Chapter 39
~Elle~
Pain drags me back into consciousness, brutal and disorienting.
It feels like a hammer pounding inside my skull, or the echo of a bat striking bone.
A low groan slips from my lips before I can stop it.
Instinctively, my hands reach for the back of my head—only to recoil with a sharp hiss as my fingers brush the tender, throbbing scalp.
Confused by the sticky dampness clinging to my skin, my eyes snap open. I lift my hands and stare, bewildered, at the crimson coating on my fingers. A sharp flinch escapes me as the blinding light overhead sears my vision.
Fragments of memory claw their way back — the bathroom at the Oasis, the sudden attack. That woman… I pitied her, and now she’s the reason I’m here. As my sight slowly clears, I take in the unfamiliar surroundings, a chill settling over me.
Where am I?
I’m lying in an unfamiliar bed with tall mahogany posts. The only other piece of furniture in the room is a dresser and a single wooden chair with a red cushioned seat. The furniture looks antique. Heavy drapes cover a single window.
Where the hell am I? My head is foggy, thoughts slipping through the cracks.
Dominic—where is he? I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs, desperate to think straight.
The last thing I remember: Catalina in the bathroom at the Oasis.
Then a flash of pain at the back of my skull, and darkness swallowing me whole.
Catalina. The conniving bitch.
Not again. How many times can one person be kidnapped? Damn it—this isn’t some romance novel with a heroine who stumbles into trouble every chapter. That kind of drivel always annoyed me, and now it feels like my life is turning into one.
But panic is useless. I force a pep talk on myself.
Being the victim is getting old. Anger rises, rage burns.
Every time I taste happiness, the universe conspires to rip it away.
Still, stubbornness and survival have always been my mantra.
And now—now that the future finally holds promise—I have no choice but to fight.
As nausea returns, worse than what I’ve been experiencing for the last few days, I remember my suspicion. One that I’d wanted to confirm before sharing with Dominic. But I can’t think about that now. Filing away these thoughts, my determination to escape forces me into action.
Pushing up onto my forearms causes a bout of dizziness—the room spinning around me. Ignoring the retched feeling, I rally on until I’m sitting. Taking a deep breath helps. When the room stops spinning, I make an effort to move.
Somehow, I’m on my feet, standing at the door. It won’t budge—locked tight. I rattle the knob, useless. Turning my back to it, I scan the room for another way out. Only one option: the window.
Each step makes the pounding in my skull worse. When I reach it, I see the boards nailed across. Damn it. My legs weaken, frustration boiling over. I slide down the wall, back pressed against the cold surface, trapped.
Tonight was supposed to be special. Instead, it turned into a nightmare. Why won’t these people leave us alone?
I’m sure that Dominic is already looking for me.
He’ll come for me. The throbbing in my head is getting worse.
Ignoring it, I force myself up. Somehow, I made it to the dresser.
Staring at the image in the mirror, I note how horrible I look.
That is, in contrast to how satisfied I was with my appearance before leaving the mansion for the club earlier.
The hair on the back of my head is matted with dried blood.
My face is pale, mascara smudged, and the line of my lips is thin as I try to ignore the agony.
Turning my head, I examined the injury. A swelling is visible with a small laceration at the center. Clenching my teeth, I poke my finger along the edges. Satisfied that it’s not as bad as it looks, I sit down at the end of the bed. And wait.
Sometime later, the door opens suddenly causing me to jump to my feet. An older man walks in followed by the bitch.
He looks so much like my husband—same broad build, black hair, piercing blue eyes.
The only difference is the gray creeping at his temples.
Dressed in a black pinstriped suit, he greets me with a smile that belongs at a dinner table, not in a prison cell.
But beneath that polished facade, I can see it—the malice lurking just out of sight.
“You’re even more beautiful in person. No wonder my nephew—who swore he’d never marry—couldn’t resist you.”
