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FORTY-THREE: Who Did That?
publish date:
2026-06-06 23:30:10
Latest chapter
Her Neglected Scars SIXTY-THREE: Kids
“To tell you the truth . . .” I whisper, my voice cracking.“I . . . I . . .”The confession scrapes against the back of my throat.I can feel the hard rim of the marble counter biting into the small of my back, pinning me beneath the immense weight of Konstantin’s shadow.His grip on my wrist doesn’t loosen; it remains a heavy, burning iron cuff, forcing my blood-smeared palm into the harsh moonlight spilling through the window.His jaw is set so hard that a sharp cord of muscle twitches beneath his tanned skin.Those amber eyes don’t just look at me—they dismantle me, gear by gear, looking for the rot my father planted inside my ribs.I am so tired.Every single bone in my body feels ground to dust after years of standing straight, of smiling through the dark while Caesar took his pleasure in making me bleed.The urge to just drop the mask, to let the ugly, jagged reality spill onto the clean tiles between us, is a physical ache in my chest.“Say it, Evangeline,” he says.His free h
Her Neglected Scars SIXTY-TWO: Tell Me
Konstantin doesn’t move immediately.He just stands there in the dissipating fog of the bathroom doorway, the snow-white towel slung incredibly low on his hips.The scent of clean soap and expensive cedar rolls out with the heat, wrapping around my freezing frame.I’m still wearing my heavy wool coat, clutching it like a shield, but against a man who looks like he could snap me in half without breaking a sweat, it feels entirely useless.His amber eyes track down my body, stopping instantly at my feet.I try to shift, to hide the slight limp I’ve been nursing since the crossing, but he notices.He always notices.“Sit,” he commands, his voice flat and unyielding.Twelve years of Bennington conditioning kick in before I can even process the order.My shoulders drop into a perfect, fluid line.A polite, completely empty smile glues itself to my lips.“I’m perfectly fine, Konstantin. Just a bit tired from the journey.”“I didn’t ask how you felt. I told you to sit.”He turns back into th
Her Neglected Scars SIXTY-ONE: Time Is Ticking
A collective time skip of twenty minutes finds me standing in my own bedroom, silently cursing my existence into the depths of hell.I am packing a small duffel bag with a few changes of clothes, while my back remains firmly turned toward the rest of the room.Sofia is lounging across my velvet armchair, her muddy boots propped up on the edge of the mattress as she casually chews on a bowl of grapes, her eyes glued to the small television set blaring a Russian talk show in the corner.She looks completely unbothered, which sends a spike of suspicion straight into my gut.Why isn’t she panicking?If I move into Konstantin’s quarters, the risk of him discovering the raw, bloody tracks she carved into my back skyrockets to a lethal certainty.She should be doing everything in her power to keep me away from him.As if reading the dark thoughts spinning in my head, Sofia takes a slow sip of her drink and speaks up, her eyes never leaving the television screen. “The Morozov lord seems to b
Her Neglected Scars SIXTY: Pack Up
The white examination paper crinkles loudly beneath me as the doctor finishes smoothing the final layer of gauze across my back.The fabric is clean and stiff, pressing against the weeping gashes Sofia left behind, but the sting of the antiseptic is already giving way to a dull, throbbing ache.My skin is on fire, my nerve endings screaming, but I keep my shoulders perfectly straight.I don’t let a single tear fall.I can’t afford to.The doctor steps away as he picks up a dark amber glass jar from his silver tray.He turns back to me, his aged face etched with a profound, quiet sorrow that makes something ache deep in my chest.“Apply this cream every night, Mistress,” he murmurs as he places the jar into my trembling hands. “It will keep the skin pliable and prevent the deeper lacerations from pulling when you move. It will help the healing process, though the marks . . . the marks will take a long time to fade.”The glass is cold against my palm.I look at the jar, then up at his
Her Neglected Scars FIFTY-NINE: At the Cost of Another's
The two massive guards instantly step into the clinic, their thick, heavy hands clamping down like vices onto the old doctor’s frail shoulders.The old man looks completely terrified, his bottom lip trembling as they begin to forcefully drag his stumbling frame toward the open door.Panic spikes in my chest, hot, wild, and utterly overwhelming.Fired.He’s losing his entire life’s work, his profession, his status—all because I am a coward who can’t face a medical checkup.The crushing weight of guilt is too much to bear.My father raised me to be a tool to destroy men, but I have never wanted to be a monster who ruins innocent people just to protect my own skin.I can’t let another person suffer because of the filthy secrets carried on my back.“No! Stop! Wait!” I shriek, lunging forward out of the corner, my hands reaching out toward Konstantin before my brain can stop me.I grip his thick forearm, the muscle beneath his tailored sleeve as hard and unyielding as solid granite.“Don’t
Her Neglected Scars FIFTY-EIGHT: FIred
The silver medical shears in the doctor’s hand gleam under the harsh fluorescent lights of the east wing clinic.The air here is thick with the chemical burn of rubbing alcohol and the damp, heavy scent of wet wool from Konstantin’s coat, which is still slouched over my trembling shoulders.Every single time I take a breath, the thick white paper covering the examination table crinkles loudly beneath me reminding me of just how trapped I am.The old Morozov family doctor steps closer.He stops right in front of me, adjusting the silver frames of his glasses as his trained eyes scan my face.He has that look—the analytical, overly observant gaze of a physician who spends his life looking at human wreckage and spotting the lies people tell to cover it up.My stomach twists into a hard knot, pulse hammering so violently against my ribs that I’m certain he can see the fabric of my shirt vibrating.He raises a gloved hand, his fingers extending toward the collar of the heavy wool coat, int
Her Neglected Scars THREE: Poisoned Gazes
Whip burns and brotherly love: because one form of torture just isn’t enough. The room was heavy with unspoken tension as my brother gently applied the salve on the wounds on my back, his touch lingering a bit too long.I asked for the maids, but I guess they, too, were far too afraid to go agains
Her Neglected Scars TWO: To Punish the Brave One
When you dig your own grave, you better be ready to lie in it, but damn, this is one deep hole.Bloody pupils that look and feel like it’s seen murderous things penetrated right through the small slats of the closet. He doesn’t move, nor does he stray his eyes away from mine. Instead, his lips, ca
Her Neglected Scars ONE: Marrying To My Doom
I’m getting married to Konstantin Morozov, the merciless billionaire crowned as the bloodthirsty King in all of Russia, or in other words, my life is going to end today.A stark difference to the dark cell I thought it would be ending, but instead it’s here—in this beautiful church adorned with flo
Her Neglected Scars FORTY-EIGHT: Horseback or Torture?
The leather uncoils with a wet, heavy slap against the hardwood, and the sound alone is enough to violently jerk me out of the warm, lingering haze of the billiards room. “Crack the door, let a single sound out, and we see how the great Russian bear likes finding out his precious little bird is a B
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