Chapter 23
twenty-three
Liana
When I wake this time, the light is different.
Not dim. Not shadowed.
Bright.
Too bright.
For a second, it doesn’t make sense, my eyes struggling to adjust as I blink slowly, trying to bring the room into focus. The walls flicker with something soft and golden, the air warmer than it should be, carrying a faint scent that doesn’t belong here.
Flowers.
Candles.
Dozens of them.
They’re everywhere.
Lining the small space, set up across surfaces that were empty before, their light casting a soft glow over everything that makes it feel wrong in a way I can’t fully place at first.
It looks...beautiful.
That’s what makes it worse.
“What… are you doing?”
My voice comes out rough, slower than I expect, my head still heavy as I push myself up slightly on the bed. The movement takes more effort than it should, my body lagging behind the intention.
He’s already there.
Standing a few steps away, watching me like he’s been waiting for this moment.
“I told you,” he says gently, like this is something we’ve already agreed on. “Tonight is special.”
His hand lifts slightly, and that’s when I see it.
The dress.
It’s draped over his arm, soft fabric, pale, something that would be beautiful anywhere else, something that would have meant something different if it wasn’t here, if it wasn’t in his hands.
My stomach turns.
“I don’t understand,” I say, even though something in me already does.
His smile softens.
“We’re going to be together,” he says. “The way we were always meant to be. Body and soul.”
The words land slowly.
A sharp, cold kind of understanding that cuts through the fog just enough to hurt.
“You mean… sleep with me?”
The question feels wrong in my mouth.
He tilts his head slightly, like he doesn’t understand why I would phrase it that way.
“Of course,” he says. “We’re going to be together properly. No more interruptions. No more distractions.”
My chest tightens.
“I don’t want that.”
The words come out faster this time.
Stronger.
Something shifts in his expression.
Not fully.
Not yet.
“Don’t fight me on this, Liana,” he says, his voice still calm, but there’s something underneath it now. “You know this is what’s meant to be. You belong with me.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head, the movement making my vision tilt slightly. “I don’t. I don’t want this.”
He steps closer.
“I’m doing this nicely for you,” he says. “I’m making it right. Romantic. You deserve that.”
“I don’t want it.”
The words come out sharper now, something pushing up through the fog, something closer to clarity than I’ve had in days.
Adrenaline.
It hits fast.
Hard.
Like my body suddenly remembers what it’s supposed to do, what it’s been trying to do this entire time.
He reaches for me. For the chain. For my clothes.
“We need to get you into the dress,” he says.
“No—”
I pull back, the movement clumsy but immediate, my heart kicking harder in my chest as something finally breaks through the weight holding me down.
“I said I don’t want this!”
The shift is instant. The softness in him cracks.
“Stop fighting me.”
The words come out tighter. Controlled. But not gentle anymore. He grabs my arm. Not careful this time. Firm. Pulling.
I twist against him, my body reacting before my thoughts can catch up, adrenaline overriding the weakness just enough to give me something back.
“Let go of me!”
I wrench free and the chain slips loose.
For a split second, neither of us moves.
Then I run.
It’s not graceful. It’s not steady.
My legs don’t fully cooperate, my balance off as I stumble forward, but it’s movement, it’s distance, it’s something.
The kitchen.
I hit the counter, my hands scrambling against the surface as I grab the first thing I can find.
A knife.
It’s in my hand before I fully realise it.
I turn. He’s already coming toward me.
“Liana,” he says, and there’s something different in his voice now. “Put that down.”
“No,” I say, my grip tightening, my arm shaking slightly as I hold it out in front of me. “Don’t come near me.”
He takes another step.
“You’re not thinking clearly.”
“Don’t—”
He moves faster. I don’t think. I swing. The blade catches his arm. Not deep. But enough.
Enough to draw blood, enough to stop him for a second.
His expression changes. The softness disappears.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snaps, his voice sharp now, the control gone. “I’m trying to do this right for you and you attack me?”
Fear spikes through me, sharp and immediate, but I don’t drop the knife.
“Stay away from me!”
He doesn’t listen.
He steps in again and this time he hits me.
The impact knocks the air out of me, my body slamming back against the counter before I can recover, my vision flashing white for a second as pain blooms across my face.
The knife slips from my hand and clatters to the floor.
He grabs me before I can move, his hand tight around my arm as he yanks me forward, dragging me down, forcing me to the ground.
“I was trying to make this good for you,” he says, his voice rough now, angry in a way that feels unstable. “I was trying to give you what you deserve.”
I struggle against him, my body weaker again now that the adrenaline is fading, my movements slower, less coordinated.
“Get off me!”
He grabs the knife.
The same one I dropped.
And before I can process it, before I can move, there’s a sharp, burning pressure in my side.
For a second, I don’t understand it.
Then the pain hits.
It spreads fast, hot and disorienting, my breath catching in my throat as my body reacts, my hands pressing instinctively against it.
“No—”
The word barely forms.
He’s still above me, still holding me down, his grip tight enough that I can’t get any leverage, can’t push him off, can’t...
“I didn’t want to do it like this,” he says, his voice lower now, almost frustrated. “But you won’t stop fighting me.”
I try to move.
My body doesn’t respond properly.
The strength that surged through me seconds ago is gone, replaced by something weaker, heavier, the pain in my side making everything feel slower, harder.
“You’re mine,” he continues. “I’ll take what’s mine if I have to.”
My hands slip slightly where they’re pressed against my side, something warm spreading beneath them.
My head spins. The room tilts. I try to push him. Try to fight. But my arms don’t have the same strength anymore.
My body doesn’t. Everything feels too far away.
Too slow.
The adrenaline fades completely, leaving nothing behind to replace it. Just weakness. Just pain.
Just...nothing.
My vision blurs.
The edges darken.
His voice continues somewhere above me, saying something I can’t follow, something that doesn’t land properly anymore.
My body goes heavy.
Unresponsive.
And as everything starts to slip, as the room fades and the pain dulls into something distant, one thought cuts through the rest.
Not panic.
Not fear.
Something quieter.
Please let them find me.
Then everything goes dark.