Chapter 16 #2
The way his throat shifted when he swallowed.
Every small detail.
Every movement.
It all fed into something I didn’t want to acknowledge.
Something I couldn’t seem to turn off.
So I tried to distract myself.
To break the tension before it broke me.
Clearing my throat lightly, I spoke.
“So...”
A pause.
“I—”
Another breath.
“—how was your night?”
The question hung between us for a moment longer than I expected.
Then—
His voice came, flat and immediate.
“How was my night? Spectacular, really—if you consider lonely and boring to be spectacular.”
I pressed my lips together.
“You?” he asked, and I blinked, caught off guard.
“Four weeks,” I said quietly, keeping my eyes on the road. “Since you banned me from sleeping in your room. Let’s just say... I’m getting used to it.”
His glance lingered, sharp and almost disbelieving.
“Getting used to loneliness?” he murmured. “No one... truly adapts to loneliness.”
“I am not no-one,” I snapped, the words flying out before I could cage them.
The echo of that night four weeks ago slammed into me again — him holding the door wide, telling me I was unworthy of his bed, unworthy of his warmth, unworthy of anything but solitude.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing with dark amusement.
I exhaled softly, turning my face toward the window as the estate’s manicured lawns slipped past in a blur of green and gold.
The motion steadied me in a way his presence didn’t.
“Violet—”
“Can we not talk about Violet?”
The words came out sharper than I intended—cutting, immediate.
I didn’t even realize I’d turned until I was already facing him, the tension snapping through me like a wire pulled too tight.
His hand tightened slightly on the wheel.
I didn’t stop.
“Is she coming for another dinner?” I pressed, my voice slipping despite me. “Another night where I’m expected to serve her like I’m nothing?”
“Or has she finally lost the baby she claimed I endangered?” I added, my voice tightening.
“Or is there a new accusation waiting for me this time?”
The last question landed harder than the rest.
My chest tightened.
Pain twisted there—familiar, sharp, and unwelcome.
Violet.
Always Violet.
“Wait until I’m finished before you speak.”
His voice dropped.
The air inside the truck shifted instantly.
“Is that clear?”
I froze.
The weight of his tone pressed against my chest, suffocating any response that might have come.
I turned my face away.
Said nothing.
And that was apparently the wrong answer.
The truck jerked violently.
Without warning.
Tires screeched against the road as he yanked the wheel sharply to the right, the massive vehicle fishtailing onto the shoulder.
Gravel sprayed beneath us, the engine growling in protest as we came to a sudden, harsh stop.
My body lurched forward against the seatbelt.
Pain shot through my knees instantly, sharp and immediate, tearing a gasp from my throat before I could stop it.
Before I could even process what had happened—
His hand moved.
Fast.
His fingers clamped around my chin, hard enough to make my breath hitch as he yanked my face toward him.
The movement was brutal.
My neck strained under the force, my hands instinctively reaching for his wrist as I tried to pull away.
“Vincenzo—”
“You don’t answer me with silence, Elena.”
His voice was low.
Dangerously calm.
But the grip on my face tightened, his fingers pressing into my jaw until I could feel the pressure.
“You’re hurting me—”
“I don’t care.”
The words came out flat.
His hold tightened further.
Tears welled immediately, hot and uninvited, blurring my vision before I could stop them.
One slipped free.
Then another.
Trailing down my cheek in quiet, burning lines.
“Please... let go of my jaw. You’re pressing too hard—I swear my jaw is going to break.”
I tried to pull his hand away again, my fingers trembling as they pressed against his wrist, but his grip didn’t yield.
“You’re hurting me. I’m already in pain—and my knee still hasn’t healed from your punishment.”
For a second—something shifted in his expression.
Not softness.
But something that looked disturbingly close to—something human.
He released me.
Abruptly.
As if the moment had never existed.
Air rushed back into my lungs in a sharp gasp, and I immediately brought a hand up to my jaw, cradling it as though I could physically press the pain back inside.
My fingers trembled as they hovered there, not quite sure whether to stay or move.
I chose to stay.
To hold it.
To keep the pain contained.
Tears continued to fall, silent and unrestrained now, sliding down my cheeks without permission.
I didn’t wipe them away.
I refused to.
The Hilux idled on the side of the road, engine rumbling low beneath us, the sound filling the silence that stretched between us.
Heavy.
Alive with everything we refused to say.
