me in the mirror is a girl I don’t even recognize. My hair is a mess, black streaks of mascara drip from my chin. My temples are bruised and swollen, my eyes puffy from crying. I don’t look like Lady Evelyn Lockhart, future Duchess of Surrey.
What would my mother say if she could see me now?
She’d tell me this is the cost of privilege, of securing my place in society, of love.
“Who do you belong to, Eden?”
He holds my gaze. My lip quivers.
Another painful thrust that leaves my mouth open on a scream.
“Y-you.”
Another thrust. “Say the entire sentence.”
“I belong to you.”
“You belong to who? I don’t think my name is you.” A devilish grin spreads across his features. “Say my whole name.”
He thrusts, more violently this time—so much so that my whole body is shaking and I can barely get the words out. But I need to get them out.
“I belong to Lord Silas Peregrine-Ashford IV,” I whisper.
He goes even harder. “Louder,” Silas says through gritted teeth.
“I belong to Lord Silas Peregrine-Ashford IV!” I scream as loud as I can.
The words are barely out of my mouth when I feel his warmth filling me. He shudders, leaning over me with a hand on either side of me. At least he isn’t pulling my hair anymore.
“You’ve been a good girl, Eden.”
I hate that somehow, because he said that—it makes the moment feel right. I should hate him, but I need him. Maybe I feel both of those things.
Maybe I always will.
“I’ve cleansed you,” he says, flipping me around to force his lips on mine.
It’s a sharp, bruising kiss. He sinks his teeth deep into my lips. My mouth tastes of copper, and it isn’t even a surprise. I feel nearly catatonic.
He stares at me in the mirror.
I look back at him.
This is the man I chose.
This is the man I’m marrying in six weeks.
I don’t know if I can handle an eternity of this.
But I don’t have a choice—the only friend I had left hates me because I was dishonest with him. I feel pathetic to even think I need saving. I should be able to save myself.
Felling the monolith that is Silas Peregrine-Ashford IV?
It’s not a one-woman job.
“Now that all of that is out of the way,” he says, cutting through my thoughts. “Clean yourself up.” He waves his hand vaguely in the direction of the dress pooled at my ankles and my face. “We’ll finish dinner, then head to our hotel and you can unwrap the gift I got you.”
He smiles—it’s a genuine one, I can tell.
There’s not even a bit of remorse in his eyes, even though he just…
I can’t even bring myself to think the word. Because if I think that, then I’m going to spiral, and if I spiral, he’s just going to get angrier.
Silas disappears, leaving me alone.
I manage to zip up my dress alone, then splash water on my face, taking a paper towel to clean my eyes. I fix my hair as best I can, trying to use it to hide all the bruises on my face.
My eyes start to water. Next thing I know, I’m retching up everything I ate. I fall to my knees first, then I’m sitting on the floor of the bathroom. There are tiny droplets of blood on the porcelain floor—I don’t need to even guess who it belongs to.
This is the life my mother thinks I should have.
The life that so many women would kill for, and I don’t want it.
I fiddle with the ring on my finger; ￡350,000 just sitting there, a symbol of Silas’ love.
I don’t think I want his love.
But the only way out of this is through it.