PROJECTED RAGE
(Brayen Mallen's POV)
The morning sun was cold and cruel, forcing its way through the heavy curtains as if to expose every shadow in the room. The light didn't bring warmth; it pierced my retinas. My head felt as if it were splitting open—the bitter aftertaste of last night's whiskey still clung to my tongue, and the steady throb in my temples sang a chorus of dull pain.
I opened my eyes, still naked beneath the weight of thick satin sheets. The air in the suite was silent and heavy, as if an invisible stain had settled over the luxury, tarnishing everything it touched.
I turned my head. Chiella was nowhere to be seen in the vastness of the room.
I sat up, reaching for the silk pajamas draped over the chaise lounge near the bed. As I stood, my gaze inadvertently fell upon the velvet sofa the silent witness to my savagery from the night before. The fabric was disheveled, the torn wedding gown was gone, but the indentations and marks on the velvet remained as physical evidence of the sin committed there.
I looked away. This was the part I hated most.
I walked quickly toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the garden. I unlatched them, letting the biting morning air wash over my face, desperate to cleanse the lingering scent of desire from my skin.
From my vantage point, my eyes swept across the back garden. I heard the faint, rhythmic trickle of the koi pond. And there, by the shaded edge of the water, stood her.
Chiella.
She sat on the edge of the marble ledge, her spine rigid. Dressed in dark loungewear, her posture was stiff as she looked down at the koi swimming beneath the surface.
The sight of her a woman sitting in silent contemplation by the water, seeking peace in the wreckage of the Mallen mansion instantly triggered the deepest memories of Vallen.
The fresh air I had just inhaled turned to ash in my lungs. A pure, toxic rage began to boil within my soul.
I didn't see her actions as a retreat from trauma; I saw them as a calculated, insolent attempt to usurp Vallen's most private sanctuary. She was bold.
She had dared to defile my bedroom, she had dared to endure my touch, and now, she dared to mimic Vallen in her favorite place. Chiella was trying to steal the last shadow I had left.
I wouldn't allow it. I wouldn't let her desecrate that memory.
I turned from the window and headed for the door. I had to end this charade before Chiella began to believe she had any rights in this house.
I strode across the damp grass and seized her cold wrist. My grip was iron, leaving no room for negotiation.
"Stop this, Chiella," I hissed, my voice a lethal undertone. "You continue to provoke me. End this cheap masquerade. Do not pretend to be her!"
Chiella didn't move. She only stared at me with a piercing gaze, tears beginning to swell in her eyes.
"What have I done wrong, Brayen?" her voice trembled. "I was only sitting by the pond. Why are you so angry? Where is my fault?"
My hand moved on reflex, striking her small cheek with a sharp, resounding force.
I felt no guilt, no regret. Only a wave of cold, burning hatred. It wasn't hatred for her it was for my own stupidity from the night before. I only saw Chiella as a vessel for a wound that would never heal.
Several servants on the terrace looked over. I could feel their pity directed at Chiella, which only fueled my fury. Their presence was a reminder that I was losing control.
I dragged her away from the pond's edge, my house shoes crunching harshly against the gravel. Chiella's body jolted and stumbled, but I didn't loosen my grip. I hauled her across the terrace, straight toward the sliding glass doors.
I threw her through the doorway. Her small frame reeled, crashing onto the cold marble floor of the living room, the sound of her fall muffled by the sobs she could no longer hold back.
No one dared to stop me.
I looked down at her her tiny form sprawled on the vast marble floor, a stark contrast to the luxury that surrounded her. The tears flooding her face only stoked my anger further; to me, she was the source of a suffering that demanded punishment.
"You deserve this," I whispered, a cold sound meant only for the two of us.
I left her there, collapsed on the marble, without looking back. I had to leave. If I stayed any longer, I feared the destruction I carried would swallow me whole.
(Chiella Cruze's POV)
My back collided with the unforgiving chill of the marble floor. The impact stole my breath, a sharp, electric pain radiating from my tailbone to the base of my skull.
Enough, Brayen! the scream echoed only in my mind. I no longer knew where my faults lay. Why must he strike me? Why must he throw me aside like refuse, especially after the savagery he inflicted upon me last night? My sobs finally broke, the warmth of my tears spilling onto the cold stone.
A shadow fell over me. madam Lin, a middle-aged servant of the mansion, approached with a face etched in pity.
"Come, child. Let me help you."
My body felt shattered and hollow, as if every ounce of strength had been drained from my marrow. Bi Lin gently supported my weight, guiding me to sit at the nearest dining chair.
"Wait here, I'll fetch you some warm tea," she whispered. I could only nod, my eyes staring blankly at the floor.
Everything ached. It wasn't just the impact of the fall; it was the wreckage of last night. Brayen had stripped everything from me, and through it all, he had continuously gasped the name of his dead wife. When his lucidity returned, instead of remorse, he had projected his self-loathing onto me.
Madam Lin returned with a glass of tea. Her serene face mirrored the sorrow I felt. She stroked my hair with a mother's tenderness.
"Be patient, child," she said, her voice a soft attempt to soothe the jagged edges of my reality. "The young master... he is not the man he once was. Everything changed shattered after Miss Vallen's death."
I had escaped the shackles of my own family, only to step into a new set of chains. Chains that were far more brutal.
"I'll get the medicine," she said, wiping away her own tears—tears shed out of pure pity for my state.
I sat in the silence, feeling the metallic tang of fresh blood seeping from the corner of my mouth. Brayen's strike had been so precise, so heavy. It left a physical wound that, for the first time, felt more real than the agony in my soul.
Madam Lin applied the ointment with agonizing care to the corner of my split lip.
"Thank you, madam," I whispered, the words barely audible.
"It's nothing, mis chiella," she replied, but her eyes were brimming with a deep, suffocating grief. Her gaze swept over me, taking in what was visible. "But... why are there so many marks on you?"
I flinched, pulling inward. My entire body was a map of bruises and aches physical evidence of the brutality from the night before. Brayen hadn't just stolen my innocence; his strikes and his iron grip had battered my frame repeatedly. Even though I had thrashed, fought to break free, and begged him to stop, he hadn't wavered. If anything, my resistance had only fed his cruelty.
I knew then, with a chilling certainty, that his heart and his life were a shrine only to Vallen. I was merely an object forced to bear the crushing weight of his rage.
As I began the painful task of applying medicine to my battered skin, the sound of heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed from the marble staircase.
Brayen was descending.
He was fully composed, dressed in a crisp shirt and a tailored suit. He looked cold, arrogant the undisputed ruler once more: Brayen Mallen. The whiplash of his transformation from a drunken monster into a polished aristocrat was terrifying.
My body seized, every muscle locking in place. Madam Lin instantly lowered her gaze. The fleeting warmth we had shared vanished, replaced by the lethal chill that followed in Brayen's wake.
From the final step, Brayen fixed me with a gaze so sharp it felt like a death sentence. He approached, each stride sounding like a drumbeat of a coming threat.
"Bring my lunch to the office," he commanded. His voice pierced through me, striking the very core of my heart. "And remember you are to cook it yourself."
The order was a blade's edge. It was a command that forced me to stand, to move, even as my body felt as though it were made of broken glass.
Having delivered that cruel decree, he turned and walked away. He left behind the scent of expensive cologne, the wreckage of my spirit, and a body that now had to carry out a new task in the midst of agony.