Chapter 10: Punish Me?
1107 Words
Rivera ~•
“Every command was a sentence, every touch a warning I silently craved.”—Sh.
He had to be bluffing when he’d mentioned “punishment” or so I thought.
But I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t the least bit scared of what his punishment might be. And an even bigger liar if I said it didn’t turn me on the slightest.
I’d read it in dark novels countless of times, whenever the male lead promised punishment, it never meant anything good. My pulse throbbed with a mix of dread and heat I was scared of admiting.
But it wasn’t until he paused in front of the east wing—his wing—that my heart fell to my stomach.
“You can’t be serious,” I said, already feeling my pulse quicken.
He said nothing to me, nodding at the staff who trailed behind us with my bags instead.
“Are you out of your mind? I am not a child, you know!” I barked. “It’s bad enough that I have to stay in this place, now you expect me to share a room with you?”
My things were being carried in by the maids while Zayen stood statue-still by the door like I was talking to myself.
“I would die before I sleep in the same bed as you.”
He played deaf still, pulling out his ringing phone.
“Make sure all her things are neatly kept,” he told the maid before exiting the room to take the call.
I stood there with my blood boiling and every part of me searing with rage. Where was my wolf when I needed her?
The last maid dropped the last of my bags, and an idea popped into my head. The moment she stepped out, I rushed to the door and pushed the bolt in place.
I wasn’t about to sleep in the same room with that man. For all I knew, he could strangle me in my sleep and hide my body. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done something like that before, I was sure.
His room alone screamed wealth. The frostfang were known for their luxury. The room was painted in Grey and white and the furnishing the same shades. A little couch sat by the side and a table nursing a half burnt cigarette and vodka.
Pressing my back against the door, I sealed my lids shut, praying I could just wake up from this terrible dream. I wanted a life of my own. A choice. The choice to choose my family and my freedom.
Collapsing to the ground, I pushed my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around it. The life I knew was gone, Rhea had stolen it from me. Tears spilled uncontrollably, blurring my vision.
I must have fallen asleep because the next time I opened my eyes was to a loud banging against the door.
“Open the damn door, Rivera.”
It was Zorah’s voice. Staggering to my feet, I unlocked the door slowly and pulled it open. She was putting dressed in a tracksuit, blonde hair tied in a round bun, glistening with sweat like she’d just returned from a morning jog.
Her eyes swept me over from head to toe before she finally spoke, “Hungry?”
I was about to decline when my stomach churned loudly, silencing me.
Twenty minutes later, freshly showered, I stepped into the kitchen. The older woman from before was present, and Zorah had changed out of her tracks.
She glanced up immediately. My eyes darted around, in search of one man.
“Relax,” Zorah said like she’d read my mind. “He didn’t sleep here last night. He’s not back yet either.”
Relief slumped my shoulders as I sank onto the counter stool.
“How was your night?” she asked, sliding a plate of bacon toward me.
I didn’t bother sugarcoating. “Crap. Like I’d been forced and kidn*pped by a psychopath.”
She chuckled. “I warned you not to bother running.”
Rounding the counter, she placed her own plate of bacon on it and settled on the stool across from me. “I’ve tried a million times. If my brother doesn’t want you to leave, then you won’t. It’s both annoying and crazy.”
“So I’m just supposed to accept that?” My voice was sizzling with frustration. “I have a family in South Rosta Coast. I want to choose my husband. My life. I can’t just bend to these forsaken rules.”
Zorah hummed, chewing a strip of bacon. Her expression was a blank canvas, though there was a faint amusement dancing in her eyes.
“Not on his side, Rivera. But locking the door shut?” She let out a soft laugh. “That’s a pathetic way to get on his nerves. Do you know how many rooms are in this place? If he wanted, he could take ten others.”
Her words stung because they were nothing but the truth. I stabbed a piece of bacon on my plate with more force than necessary, chewing as though the food had wronged me. Leaning in with her chin on her palm, she studied me with a strange mix of pity and amusement.
“However,” she spoke again. “If you really want to get on his nerves you could do something that really spite him."
“Like?” I asked, curiosity piqued.
“Let’s go clubbing and get freaking wasted.”
My eyes widened but she had that devious look in her eyes.
Going to the club was practically equal to courting pregnancy out of wedlock. Not only would Nonna kill me, I was certain papa would ship me off to the nearest catholic in Italy. And those catholic wolves were cruel.
Her eyes widened in their sockets upon the realization that I haven’t replied to that. “Don’t tell me you haven’t gone to the club before?”
Then she snorted, “C’mon you’re no longer in South Rosta coast, Rivera. If you want a reaction you’d have to give him something solid to react to.”
She was right. Locking a wolf out of his room while in his den was pathetic. If I wanted to really get to him… I had to break out of my comfort zone.
Swallowing Nonna’s carefully crafted home training, I met her gaze.
“Alright. Let’s do it.”
“Not dressed like this, you’re not,” she smirked. “Let’s make you smoking hot.”
- Writer
