The room was very quiet, except for the soft, uneven rhythm of her sobs. Each sound rose and fell, like a haunting melody in the air, the weight of it settled heavily on my chest, though I refused to acknowledge it.
Elara lay curled on the bed, her slender body trembling as though she were made of glass, moments from shattering. Her wrists, raw and bruised from her futile struggles, rested limply against the scattered sheets. Tears streaked her flushed face, but her eyes were still burn with fury and disgust.
When she turned her head sharply toward me, her movement betrayed the strain of hours spent in resistance. Her gaze, piercing and wild, locked onto mine. The hatred in her voice when she spoke struck like thunder..
"I hate you," she spat, her words trembling yet sharp. "I hate you more than I've ever hated anyone in my life".
I smirked, allowing my expression to settle into the cold indifference I'd long perfected. "Good," I replied, leaning against the wall as though her words hadn't reached me. "Hatred suits you, Elara. Maybe now you'll finally learn your place."
Her chest heaved as she gasped for air, the force of her rage overcoming her slender body. "You're disgusting," she hissed, her voice breaking under the strain. "You're a monster."
A flicker of something—guilt? No, it couldn't be—stirred within me. I pushed it down, burying it deep down layers of control, and let the corner of my mouth curl into a mocking grin. "Call me what you want," I said, my tone as casual as if we were discussing the weather. "I'm not here to be loved. I'm here to remind you of one thing: everything in this house belongs to me. That includes you, my dear wife."
The word "wife" hung in the air like a taunt, heavy and deliberate. Her reaction was immediate. Her face twisted, her hatred almost tangible. "Don't you dare call me that," she growled, her voice charged with venom. "You're nothing to me. Nothing."
Her tears sparkled under the faint light, each one a testament to the depth of her pain. Somewhere deep within me, a part of me—a part I'd long since buried—recoiled. It was insignificant, a fleeting sensation that didn't belong in the fortress I'd built around myself. Yet it was enough to make my jaw tighten.
I forced the feeling away, masking the faint flicker of discomfort with a deeper smirk. "Hate me all you want, Elara," I said, my voice low and steady, each word calculated to wound. "It won't change a damn thing. You are mine, and you'll stay mine for as long as I decide."
Her gaze burned into mine, unchanging despite the tears. "I'll never forgive you for this," she whispered, her voice trembling yet resolute. "You might think you've won, but you haven't. You're a coward who hides behind power, too weak to face what you've become."
Her words hit harder than they should have, slipping through the cracks I hadn't realized existed. But I couldn't let her see that. Instead, I laughed—a sharp, humorless sound that filled the silence. "Weak?" I echoed, stepping closer to the bed.
She flinched slightly at the movement, but her defiance remained. I leaned down, close enough to feel her shallow breaths against my skin, each one tinged with the bitterness of her words.
"All I could hear from you were moans of please, you loved every bit of it Elara," I whispered, my voice sharp and deliberate, "deny it all you want, but I was the best you ever had".
The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. I let it linger before continuing, my tone dipping into something darker. "I don't need your forgiveness. You'll learn to obey me, whether you like it or not. And tonight…" I let the words trail off, their weight pressing down on both of us like a suffocating shroud. "Tonight was just the beginning."
Her sobs softened, but her unending glare never wavered. "You'll never have me," she said softly, her voice trembling but unwavering. "Not the way you want."
For a moment, I didn't respond. Her words hung in the air, settling into the spaces between us. They gnawed at me in a way I couldn't quite explain, their truth undeniable. Then I laughed—a sharp, wicked sound.
"Believe what you want, Elara," I said, straightening and stepping back from the bed. "But we both know you're wrong."
I adjusted my shirt, letting the motion ground me, as if this conversation had been nothing more than a transaction. "Rest well," I said, my tone mockingly pleasant. "You'll need your strength for tomorrow."
She didn't reply. She turned her face away from me, her tears falling silently into the pillow. Something about the sight—a quiet kind of surrender, devoid of any true defeat—made my chest tighten, though I couldn't say why.
I turned toward the door, each step feeling heavier than it should. Her hatred followed me, clinging to my back like a shadow.
The corridor was still and silent, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. I leaned against the wall outside her room, running a hand through my hair. My fingers tremble slightly, and I clenched them into a fist, forcing the weakness away.
Why did it matter? Why did her tears leave a mark on me when they shouldn't?
I drew in a deep breath, the air cold against my lungs. She needed to understand her place, and I'd done what was necessary to ensure that. That's all it was—a necessary lesson.
So why did it feel like I'd lost something instead of gained control?
Shaking my head, I pushed off the wall and walked down the hallway, each step echoing like the beat of a war drum. Whatever this feeling was—this flicker of doubt—it didn't matter.
It couldn't matter.
She hated me now, and that was fine. Hatred was simple, easier to handle than anything else. And as long as she stayed in line, that's all I needed from her.
At least, that's what I told myself as I disappeared into my room, the sound of her sobs still echoing faintly in my ears long after the door closed behind me.