The air in the room felt heavier, charged with the weight of what had just happened. My hand still stung from the slap, and Alexander's eyes burned with a fury that chilled me to my core. His grip on my wrist tightened, dragging me forward. I fought against him, my feet skidding on the hardwood floor, but his strength was unyielding.
"Let go of me!" I spat, twisting and pulling with all my might. My defiance only seemed to fuel his anger.
"On your knees, Emma," he ordered, his voice low and dangerous, a storm barely contained.
I planted my feet firmly, refusing to comply. "No. I'm not your puppet."
His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. In one swift motion, he reached for his belt, sliding it free from his waist with a soft hiss. The sound sent a shiver of fear racing down my spine, but I clenched my fists, determined not to show weakness.
"You need to learn," he said, his tone calm but laced with menace. "And I'll teach you."
The belt felt like a physical presence, its weight in his hand a reminder of the control he held over me. I had to get out of here. But how? He was stronger, faster... and I was terrified. Each breath I took seemed to make my thoughts blur. I needed to think—focus.
Before he could force me down, I lunged, shoving him with all my strength. He staggered back, momentarily caught off guard. My heart pounded in my chest, adrenaline surging as I scrambled toward the door. Freedom was so close, just a few steps away.
But Alexander was faster. His hand shot out, grabbing my arm and yanking me back. I stumbled, falling hard onto the floor, the wind knocked from my lungs.
"You're only making this worse for yourself," he growled, hauling me up effortlessly. His strength was overwhelming, and I struggled against him, kicking and clawing, desperate to break free.
"Let me go!" I screamed, my voice raw with frustration and fear.
Every instinct in me screamed to keep fighting, to escape this nightmare. But I knew the truth. I couldn't outrun him, couldn't overpower him. I was small, weak, and trapped in a situation I couldn't control. The reality of it made my stomach twist.
He didn't answer. Instead, he shoved me down onto my knees, holding me there with a firm hand on my shoulder. I thrashed against him, but it was no use. His grip was ironclad.
"Stop fighting," he snapped, his voice cutting through my struggles like a blade. "You think you can challenge me and walk away unscathed? You'll learn, Emma. One way or another."
I tried to breathe, tried to focus. There had to be a way out. My mind raced, images of the door, the window, the possibility of running through the cold—anything to escape. But each thought was quickly dashed by the weight of his presence, the terror that he would catch me before I could get anywhere.
With a swift motion, he removed the belt from his waist and dangled it from his hand, a dark symbol of his authority. He wrapped it around his knuckles, testing its weight, his gaze never leaving mine. I glared up at him, defiance burning in my chest despite the fear knotting my stomach.
"Count," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. "Every strike. Or we start over."
"I won't," I hissed through gritted teeth. "I'm not afraid of you."
His lips curled into a cold smile. "Oh, you will be."
The first strike came swiftly, the leather snapping against the soles of my feet. Pain lanced through me, sharp and immediate, and a cry escaped my lips despite my resolve.
"Count," he shouted, making me tremble and gasp for breath.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek, refusing to give him the satisfaction. The second strike came harder, and tears blurred my vision. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms as I swallowed the scream rising in my throat. Why was I doing this? Why was I letting him break me like this?
Each strike felt like it was erasing me, but I couldn't give him the victory. Not yet. I was weak, but I wasn't lost. I told myself that over and over. I will escape this. I will find a way.
"Still silent?" he asked, his voice mockingly calm. "We can keep this up all night."
"You're a monster," I spat, my voice trembling with pain and fury.
He crouched down, his face inches from mine, his eyes dark and unyielding. "And you, Emma, are mine. You'll understand that by the time I'm finished."
I lashed out, swinging my arm toward him, but he caught it easily, his grip like a vice. "Still so stubborn," he mused, standing again. "Very well. Let's continue."
The strikes kept coming, each one a searing reminder of his power. My resistance faltered with each blow, the pain chipping away at my resolve. By the fifth, I couldn't hold back the sobs wracking my chest. My mind screamed at me to fight back, but my body was betraying me. Just a few more... I whispered to myself.
"Say it," he demanded, his voice sharp. "Say the number."
My body trembled, my voice barely a whisper. "Five."
"Good girl," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "Now keep going."
I hated him. Hated the way he wielded control over me, hated the satisfaction in his eyes as I counted each strike. But most of all, I hated the part of me that obeyed, that surrendered just to make it stop. I wasn't supposed to be weak, to let him break me. I should have fought harder. I should have—
The strikes stopped, and I collapsed onto the floor, my body shaking with silent sobs. The pain was unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the humiliation that clawed at my chest. I was falling apart in ways I hadn't anticipated, and every second felt like a battle between holding onto my dignity and giving in.
Alexander crouched beside me, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my tear-streaked face. The gesture was almost tender, but his eyes held none of the softness it implied. He grabbed my feet and brushed his fingers against the bruises, a sad smile playing on his lips. "It's red and swollen," he said softly, his voice filled with a strange mix of concern and satisfaction. As I felt his lips brush against both my ankles, a shiver ran down my spine at the realization of his true intentions. His touch, once comforting, now felt like a trap closing in around me.
"You'll remember this, Emma," he murmured, his voice soft but firm. "Every strike, every step you take from now on will remind you of who owns you."
Before I could muster a response, he stood, pulling me to my feet with ease. My legs wobbled, barely able to support my weight, but he didn't care. He guided me toward the door, opening it to reveal the icy expanse of the winter night.
"Walk," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.
I hesitated, staring at the snow in disbelief. My feet throbbed with pain, and the thought of stepping onto the frozen ground made my stomach churn. I felt dizzy with the overwhelming combination of fear and exhaustion. It wasn't just the cold; it was the sense of helplessness, of being so far from any escape.
I stumbled, but Alex caught me before I fell, his grip firm and unyielding. With a steely gaze, he repeated his command, "Walk."
I took my first step, my feet screaming in agony as the snow bit into my skin. Every part of me screamed for mercy, for a way out, but I couldn't stop. If I did, it would only make it worse. And for all my hatred, for all my desire to defy him, I knew one thing: I had no choice but to keep moving.
The snow beneath my feet stung, but it was nothing compared to the torment inside. Just keep moving... Don't stop. I whispered this to myself like a mantra, each step dragging me further into the cold, into his grasp.
"Good," he said behind me, his voice laced with dark satisfaction. "Maybe next time, you'll think twice before disobeying me."
I didn't answer. I couldn't. All I could do was keep walking, the snow burning like fire against my skin. Each step felt like a betrayal, like I was losing myself with every painful move. But what else could I do?
Behind me, Alexander's presence was like a constant weight on my shoulders, a reminder that I was never free. His arms wrapped around me, making me jump, his warmth a stark contrast to the icy landscape around us.
"That's enough for me to know that you've learned your lesson," he whispered, his voice soft but firm. "Just don't make me have to teach it to you again." He brushed away the tears that I didn't want to admit were there, a gentle gesture that belied the underlying threat in his words. As Alexander carries Emma inside, the tension doesn't fully dissipate. I am broken, physically and emotionally, but there's a flicker of defiance left in me. Just as I feel the warmth of the indoors, the door slams shut behind me, and Alexander's voice cuts through the heavy silence.
"You think this is over, Emma?" With his voice low and dangerous, he leans in close, his eyes burning with intensity.
The tension in my chest tightens, my mind racing for a way to escape.
Is there even a way out anymore?
Then, without warning, Alexander locks the door, and a chilling click echoes through the room.
Alex leans in close, his breath hot against my ear as he whispers, "This is where it really begins."