Chapter 41 Dove
DOVE
The moonlight spilled through the tall windows of the bedroom, casting an eerie glow across the room.
The flickering shadows danced on the dark, gothic walls, and the floor-length mirror stood like a silent sentinel in the corner, its gilded edges catching the faint silver light.
This room—his room—was still haunted by memories I wasn’t ready to face, memories of a time when I thought I understood Ashton Riley, when I thought I might have meant something to him.
I stood in front of the mirror, my arms crossed over my chest as I stared at my reflection.
My hair was loose, cascading over my shoulders, and the silk nightdress I wore clung to me, a second skin.
I hated how fragile I looked—like a ghost of myself.
The dark circles under my eyes told the story of too many sleepless nights, too many tears shed in this very room.
The memories came unbidden, each one as vivid as if I were reliving them.
Ashton, slipping into this room in the dead of night, his presence like a shadow, silent but overwhelming.
He would climb into bed without a word, his body warm against mine, his breathing steady.
I’d never dared to ask why, but I’d known.
He didn’t sleep with women—he’d told me that himself in his cold, matter-of-fact way.
He would fuck them, use them, discard them, but he wouldn’t sleep with them.
But he’d slept with me.
And that had meant everything, even when I tried to convince myself it didn’t.
Now, all I could hear were his cruel words from the day he’d sent me away. The way he’d ripped my heart out, as though all of this—us—had been nothing more than a game to him. I’d believed him. I’d hated him. And still… I was here.
I turned slightly, my eyes drawn to my reflection.
My breath caught in my throat as I lifted the hem of my nightdress, exposing the ugly truth I’d tried to ignore.
The raw branding of Bentley James’s initials seared into my skin, a permanent reminder of his cruelty, his need to own me even after all these years.
The sight of it made my stomach churn, my throat tightens as tears welled in my eyes.
The tears came faster than I could stop them, hot and bitter, spilling down my cheeks as I stared at the mark. My fists clenched the fabric of my nightdress as my chest heaved with silent sobs. I hated it. I hated him. I hated that I hadn’t been strong enough to stop him.
The faint creak of the door snapped me out of my thoughts. My head whipped around, and there he was—Ashton. His tall, broad frame filled the doorway, his face shadowed by the dim light of the room. But his eyes… his eyes burned with an intensity that made my breath hitch.
He’d seen it.
“Dove,” he said, his voice low, rough, but I could hear the rage simmering beneath the surface. He stepped into the room, the door shutting softly behind him, and his movements were deliberate, predatory.
I dropped the hem of my nightdress and tried to turn away, but it was too late. He was already in front of me, his hand grabbing my wrist, pulling me toward him. His grip wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t cruel either—it was desperate, furious.
“What the fuck is that?” he growled, his voice shaking with anger.
He didn’t wait for an answer. He pushed me toward the bed, bending me over it with a force that made my breath catch.
His hands were steady as he yanked the nightdress higher, exposing the brand again.
I flinched, but I didn’t stop him. I couldn’t.
“You’re mine,” he snarled, his voice low and venomous. “Do you understand me? Mine. Not his. Not anyone’s.”
I heard the metallic clink of something, and then I felt the cold touch of his tattoo gun against my skin. My heart raced as panic and anticipation warred within me. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I just let him work, the low hum of the needle filling the room as he pressed the ink into my skin.
His hands were firm, his touch rough but precise. I could feel the anger in every stroke, the rage coursing through him as he worked to erase what had been done to me, to mark me as his in a way that no one could take away.
“You don’t belong to anyone else,” he said, his voice tight, filled with fury and something else—something raw and vulnerable. “Not him. Not anyone.”
The pain was sharp but bearable, the pressure of the needle almost grounding me as I felt the shadows of his design take form. A dove with dark, swirling shadows around it—his way of reclaiming me, of erasing the stain that had been left behind.
When he finished, he pulled back, the gun falling silent. I turned slightly, looking over my shoulder to see the raw emotion etched into his face. His jaw was tight, his eyes stormy and wild, and his hands trembled slightly as he set the gun down.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I whispered, my voice breaking as the tears started again. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”
His expression softened, the rage melting into something else—something broken. He sank to his knees in front of me, his head bowing as his hands rested on the edge of the bed.
“I know,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I know, Dove.”
For the first time, I saw him crumble. The weight of everything—the guilt, the anger, the regret—broke him right in front of me. And despite everything, despite the pain and the confusion and the anger I still felt, I couldn’t push him away.
