Chapter 14
THE NIGHTMARE
What was broken can never be undone. What remains can still become whole
Della
The flight touches down with a groan of tired engines and a thud that rattles through my bones. Four hours late.
I’ve been traveling for what feels like a lifetime—Chicago to Frankfurt, then the long, dragging connection home. Frankfurt was a blur of rushing gates and low-battery anxiety, but I managed to charge my phone just enough to send Dad a quick message before boarding:
“Delays. Don’t wait. I’ll take a cab.”
Alexandra’s still in Spain. And this isn’t the first time I’ve taken a taxi home.
It’s close to midnight now. The air is heavy and smells like warm concrete and something bitter I can’t name. I stand outside the tiny terminal, suitcase handle slick in my palm, feeling utterly out of place, although I’m technically… home.
There are only two taxis waiting under a flickering streetlamp, engines idling in the dark.
“Della?”
The voice cuts through the stillness—low, uncertain, but strangely familiar.
I turn and see a man step from the shadows near the first car. Short beard. Hollow cheeks. Blue eyes narrowed slightly as he smiles.
“Andy?” My voice falters.
He grins, crooked and tired. “Yeah. Wow. Small world, huh?”
I recognized him. From one of Dorian’s construction sites. Months ago. I hadn’t seen him since.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, cautious.
He shrugs and jerks a thumb toward the battered yellow cab behind him. “Came back home. Driving now.”
Something flickers behind his eyes—too sharp, too watchful—but he’s a familiar face in a place that suddenly feels too quiet.
“You need a ride?” he asks. “I can take you.”
My gut twists. Something feels off. But I’m so tired. I’m on autopilot. And I know him. Kind of.
“I… yeah, actually. That’d be great,” I hear myself say.
The back door creaks as I slide in. The cab smells of old sweat, stale air, and cheap cologne. I rest my head against the window as the car pulls away from the curb with a low growl.
Streetlights blur past. My heartbeat still hasn’t settled from the flight. Or maybe it’s something else entirely.
“So… you and Dorian are pretty close.”
His voice is too casual, too practiced. He glances at me through the rearview mirror, eyes sharp beneath the surface.
I freeze. The words land wrong—framed like small talk, but something colder hides beneath them. A faint pulse of dread flutters in my chest.
“I guess,” I reply, my tone guarded.
He makes a sound. Something between a laugh and a scoff.
“Didn’t think I’d see his girl out here. Alone.”
I reach down into my bag, searching for my phone. Fingers brushing past passport, wallet, lip balm, a hair tie. I pull it out and hold the button to turn it on.
The screen lit up. Battery at 7%.
I move my thumb toward Dorian’s name, ready to type, when I realize—the car is no longer on the main road.
The streetlights thin out. The pavement fades into gravel, and shadows stretch long and deep, swallowing the edges of the road.
Up ahead, a large building looms—low and wide, with grimy concrete walls and tall windows glowing faintly from within. An old factory. A single floodlight casts a pale yellow glow over the gated entrance. In a corner, a small security booth glows dimly with the bluish flicker of a TV screen inside.
“Andy?”
He doesn’t answer. Just keeps driving. His jaw is clenched, eyes locked forward, and his mouth is twisted into something that isn’t a smile.
“Andy?!” My voice sharpens, tension rising. “Where are you taking me?”
He doesn’t speak. But his eyes flick to the rearview mirror. A glance—too long, too calm. Cold. Detached.
A shiver crawls up my spine.
Something’s wrong.
I grip my phone tighter. My heart is pounding.
“Andy, stop the car!”
He chuckles. “Sure thing, prin?es?.” (princess)
The brakes screech. The cab jerks violently, and I slam into the front seat. Pain shoots through my shoulder.
Before I can react, he is out of the driver’s seat. I scramble for my door, fumbling like a fool.
He rips my door open.
“Get out,” he growls.
I don’t have a choice. He drags me out by the arm, throws me down. My knees scrape against gravel, the sharp sting jolting me.
City lights shimmer in the far distance. Everything here is shadows and silence. Just a single, flickering lamp near an old fence.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” I shout, scrambling back.
He stares down at me, shadows dancing across his face. There’s something unhinged in his eyes—something broken beyond repair.
“It’s time to pay,” he says coldly. “For all of it.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Dorian threw me out like garbage. Sent me home. No second chance. Just gone.”
I freeze. My stomach turns.
He had been fired.
“I didn’t know,” I say quickly, breath hitching. “I had nothing to do with that.”
“You’re his,” he sneers. “So, hurting you is the next best thing.”
I try to stand, but he lunges.
The first kick lands hard in my ribs.
Then another. And another.
