Chapter 17 The Art of Beautiful Destruction
Dom’s office door slams shut with enough force to rattle the walls.
The space that was once our sanctuary now suffocates, everything pressed too close, the air heavy with unspoken truths.
Power radiates from him in oppressive waves, dark and barely leashed.
The light crystals sputter under the strain, shadows shuddering across every surface.
He stalks to the antique liquor cabinet, fingers trembling despite his effort at composure. His movements hold a brittle precision, as though every shift risks tearing him open on invisible shards.
“That Scorpid,” I say, my voice steady as I watch him pour with vicious care. “The way it distorted—that’s not natural. I spent years studying magical creatures with my parents, and that kind of reality manipulation is exclusive to void hounds. It’s literally impossible for a desert species to—”
“Stop.” His voice grates with fury.
I don’t need him to answer. The silence says enough. The sidestepped questions, the careful words—it’s all been there. I just refused to see it.
“I won’t ask you to tell me,” I say softly. “But maybe we can . . . get creative. Squeeze my hand once for yes. Twice for—”
The crystal decanter slams down, cracking on impact.
Veins of fracture spiral through the expensive glass.
“You think I haven’t tried every fucking workaround?
” His laugh is hollow. “Signals. Symbols. I even got blackout drunk hoping something might slip through the cracks. But he sealed it all. Contingencies carved into bone.”
My mind races back through Mom’s research notes on binding contracts. The darker versions don’t just prevent speech; they punish the attempt. The thought of Kian using that on his own son makes me sick.
“Show me,” I demand. “Show me what he did to you.”
“Aria—”
“Show. Me.”
His smile turns razor sharp, all bitter edges and self-loathing. “Go on. Ask me again. Ask me what I know about your parents’ research. About any of it.”
“Fine.” I step closer, refusing to back down. “What do you know?”
“Your parents were working on—”
The rest doesn’t come. It can’t. Panic widens his eyes before he folds, a guttural scream dragged from the depths of a man burning alive.
Black veins rupture across his skin, spreading up his throat in a frenzy of sentient rot.
I stumble back as his hands tear at his chest, nails splitting cloth and flesh in a useless attempt to dig the infection free.
He staggers into the desk, the edge cracking against his spine with a dull thud.
Dom collapses, curling inward. His shirt rides up, revealing symbols gouged into his ribs, still pulsing, still raw, the flesh seared as though molten iron had burned it there.
Veins writhe toward the marks, siphoning blood and drinking down his agony.
“Stop,” I whisper, horror crushing my chest as I realize what I’ve done. “Please. I take it back. You don’t have to say anything, just—gods, please stop.”
The contract doesn’t care. It was made to silence, to torture, to own. Smoke coils from his skin, the acrid stench of burned flesh filling the air. His mouth stays shut, jaw locked. He refuses to scream. He won’t give Kian the satisfaction.
And that’s when it hits me.
It’s me. I’m the trigger. My questions. My presence. What Kian did to him—he built the punishment around me. Made me the knife twisting in Dom’s gut.
I drop to my knees beside him. “Dom. Please. Please stop trying.”
The magic recedes slow, reluctant, clinging to him as it goes. When it finally releases, he collapses sideways, one arm shaking as he drags himself upright against the desk. Sweat slicks his throat. Blood glistens on his lip where his teeth tore the flesh.
“Get off me.” He shoves away my reaching hands, stumbling to his feet. His breath comes in ragged, unsteady bursts. “I don’t need your fucking pity.”
“Dom—”
“I said get off!” He hurls the decanter at the wall.
Crystal and liquor spray across the floor.
“You want to know what happened? What dear old Dad did when I refused?” His laugh scrapes out, empty of humor.
“Three days. That’s how long he worked on me.
Broke me down cell by cell, made me bleed for every breath.
Raze and Kane screwed up a shipment, and he .
. .” His voice thins. “And Melody? Sweet, terrified Melody, who spilled his drink? He forced my hand. Told me if I didn’t mark her clean, he’d let his guards have her instead. Called it a lesson in leadership.”
His hands won’t stop shaking, and he doesn’t bother to hide it. “I thought I could handle it,” he snarls, eyes wild. “Thought I could play his game long enough to keep you safe. Just follow orders. Be useful. Be good.”
His voice breaks on the last word.
