Angelina Pov,
As the first light of morning filtered through the window, I rose from the cold, hard floor, my body aching, and my spirit heavy with the weight of the night's torment. With trembling hands, I made my way to the bathroom, seeking solace in the routine of cleansing. The hot water cascaded over me, a soothing balm to the bruises that Kingston's touch had left behind. But no amount of scrubbing could wash away the feeling of violation that lingered on my skin, a constant reminder of his dominance and my powerlessness.
As I stood before the mirror, my reflection stared back at me, a stark reminder of the woman I had become under Kingston's oppressive rule. The bruises on my skin told a story of pain and degradation, a narrative of abuse that I could no longer ignore. Tears wel