Each one steals my breath, a burst of white-hot pain erupting inside me. I collapse onto the gravel, gasping, choking on sobs. My arms instinctively wrap around my torso, but it’s no use. I curl in on myself, a futile attempt to hide from the blows.
I roll to my side, gasping, “No—no, please, don’t—”
The pain is everywhere. Burning. Crushing. I can feel something crack inside.
But it’s not enough for him.
He grabs me by the hair and yanks me upright. I scream—my throat raw, the sound barely human.
“Dorian thought he was better than the rest of us. Untouchable,” he snarls. “But now I’ll have what he had. I’ll take what he loves.”
I twist free and try to run, sneakers slipping on the gravel. My ankle rolls. I fall forward—palms skinned, knees slamming into the ground. The sting is instant, sharp.
I try to crawl, gasping, dragging myself forward on shaking limbs.
But he’s faster.
His hand grips my hair and yanks me backward. I scream.
Then he throws me down—hard.
My head whips back and slams into the ground. A dull, sickening crack. Pain explodes across my skull. My vision goes white for a moment. A warm, sticky wetness begins to spread along my scalp.
Dizzy. Disoriented. Everything tilts.
He’s over me in seconds.
With what little strength I have left, I kick, claw, scream his name—but it only feeds his rage.
The slap lands like a lightning bolt. Sound turns to static. My ears ring.
Blood. I taste blood.
Then a kick to my stomach. And another. I curl into myself, coughing, choking on sobs. Each breath is a knife in my ribs.
“Stop!” I whimper. “Please, stop—”
“Stop?” he laughs, breath ragged and shaking. “I’m just getting started.”
My skirt—white, with red polka dots—has bunched up around my thighs. His eyes land there, lingering with a sick hunger.
“Bet you wore this for him,” he sneers. “Did he have you in this? I’m gonna have my share, too.”
He grabs the fabric and tears it. My underwear rips next, the sound splitting the night like a scream.
I thrash beneath him, kicking, screaming, clawing at his arms. I fight with everything I have.
“No!” I scream. “No, please! Don’t—”
He pins me down, his weight crushing, the gravel biting into my back. Then he slaps me again, harder this time. My head jerks to the side. The world tilts again.
My cries dissolve into choking sobs.
“Stop. Please, stop—”
But he doesn’t stop. Never intended to.
And then—
He’s inside me.
My mind shatters.
I try to scream, but my throat is gone—burned out by terror and pain.
I float above myself, watching like I’m not even there. I’m not me anymore. Just a girl. A broken doll torn apart by a monster.
“You don’t get to say ‘no’ tonight,” he growls against my ear.
His thrusts are wild. Violent. Full of rage. Each one sends pain ripping through my hips, my spine—my soul.
I beat at his chest with weak fists. He doesn’t flinch.
And then—I see his hand reach for something on the ground. A rock. He picks it up, a glint in his mad eyes
“No—please, don’t—" and I turn my head as if I could avoid what’s coming.
He slams it into the back of my head.
My vision splits in two.
A scream rises but never leaves my lips. The warmth on my scalp spills fast—thick and terrifying.
I feel myself slipping—my limbs useless, my chest tight.
Everything falls. Fades.
Except for the ringing phone.
Somewhere—close—my phone has come back to life. Its screen glows, fragile and flickering like a beacon in the dark.
“Dorian,” I whisper.
My lips barely move. My voice is nothing more than a breath.
Andy doesn’t notice at first. He’s still moving, grunting, finishing with a savage, broken sound. My body convulses beneath him, but I don’t feel it anymore.
“Oh, look at that,” he laughs, mad and breathless. “Right on time. Glad you could assist, boss.”
He picks up the same rock, tinted red and smashes the phone.
Glass shatters. The screen dies.
I go with it.
Into silence. Into darkness.
But as I slip away—the last thought that holds me is Dorian.
Maybe when I wake up… he’ll be there.
* * *
I wake with a scream caught halfway in my throat, choking on it. My body jerks upright—sweat-soaked, heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. My fists are clenched so tightly in the sheets, they burn against my palms.
I can’t breathe. I can’t—
The dark is too close. The pain is still here.
“Della. Love.”
A warm, low voice. Steady and real.
“I’m here. You’re safe.”
My eyes fly open and I see Dorian.
He’s in his knees beside the bed, hands out—but not touching. His face is pale, stricken. His eyes wide, raw with worry. And for a second, I can’t move. I don’t trust what I see. What I hear. What I feel.
But then he speaks again, softer now, as if the wrong note might shatter me completely.
“It’s me. Just me. You’re safe now.”
He moves slowly, deliberately, standing to sit on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t pull me in, doesn’t reach too far. Just lets his hand hover near mine before gently grazing his fingers along the back of it.