Syria’s POV
“No. No…”
He was on top of me, holding me down.
I could barely breathe from how sick I felt about everything he was doing to me.
“You’re so damn stubborn, aren’t you?”
He sound almost amused as if he enjoyed watching me struggle.
My heart was hammering in my chest when he grabbed my wrist in a sudden, bruising grip.
Without warning, he started dragging me out of the bedroom, my feet scraping across the cold floor.
“Where are you taking me?!”
I shouted at him, my voice hoarse and shaking.
“To the dark chambers,” he spat. “A place where you f*****g belong because you never learn how to listen!”
“No! Stop!” I begged, my throat raw from yelling. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even look at me. It was like I was invisible, like none of my pleas could ever matter to him.
