Contains threatening/intense scenes. Please read with care.
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No matter how she screamed for freedom, he did not slow, did not falter. His grip on her ankles was like iron bands, unyielding as he carried her, a struggling captive, over his shoulder. The steady certainty of his movements spoke of someone who believed he had every right to her, every inch of her being. His steps were deliberate—heavy, controlled—each one thudding through the hall as if the entire estate bowed beneath his crushing weight.
He climbed staircase after staircase, the rough wood of his shoulder pressing into her bare flesh, his rhythmic pace a torment. Never once did he look back, his masked face a terrifying blankness. She kicked, twisted, clawed at the fabric across his back, her nails tearing uselessly at the thick material. But he didn't even flinch. He moved through corridor after corridor, a relentless predator, passing doorways without hesitation, as though he knew exactly where she belonged, where her cage awaited. The air grew colder, heavier, thick with the scent of dust and his own dark, potent presence.
Finally, he stopped. His hand, still clamped around her ankle, pushed open a door with a slow, final sound that echoed in the sudden quiet.
The room beyond was a jarring contrast, soft, warm, and painfully beautiful—pastel walls, delicate lace curtains, touches of a girl's world utterly untouched by the darkness he embodied. A stark, almost mocking sanctuary.
Without a word, he lowered her from his shoulder and let her fall onto the bed—not violently, but with an unmistakable message: she wasn't going anywhere. The silk sheets, so soft and inviting, felt like a trap against her raw skin.
Then, a voice, rough and trembling, broke the silence.
"You're sick," she choked out, tears spilling fast as she dragged herself backwards on the bed, her palms slipping on the silken sheets, slick with a mixture of sweat and something darker. She pressed into the corner of the bed, her shoulders trembling, her breath breaking in ragged gasps—but her eyes, wide and defiant, stayed locked on him.
He stepped closer, slowly and with certainty, his presence filling the opulent room, eclipsing its gentle beauty.
"Do you remember the last punishment?" His voice rumbled like something ancient, a low vibration that echoed the tremor in her limbs. "I will have you."
Aurelia's chest shook with sobs, the sheer terror and helplessness threatening to shatter her completely. But she lifted her chin anyway, a spark of defiance flickering even through the tears streaking her face, blurring her vision.
"Me?" she said, her voice cracking but steady at the core. "That will never happen."
She wiped her cheeks with the back of her shaking hand, smearing the tears and the lingering scent of his skin. Then she pointed at him—a tiny, trembling gesture that still felt like a strike, a minuscule defiance against his overwhelming power.
"Everyone fears you," she whispered, her breath uneven but her words fierce, imbued with a sudden, desperate clarity. "But I don't. Not anymore."
More tears fell, hot and uncontrolled, but she didn't look away. She met his masked gaze, a raw challenge in her own.
"You can do whatever you want," she said, her voice breaking open but still brave, a thread of steel woven through the raw emotion. "I'm not afraid of you."
Her whole body shook, a violent tremor that threatened to consume her, yet she held her ground, a small island of defiance in his sea of control.
"Kill me if you like," she whispered through the tears, the words a raw offering of despair. "There's no difference between death and the life I'm living."
"You speak of death as though it is a door you can open," he continued, his eyes narrowing behind the mask, the glint of gold sharpening. "But listen well: I do not grant death to those who challenge me. I keep them alive… so they remember whom they defied."
Tenebrarum didn't give her a full second to breathe, to savour the nascent spark of her defiance or the chilling echo of his words. He seized her by the ankles and dragged her across the bed, the sheets twisting and bunching under her as her nails scraped against the mattress, digging in for purchase. Her body jolted with each pull, her breath catching in her throat, a strangled gasp escaping her.
Aurelia refused to make a sound. She clamped her jaw shut, her teeth gritting together, her body rigid. She turned her head sharply away from him, jaw locked, tears streaking her cheeks but her expression carved in defiance, a mask of pain she wouldn't let him see.
"Shuuu," he breathed beside her ear—not gentle, not soft—a warning. A sound of utter displeasure.
He had lifted his mask just enough to expose the lower half of his face, not to comfort her, but to terrify her with how calm he looked, how utterly in control. His lips were pale, cold, expressionless—beautiful in a cruel, inhuman way that sent a fresh wave of revulsion through her.
He tightened his grip on her wrists and pinned her harder to the bed, forcing her arms above her head. The mattress groaned under the weight of his strength. Aurelia's lungs squeezed; her body trembled from the pressure, pinned and utterly vulnerable.
He leaned closer, his masked gaze inches from hers, the gold an unreadable barrier.
"You break so easily," he murmured, his voice like iron dust in the air, chillingly devoid of emotion. "But you never stay broken. That irritates me."
Aurelia glared at him through her tears, her voice hoarse but steady. "Kill me then," she hissed, tears flowing from her violet eyes, each one a testament to her defiance. "Do it. I'm not afraid of you."
That made him pause. A flicker of something—irritation? Curiosity?—crossed his visible lips. His hand slid across her legs, crawling slowly, possessively, as if reminding her she belonged in his hold whether she wanted it or not. Aurelia forced herself to stay still. She would not give him a tremor. Not a sound. Not a victory.
Not long—just enough for the room to tighten around the two of them, air heavy as stone. His fingers clamped harder around her arms, almost bruising, a stark reminder of his power. His other hand was tearing off the pink undergarment between her thighs.
Then—
Knock! Knock!
The sound didn't just hit the door—it struck the room, sharp enough to slice the tension clean in half.
Tenebrarum went utterly still, his body coiling like a spring.
Then, without warning, he shoved Aurelia aside, the force ripping the breath from her chest. She slid across the bed, hitting the carved wooden frame with a dull thud. The whole bed trembled under the violence of the movement.
Aurelia sucked in air, shaking—not from fear, but from the sudden release of his crushing weight, the abrupt cessation of his brutal hold. She felt relief flood her chest like a gasp of cold water, followed by a wave of nausea.
Tenebrarum dragged his mask down in one swift jerk—mechanical, brutal—and straightened his clothes with a precision that made it clear: if the knock had come a breath later, the room would look very different. The careful control reasserted itself, a chilling transformation.
He didn't turn back to her.
"Enter," he said. The word hit the air like a blade.
The door opened, and the messenger immediately dropped to his knees, forehead pressing into the floor, a posture of absolute submission.
"My lord…"
Tenebrarum didn't move. His voice cut through the silence, sharp and laced with a dangerous stillness.
"Speak."
"My lord, you're needed in the palace."
A muscle in Tenebrarum's jaw twitched. Aurelia saw it from the corner of the bed—a tiny movement, but one that carried the weight of a man barely holding his fury together. He had been summoned recently. To him it was pointless. He had returned angrier than he'd left. Now again?
"Leave," Tenebrarum growled, the command sharp and ice-cold. "Get. Out."
The messenger trembled, his voice a strained whisper. "It's urgent, my lord…" A pause. "The king is unwell."
Silence hit the room hard, a suffocating blanket.
Tenebrarum stood completely still—dangerously still—like a blade suspended above a throat. Then, slowly, he turned his masked face toward the messenger.
"What," he said, voice roughened with restrained violence, the calm mask now a terrifying veneer over raw power.
Aurelia's breath caught. The king… unwell. A crack in their perfect monster-made world. For the first time since she'd been dragged into this cursed estate, a flicker of something warm slid through her chest. Hope. She was actually happy this monster would pay, slowly, for all their sins. Perhaps the heavens were always listening.
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To be continued...