I Am Your Empire

Chapter 5- My Last Cry

Rosy's POV

He yanks me roughly toward the kitchen counter, every step a punctuation to his silent defiance.

“What the hell?” I snap, voice dripping with venom. I barrel into a barrage of questions like shattered glass.

“Where the f*ck have you been?” I demand, the anger in my tone cutting through the heavy silence.

He remains unmoved, his eyes averted as if ashamed of the truth he's hiding. “Prepare for a grand fashion show,” he mutters, his tone laced with a detached nonchalance. “It's crucial for the Mesh’s. I went to secure the passes—exclusive ones.”

Now he's playing the reluctant game, and every fiber of my being recoils at his dismissiveness.

“Really?” I taunt, my chin raised defiantly despite the burning betrayal. I can see his stature, a constant reminder of the power he wields, mocking my vulnerability.

“You know damn well you never went there,” I hiss, my gaze hard and relentless, a siren call to his buried conscience.

“What do you mean?” he retorts, his brows arching in challenge, daring me to expose his deceit.

I lean in, every word a razor-sharp truth. “You fell for Sasha—hard—and now she’s carrying his seed.”

“You’re really going to act like that hospital debacle is nothing?” I push, my voice a cocktail of fury and despair, craving just a flicker of guilt in his cold eyes.

He exhales, the pain in his chest masked by a veneer of indifference. “I know you still love her,” he admits, as if the admission itself is a poisoned salve.

Then, with a cruel, detached finality, he spits, “None of your damn business.”

“How could you do this to me?” I scream—a whisper that trembles with the agony of a heart being pulverized into oblivion. I swallow hard, each gulp a bitter mix of disgust and longing. “Am I your—” I falter, every syllable laden with raw, searing emotion.

“Am I your wife, Liam?” I choke out, desperate for the man I once adored, the man I thought still flickered somewhere beneath this new, harsh facade.

For a heartbeat, his eyes flicker—softening, almost pleading—and I dare to hope for the Liam I knew. But then the ice shatters as his gaze hardens into that trademark, ruthless stare of a millionaire CEO who’s built his empire on suppression.

“You…” he begins, his voice a low, threatening murmur. Yet the dam of his emotions crashes, and he lashes out, “Stop staring at me like that. You’re disgusting.”

My eyes widen, the shock of his words slicing through me. “I’m disgusting?” I echo, my voice a fragile tremor betraying the ruin of my spirit, every word soaked in heartbreak. I’m shaking—my heart crushed to dust, lost in the wind of your cruelty.

“I loved you until this very moment, Liam,” I declare, every syllable a desperate plea for redemption. “I forgave every vile act, every insult your family hurled at me.”

“And after all that, what do you do?” I demand, my words now a bitter accusation.

He leans in close, his tone turning icy as he whispers threats. “If you truly care about anything, if you love this family, you’ll keep that mouth hole of yours tightly shut.”

My eyes ache from the salt of my tears, the sheer strength of my feelings overflowing. "Liam, you bastard..." I manage to say, the feelings a blend of affection, anger, and hopelessness.

With a final, sharp tone, he retorts, “I warn you, Rosy—don’t you even think about hurting Sasha’s child.”

Every word, every charged pause between us burns like acid, etching a vivid, unrelenting portrait of betrayal and bitter passion. The air is thick with the chaos of shattered trust and the raw, provocative pulse of unyielding desire and fury—a maelstrom that pulls you in, unable to look away.