“It should have been me,” the snake sneers, dragging my attention back to her.
“You fucking bitch!” I lunge, my hand cracking across her cheek. She retaliates instantly, yanking my hair. Pain explodes through my skull, stars bursting in my vision as I cry out.
“She’s yanked back. “Stop! You’ve done enough damage already,” he snaps at her. She presses a hand to her cheek, the skin already reddening from my blow. Her smug smile unsettles me.
“That’s right, you whore. Soon you’ll be on your back, and Dominic will be so disgusted he won’t want you anymore. Then he’ll be free to marry me.” Her words drip with madness. She’s unhinged—so far gone that, for a moment, I almost pity her.
“What the hell are you talking about? The only whore I see in this room is you.” Sneering at her.
Holding on to my anger to mask my unease.
It gives me pleasure to see I’ve hit a mark.
Her previous smugness was dimmed. Catalina is unable to retaliate right now, in front of the man I assume is my husband’s traitorous uncle.
Oh God, please let Dominic find me quickly. Why does it sound as if the plans they have for me would be awful. “Enough!” He snaps as if he’s dealing with misbehaving children. “We need to get her ready for when Alban Berisha arrives, go get one of the maids to make her presentable.”
Catalina leaves reluctantly to carry out his orders.
The moment we are alone, my unease deepens.
He studies me in silence, his predatory gaze forcing me to step back, instinctively widening the distance between us.
“I’m going to relish watching your husband suffer.
And what better way to break him… than through his wife? ”
“You’re vile. What kind of man betrays his own blood?
Plotting to kill your family—you should choke on the shame.
” He sneers, eyes burning. “Your husband stole what was mine. Now I’ll strip him of everything he loves.
Starting with his beautiful wife.” He closes the distance, his cologne thick in the air, so sharp it makes my stomach twist.
When he touches my cheek with a finger, my skin crawls. Leaning forward, he gleefully whispers in my ear. “Alban Berisha will enjoy his prize soon. I wouldn’t fight if I were you. You’ll only make things worse for yourself.”
Slapping his hand away. “Fuck off, you bastard!” He laughs mockingly at my false bravado. Clearly seeing through my pretense. “On second thought, I’ll enjoy seeing you try to resist. It’s what you deserve for saving my nephew's life instead of letting him die.”
A sharp knock at the door spares me from answering, the sound cutting through the tension like a blade.
The devil’s gaze flickers, and he turns away, retreating with a slow, deliberate step.
Only then do I realize I’ve been holding my breath; it escapes in a shaky exhale, my chest tight with relief that his presence is no longer pressing against me.
The door creaks open, and a middle-aged woman steps inside.
Her face is unreadable, carved into a mask of indifference.
The faint scent of antiseptic clings to her clothes, mingling with the stale air of the room.
She doesn’t look at me directly, but her eyes flicker with something—weariness, perhaps, or resignation.
“Get her ready,” he orders, his voice low and commanding, before disappearing through the doorway. The woman lingers for a moment, her hands tightening around the bundle she carries, before moving closer.
“Okay, Miss, we need to get you cleaned up and ready,” she chatters, guiding me down the corridor into a stark bathroom.
“The boss likes his women looking elegant. We can’t have you looking like something the cat dragged in.
” She keeps talking as she fills the claw-foot tub, her words sharp against the sound of rushing water.
“Undress and get in,” she orders. I freeze, staring at the rising water, unable to move.
When she realizes my defiance, her hands claw at my clothing, trying to strip it away.
I slap them aside, trembling with resistance.
Her voice hardens. “Either you undress now, or I’ll bring one of the guards in here to assist you. ”
With no other choice, I strip away my clothes and step into the tub.
My teeth clench as the witch tilts a basin, water cascading over my head.
It strikes my scalp like fire. As she works her fingers through my hair, matted with blood, the water runs crimson.
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the dizziness, willing myself not to collapse into the red-stained bath.