Chapter 8

Hazel didn' t fight. When the two men approached her, she simply closed her eyes and let them do their work. A strange sense of resignation washed over her. It was the same feeling she' d had in the fire, a moment of terrible clarity when you know the end has come.

They strapped her wrists and ankles to the bed with thick leather cuffs. The cold leather against her skin was a brutal contrast to the memory that surfaced in her mind. Dominic, years ago, tracing the veins on her wrist with his thumb. "I' ll always protect you," he' d whispered.

The irony was so sharp it was almost funny. The man who had promised to protect her was now the one tying her down, preparing to violate her in the most profound way.

He stood over her, his face a cold, unreadable mask. "One last chance, Hazel. Agree to do this, and I' ll have them take the restraints off."

She thought of a lifetime of this. A lifetime of his obsessive love, his paranoia, his cruelty. A lifetime of being a prisoner to his whims, of being punished for Julia' s sins.

"I would rather die," she whispered, the words clear and steady in the silent room.

His face hardened. The last flicker of humanity in his eyes died.

"Fine," he snapped. He turned to the doctor who had entered the room. "Begin."

The procedure was a violation cloaked in medical terminology. It was an agony that went beyond physical pain. The needle was thick and long. She felt it pierce the skin of her lower back, a sharp, grinding pressure as it pushed through tissue and muscle to reach the bone.

She didn' t scream. She bit down on her lip until she tasted blood, focusing all her energy on the single, burning thought that repeated in her mind like a mantra: This is the end. This is the end of my love for him.

Her body arched against the restraints, a silent scream of its own. Her muscles spasmed, her vision whitening at the edges from the sheer, blinding intensity of the pain.

Through the haze, she saw Dominic. He stood at the foot of the bed, watching the whole thing, his expression grim and unwavering. He was witnessing her agony, the very agony he was inflicting, and he didn' t even flinch. He was the same man who once cried when she' d gotten a paper cut. The boy she loved was truly, irrevocably dead.

When it was over, she lay limp and drenched in sweat, her body trembling with aftershocks of pain. The world was a dull, throbbing gray.

The doctor and his assistants left. Dominic approached the bed. He reached out with a cloth to wipe the sweat from her forehead. His touch, which had once been her greatest comfort, now felt like a brand.

She recoiled, a weak, guttural sound of revulsion escaping her throat.

"Don' t... touch me," she rasped.

He froze, his hand hovering in mid-air.

She gathered the last of her strength and looked at him, her eyes filled with a loathing so pure it was terrifying.

"Get out," she whispered.

Her voice was barely audible, but the command hit him like a physical blow. He stood there for a long moment, his face a canvas of conflicting emotions. Then, without a word, he turned and walked out of the room.

He paused at the door. "Nurse," he said to the woman waiting outside, his voice strained. "Give her the strongest painkiller you have."

He didn' t look back. The door clicked shut, leaving Hazel alone in the echoing silence, a prisoner in her own violated body.