The thunder cracked across the sky like a warning shot from the universe itself.
And with that sound—
The door slammed open.
Violent. Abrupt. Unapologetic.
She stood at the entrance like a storm in human form—
Eyes darker than the dead of night.
Jaw clenched with so much tension it looked like her bones might snap beneath it.
Her breath was heavy, yet silent.
There was no trace of the woman she used to be—the calm, confident, composed beauty.
Only the fury remained now.
Rage…
And pain.
Across the office, he stood tall, shadowed by the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands clasped behind his back.
Black suit. Cold posture. An empire at his feet.
Killian Jess.
The man who ruled the city now.
A king without a crown—but with blood on his throne.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't even turn.
His gaze was fixed on the skyline he now owned.
She took a breath that tasted like smoke—
And ran.
Her heels echoed violently in the silence, each step hammering into the marble floor like a war drum.
The closer she got, the more her rage burned through her body like acid.
And then—
She reached his desk.
She didn't stop.
She didn't speak.
She swept her arm with a scream stuck in her throat, and everything on the table went flying.
The laptop crashed to the floor—
It struck her leg, bounced off—
She didn't even blink.
No pain.
No reaction.
She was numb.
Because he had broken her in places that no bruise could explain.
He had shattered the parts of her that used to feel—
That used to hope.
And now?
Now all she had left was this fire.
She grabbed him by the collar from behind, yanking him back from his throne of silence.
Pulled him into her storm.
She needed him to see what he had created—
This version of her.
He turned slowly, face calm, like a man meeting a child who interrupted his meditation.
But she was no child.
She stood toe-to-toe with him, her hand still gripping his collar with white knuckles.
His scent hit her like a dagger—sharp, familiar, cruelly nostalgic.
For a moment—just a single breath—she froze.
As if her brain couldn't register that he was the one behind all of it.
The destruction.
The emptiness.
The nights she couldn't breathe.
The years she stopped living.
But he was.
And she whispered with venom—
"How dare you?"
Her voice cracked from somewhere raw.
"How the fuck could you do this to me? Are you sick? Is your heart dead?"
Each word ripped from her chest louder than the last—
But her voice still couldn't catch up with her anger.
He finally met her eyes.
Those obsidian eyes that once softened only for him—
Now stared back like fire licking up gasoline.
And then—
He smirked.
That smirk.
The same one that once melted her into love.
Now it mocked her.
Mocked everything.
She saw it.
She knew it.
He was enjoying this.
Enjoying her pain.
"Leave my collar," he said, voice calm but dangerous.
No request.
A command.
But she didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't care.
"Fuck you," she hissed, gripping his collar even tighter, yanking him closer until their breaths collided.
Her eyes narrowed, dark and wild.
There was a challenge in her gaze.
A war.
A memory.
"You are the worst person I've ever met," she whispered, voice quivering but proud.
Tears shimmered at the edge of her lashes—
Not because she was weak—
But because she had survived him.
He reached out with infuriating calm—
Brushed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, fingers grazing her skin like he had the right.
She hated it.
She slapped his hand away with every ounce of strength in her body.
But it didn't matter.
Nothing seemed to touch him.
"Darling…" he sighed mockingly, "Stay in your limits."
Then he grabbed her jaw.
Tight.
Fingers digging in like claws, like he was trying to mold her into silence.
"You're acting too much. You know that?"
His voice dropped lower, more bitter.
He leaned in again, eyes tracing her face, and suddenly—
His hand moved without command.
His thumb brushed the corner of her lips.
So soft.
So slow.
So damn intimate.
He didn't realise it at first.
Didn't realise he had crossed the line between power and craving.
But when his eyes dropped to her mouth,
And he saw the way his thumb brushed over her lower lip—
Something twitched in him.
He tried to fight it.
Tried to kill the spark.
But fuck.
There it was.
That unbearable feeling.
The one he swore he'd buried.
Love.
Not the gentle kind.
The kind that ripped you apart.
The kind that haunted.
"If you hadn't done that," he thought bitterly,
" we'd be in a different place."
"I wouldn't just be touching you like this… I'd have you against this table. Right Now, Right here , Rough. Mine."
He bit his own tongue—
Hard—
Trying to crush the thoughts before they consumed him.
She jerked her arm, trying to break free—
But his grip didn't even shift.
She struggled.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
And then… she stopped.
She realized—
This wasn't just a physical grip.
This was the metaphor of her life.
He had always had her trapped.
In pain.
In memory.
In control.
Tears welled in her eyes again.
But she swallowed them back.
No.
Not in front of him.
Not this bastard.
But memory betrayed her.
For a flicker of a moment, her mind gave her a glimpse—
Him, once upon a time, building her a gift with his own hands.
Fingers cut from wires, eyes shining with joy just to surprise her.
Was that man still in there?
She smirked—
Sad.
Almost pitiful.
No.
He was dead.
Buried beneath this empire.
Beneath greed, power, and lies.
She lifted her head, held her pride like a crown, and stared straight into his eyes.
"Killian Jess," she said, voice low but sharp.
"You think you can break me?"
She tilted her head slightly to the side,
Eyes glowing with something that made him feel dizzy—
Desire. Rage. Madness. Power.
"You forget so easily, don't you?" she whispered.
"How many times you begged me not to leave you?"
A soft, cruel smile curved her lips.
"How many times you got on your knees just to make me not leave you?"
She leaned closer, her breath brushing his cheek.
"My innocent Kit," she whispered.
That name.
That cursed name.
The word sliced through him like a bullet.
She used to say it with love.
Now it felt like a death sentence.
And the irony?
She called him by the name he hated the most—
The one that reminded him he once felt something.
The one she now feared—
Was the one he was now afraid of.
---
To be continued…