“You are good, you—”
“I am not!” He roars. “I let him hollow me out. Trained like a rabid dog, obedient enough to maul on command but too scared to speak without permission. I hurt my own people because I was too weak to find another way.”
He sinks down the desk, shaking, legs askew, arms locked for balance. Blood slips from his nose, staining his collar. His body thrums with lingering magic, shuddering in the wake of it.
I kneel in front of him. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”
“No,” he says hoarsely. “No, this was always going to happen. Because I’m fucking useless.”
“How long?”
“Does it matter?” He scrubs a hand through his hair, leaving it wild and disheveled. “I’m useless to you. That’s the part that matters. I’m a blade now, and he’s got the hilt pointed straight at your heart.”
Fury tears through me, raw and unrelenting. The paperweight is in my grip before I know it, and then it’s smashing into the wall, the impact jarring through my bones. For a heartbeat, it feels good.
Glass and crystal splinter across the floor. I seize another, then a vase, then whatever my hands can close around. Every crash fuels the rage clawing through me, a savage need to destroy, to see something fracture as completely as we have.
“More?” Dom’s voice drips with dark invitation. He circles the office, a shadow placing precious things in my hands. “Don’t stop now, love. Go on. Break it all.”
The destruction is intoxicating. My magic crackles through the ruby, making the remaining crystals hum and vibrate.
Every shatter, every impact, every burst of glass and luxury gives me something I didn’t know I needed.
It isn’t only rage. It’s grief. It’s despair.
It’s the black hollowness of knowing we are nothing but beautifully decorated pawns.
“That’s it.” Dom stalks closer, pressing a delicate glass figurine into my trembling hands. “Break everything. Break me.” His eyes are fever-bright. “I can take it. I can take anything except your fucking pity.”
The figurine joins its shattered siblings on the floor. My palm burns as it strikes his chest, yet he remains still, letting me leave marks, letting me hurt him. Pain has become the only language between us. My nails carve crescents into his skin, and still he doesn’t flinch.
“Fight back,” I snarl, shoving him again. The impact should hurt, but he takes it as if he’s been waiting for this, needing the punishment as much as I need to deliver it. “Stop standing there like you deserve this.”
He laughs. That empty, echoing sound ricochets through the ruins of his office. “Maybe I do,” he says quietly. “Maybe this is all I am.”
He catches my wrist before I can grab another weapon, spinning me until my back crashes into the wall. His body boxes me in, heartbeat thudding against my palm.
“Did it help? Did breaking everything make it easier to swallow?”
The wall chills my spine while his breath sears my neck, and the last space between us disappears. Destruction pulses through our veins, a poison we keep choosing. Glass shatters beneath our feet while the air reeks of violence.
“I hate you,” I gasp, twisting my fingers in his shirt and yanking him closer. The lie coats my tongue with copper. “You’re letting him win. You believe you deserve this.”
His laugh ghosts across my skin. “That’s not true,” he breathes.
Then his mouth crashes into me. “You hate that you want this. Still want me.” His hands tear at my dress as mine claw at his shirt, and I can’t tell if we’re trying to destroy each other or salvage something that refuses to die.
“Even knowing what I am, what I’ve done, you still love me. ”
“Shut up,” I growl against his lips, sinking my teeth into his bottom lip until I taste copper. The metallic tang floods my mouth. “Just shut up and fuck me.”
The words break whatever restraint he had left.
His eyes go black, pupils swallowing the grey completely, and I can see the exact moment he stops thinking and starts taking.
Dom’s mouth slams back into mine, pain shooting through my jaw from the force.
Every touch is an attempt to brand the moment into memory, already mourning what he thinks he’s about to lose.
Dom’s hands aren’t gentle when they grab my dress.
The silk gives way with a violent rip that echoes through the destroyed office.
Cool air hits my thighs as he shoves the fabric up to my waist. He doesn’t bother removing anything, just tears it out of his way like an animal.
One hand fists in the ruined fabric at my waist while the other shoves between my legs, yanking my panties aside so roughly I feel the lace tear.
When his fingers thrust inside me, my body betrays how much I need this by the wet sounds. The invasion burns, two thick fingers stretching me with zero preparation.
“You should run,” he rasps. “You should hate me. You should want me dead for what I’ve done—what I’ll keep doing.”
“I don’t hate you,” I growl, dragging him closer, scoring my nails down his back. His muscles tense beneath my touch. “But I do hate that you let him carve you down to this. That you think being broken is how you protect me.”