He reached for my face like I was something delicate.
For a second, I didn’t move.
Then his fingers closed around my wrist.
Just firm enough to guide my trembling hand away from my jaw.
The contact sent a jolt through me anyway.
His thumb brushed the underside of my wrist once—light, almost absent-minded—before he realized what he was doing and let go.
Too quickly.
As if the touch itself had surprised him.
My hand hovered in the air for a moment before dropping into my lap, still shaking.
I hated that he could see it.
His gaze shifted until it landed on my jaw.
On the marks.
Five distinct fingerprints already blooming across my skin, angry and dark, spreading like bruises that had decided to make themselves known.
For a moment, his expression changed.
“My hand left bruises,” he said, the sharpness gone from his tone. “I didn’t realize how tightly I was holding you.”
Didn’t realize.
The words echoed in my chest like something hollow and mocking.
I stared at him for half a second longer, then reached up and flipped down the passenger visor mirror with more force than necessary.
The small rectangular glass snapped open, catching the pale morning light and throwing it across my face.
I angled it slowly until the reflection came into focus.
My breath hitched.
There they were.
The five bruises.
Clear. Sharp.
Already turning from red to a deep, ugly purple, like something had been stamped into my skin and left to settle.
The shape of his hand was mapped across my jaw, perfectly imprinted in a way that made my stomach twist.
The skin pulsed with every beat of my heart, a dull, constant ache beneath the surface.
If he had held on any longer—
I didn’t finish the thought.
I didn’t want to.
I snapped the mirror shut with a sharp click, the sound louder than it should have been in the confined space.
When I spoke, my voice came out flat.
“You act like hurting me isn’t something you secretly enjoy.”
My gaze stayed fixed on the windshield, on the empty stretch of road ahead that offered nothing but distance and silence.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
A sound that could have been frustration.
Something closer to... restraint.
“I didn’t intend for that to happen,”
The response came immediately.
It made something in me snap.
A bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it, sharp and humorless.
“You don’t intend...?
I turned my head slightly, just enough to see him from the corner of my eye—his profile rigid, his eyes locked forward like the road demanded his full attention.
“Vincenzo, everything you’ve ever done to me has been deliberate.”
“From abandoning your bride at the altar and taking me as your wife,” I continued, voice tightening despite myself.
“To making it painfully clear that you married me only so I could suffer in your grip—for my father’s crimes.”
“You’ve shown me time and again that Violet comes first, even though we are married. That I would suffer if I crossed her. A woman who accused me of making her bleed, though I hadn’t touched her at all.”
“You could have checked the cameras... but you chose to look away.”
My voice caught, then I forced it steady.
“You don’t need to pretend with me. I will always be the daughter of your violator—and nothing can erase that.”
Silence.
The accusation hung there.
Heavy.
I pressed my lips together, swallowing the emotion before it could spill further.
“Ever since you made me kneel on that razor-sharp ridge,” I said, forcing each word out, “my knees ache every single time I move—even now, four weeks later, despite the fresh gauze the doctor applied yesterday. I still limp.”
“You don’t honestly think I’ll ever forgive you, do you? You don’t think this is how I’ll live the rest of my life?”
I shook my head, the pain slicing through me.
I hesitated.
Just briefly.
Then lifted my hand again—just enough to brush lightly over the bruises on my jaw.
The contact made me wince.
“There,” I added quietly. “And just now—you almost broke my jaw because I didn’t answer fast enough.”
I dropped my hand back into my lap.
“Don’t tell me none of it was intentional.”
My voice sharpened again, cutting through the space between us.
“You choose to hurt me,” I said, eyes fixed ahead.
“Every day. Keep at it—it’s your season. But mine will come, Vincenzo. And when it does, I will make you pay for every pain you’ve inflicted. There will be no undoing it.”
Thick silence followed.
I reached up and wiped the last traces of tears from my cheeks with the heel of my hand, smearing faint streaks of salt and mascara across my skin.
My fingers trembled slightly as they fell away.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him shift.
Subtle.
But noticeable.
His shoulders squared.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened—just enough for the veins in his hands to press against his skin, just enough to betray that something inside him had reacted.
But he didn’t speak immediately.
When he finally did—his voice was lower.
Like he was choosing each word with precision.
“Well...” he paused, forcing down his words, then shifted.
“Violet only has a few days left... her heart failure has deteriorated rapidly.”