I reached out, my hand finding his hair, threading through it gently as he leaned into my touch. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just stayed there, his head resting against me like he needed the connection, like it was the only thing holding him together.
When he finally lifted his head, his eyes met mine, and the vulnerability there stole the breath from my lungs. “Stay,” he whispered. It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t a command. It was a plea.
I nodded, pulling him up onto the bed beside me. He lay down, his body pressed close to mine, his arms wrapping around me like he was afraid I might disappear. And as we lay there, the silence between us filled with all the words we couldn’t say, I realized something that terrified me.
I wasn’t sure I could ever let him go.
not emotionally, but he had broken this fucked up dynamic we had built and I was too tired to fight him today, but I would leave come morning. Everything he had said had put a stain on what we had built.
The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting faint streaks of gold across the dark wood of the bedroom.
It was the kind of light that should have felt warm, comforting, but all it did was to highlight the weight in my chest. Ashton lay beside me, his face softened in sleep, his usually brooding features at peace for once.
His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, and his lips were slightly parted, his breathing slow and even. He looked almost… human. Almost mine.
But he wasn’t mine. He never had been.
I watched him, my chest tightening with emotions I didn’t want to name.
I hated him for what he’d done—for the way he’d stolen me, shattered me, and somehow still made me crave him.
But more than that, I hated myself for loving him despite it all.
Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it?
Love. Stupid, reckless, impossible love.
A single tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it, followed by another and another. I wiped them away quickly, as if that would somehow erase the truth of them, but the ache in my chest only grew.
He didn’t love me. I was just a game to him—a toy to play with, to possess. And yet, every time he touched me, every time he looked at me like I was the only thing in his world, I let myself believe it was real. That I was real to him. But I wasn’t.
I couldn’t do this anymore.
Silently, I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him.
The cool air hit my skin as I moved across the room, pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweater, my hands trembling as I dressed.
I grabbed my phone, my heart pounding as I opened the app and called for an Uber.
My throat tightened as I stared at the screen, the little car icon inching closer and closer to the estate.
I didn’t even know where I was going—I just knew I had to get out of here.
I cast one last glance at Ashton, his hand resting lightly on the spot where I’d been just moments ago. My chest ached so fiercely it felt like I might break, but I pushed it down, burying it deep.
I didn’t make a sound as I stepped toward the door, the handle cold beneath my fingers. But as I opened it, the faint creak of the hinges betrayed me.
“Dove?” His voice was thick with sleep, groggy and soft, but it froze me in place. I turned slowly to see him sitting up in bed, his dark eyes wide with confusion, his hair messy and disheveled. “What are you doing?”
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering in my chest. “I’m leaving, Ashton.”
“What?” He was on his feet in an instant, the sheets falling away as he crossed the room toward me. “You can’t just—Dove, wait.”
“No.” My voice cracked, but I held my ground, stepping back as he reached for me. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to ask me to stay.”
“Dove, please,” he said, his voice softer now, almost desperate. “Don’t go. We can—”
“We can what, Ashton?” I cut him off, my voice rising. “You kidnapped me! You held me hostage! You made me feel something for you, and then you ripped my heart out like it meant nothing.”
His face twisted, his hands clenching at his sides. “It wasn’t nothing—”
“Bullshit!” The word burst out of me, raw and angry. “You treated me like I was a toy. Something you could pick up and throw away whenever you felt like it. You made me think… you made me think there was something real between us.”
“There is something real,” he said, his voice fierce, but I shook my head, cutting him off again.
“Fuck you,” I spat, my voice trembling with rage and pain. “Fuck you for making me believe that. For making me think I could be anything to you.”
His jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with something I couldn’t name. He reached for me, but I stepped back, holding up a hand to stop him. “No, Ashton. Don’t. You don’t get to touch me. Not anymore.”
“Dove, I—”
“I’m done,” I said, my voice firm despite the tears streaming down my face. “I’m done letting you hurt me. You don’t get to keep me here, Ashton. You don’t get to own me.”
He stood there, frozen, his fists clenched and his chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths. For a moment, I thought he might fight me, might try to stop me, but he didn’t. He just stood there, his eyes burning into mine, and it almost broke me all over again.
The sound of the Uber pulling up outside shattered the tense silence. I turned without another word, my steps quick and unsteady as I headed down the grand staircase. The gothic architecture of the estate loomed around me, its dark beauty now a cage I couldn’t wait to escape.
As I stepped out into the cold morning air, I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.
Because if I did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to leave.