I stepped back after fastening the collar, my fingers brushing over the polished leather like I was sealing a sentence I had waited years to speak. The little heart-shaped bell chimed softly in the silence, but to me, it screamed. Just like I had once screamed under her father's man. Just like he did—before the end.
I looked at her.
Not the way I used to.
Not with hope or warmth or the weakness I once mistook for love. and my rage had only worsen after last night. And the thought kept bugging me that I am still falling for her innocent face.
"You think this is cruel?" My voice came out low, strained, shaking under the weight I carried. "You think this is humiliation?"
I paced in front of her, every step scraping through years of agony. Years of silence. Years of watching her live freely while the image of my father dying never left me.