He left.

The night air is quiet, but I can hear it. The silence is louder than any slap and any curse I threw at him. It howls in my ears as is stand there, alone on the roadside, his taillights bleeding into the dark as he drives away.

My breath comes in fractured pieces, and the sobs clawing their way up my throat like they were starved for attention.

And then the tears fall, hot and helpless as I wipe them with trembling fingers, realising no one’s coming to do it for me. No warm shoulders I can cry on, no whispered ‘it’s okay, you’re safe now.’ Just the echoes of his words. And the lustful touches like I was both his canvas and his crime.

My heels scrape against the concrete as I turn back toward the wrought iron gates of our estate. It’s cold and ornate, fit for a princess in a prison, Massimo claims me to be.

The guards shift as they spot me, upright but broken, my hair tangled mess, and my thighs trembling from shame. I don’t raise my head. I don’t need to. I can feel them judging me.

They saw me leave with him. They know I didn’t come back the same.

“Miss… do you want me to… call someone?” One of them asks. His voice is gentle, unsure, but kind.

I shake my head. My legs move as they open the gates for me. They’re not saying anything, but I know they’re looking. The world sways as soon as I step toward the doors. My knees give ou,t and I stumble forward, humiliation like bile up my throat.

This is it.

I’m going to kiss the marble. A final fall that I deserve.

But before I can hit the ground, fingers dig into my bicep, steadying me.

My breath catches as my eyes stay down until the voice cuts through the fragile haze of my shame like a blade to my throat.

“It’s late.”

Kyle. Fuck. My stomach drops, and my mouth dries instantly. Of all the people, not him. My heart drums wildly. I look up… slowly, and there he is, staring down at me like I’m not just broken, but he can’t recognise me at all.

His jaw locks as his eyes take every inch of me… from my lips to my ruined mascara. His gaze darkens when it lingers on bruises on my throat, and his expression shifts… into something careful and dangerous.

I try to step back, but his grip tightens.

“What happened?”

I want to lie. To tell him it’s none of his business. I want to disappear. But all I do is whisper. “Nothing.”

He doesn’t buy it. Kyle never intervene in our family matters or personal matters, but he is observant. He knows what’s going on and he isn’t the one to sit calmly. He’ll tell Judas. I know.

He’s like a silent shadow in the corner of the Romanovski estate. My brother’s right hand. And yet tonight… he’s looking at me like I’m not a responsibility but a wreckage he was too late to stop.

I stand in front of him, wearing Massimo’s black shirt like a fucking confession. Stained with sin.

My own hoodie is somewhere.

He lets go of my arm slowly. His eyes drop to my body again. He doesn’t flinch but he sees it. The tic in his jaw confirms it. The look in his eyes too.

Like I’m the girl who sold herself.

Like he’s already replaying the moments in his head, imagining what was done to me.

I cross my arms, trying to hide the shirt, but it’s too late. The truth is already out. His fucking cologne is in-filtering the air around us.

I feel naked.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I whisper, holding back tears.

Kyle just tilts his head. He always watches and never reacts. Only reaction I see from him, is his frustration and furiousness with Anya. When she provokes him. He never speaks more than he needs to.

“I look disgusting, right?” I choke out. I don’t know why I’m saying this in front of him. But I want to talk to someone.

I blink too fast and the tears spill again. I fucking hate how easy they come around him.

“Did someone hurt you?”

It’s not pity in his voice, it’s not even concern. It’s something colder like he would unalive the person who hurt me.

“No.” I breathe out.

Kyle studies me. The mascara on my cheekbones and my swollen lips. I don’t know what he sees, but I feel like a whore under his gaze.

“You’re bleeding.” He says flatly.

I glance down. There’s a smear of red on the shirt and I realise it’s Rox’s blood. “It’s not mine.”

Shame floods my veins. He sighs, takes a step back, letting me breathe. “Do you want me to tell your brother?”

“Don’t tell him,” I whisper. “Please, Kyle. Don’t tell Judas.”

He doesn’t answer. Just nods and looks at me one last time before walking past me and opening the door, waiting. Like a soldier.

I limp through, swallowing what’s left of my pride. My feet drag across the marble floor.

I’m not sure what hurts more, what Massimo did to me, or how much of me wants him to do it again.

When I reach my room, Kyle is still there, behind me. I swallow, opening the door when he says.

“I’ll send Christa.”

“I’d like to be… alone.”

He doesn’t argue. “Alright.” I take a deep breath, holding back my tears again. I want him to stay. Cause I need him to comfort me.

I am about to enter my room when I hear him. “And Krystina,” he calls my name, and I shatter a little more. “You’re not disgusting. This world is.”

The door closes behind me with a soft click but it echoes in my chest. Hollowed-out cave where my dignity used to live.

I lean against it. Breathing like I just outran something savage.

I drag my feet across the floor, past the velvet settee and crystal lamps, into one place that has always known my truth.

The lights are off, and I prefer it that way. But I can still see my reflection in the mirror.

There’s a spot on my neck. His bite mark. I trace it with trembling fingers and flinch. It hurts. Because no matter how much I want to, I can’t lie to the girl in the mirror.

I reacted to his touches.

I didn’t say no loud enough.

I tear his shirt off, pulling it over my head like it’s on fire. I don’t want it on me. But I don’t throw it away, instead stare at it.

What’s wrong with me?

Why do I still… feel me?

I fall to my knees and cry ugly choking sobs. I feel like a puppet whose strings have been yanked and twisted and knotted.

It doesn’t make sense.

None of it does.

How can I cry and ache at the same time? My heart feels bruised but still skips a beat at the sound of his name in my head. How I want to punch him in the face and curse into his mouth?

Is it because I was touched this deeply for the first time?

How can I feel so disgustingly ruined?

I was supposed to be stronger than this. No one warns me how much it hurts to want something that hurts you.

What would Kyle think of me? What would Judas say if he saw me like this?

He’d rage. He’d burn the cities.

I want to forget. To sleep and to disappear.

But I want him to hurt too.

I want Massimo Bianchi to lose sleep too.
I want him to taste my name like regret.
I want his hands to tremble when he thinks of me.
I want him to want me like I wanted him all these years I’ve always secretly wanted to be wanted.

Messy.
Mad.

I want to haunt him.

I still.

What am I thinking? Who even am I?

Oh Lord… please show me the way. Cause living like this is so hard.

What have I done?