HEALING MATE: Heal him or kill him

Zenele’s pov I sat alone in the kitchen, lost in thought. My life had always been miserable in this house; living under the same roof with my cruel uncle and his equally heartless sons. I was an orphan, but the worst part wasn’t that I had no parents… it was that I knew nothing about them. No faces or memories, nothing. Yet my uncle and his son never wasted time to remind me I'd be dead without him…though I still didn’t understand what he meant by that. A sudden blow landed on the back of my head, snapping me out of my thoughts. I turned and met the cold, hard eyes of my uncle Damien. “I see you want to poison me just like your mother did to someone,” he spat. Only then did I notice the smoke rising behind me. The pot of food I’d left on the fire was burning. I rushed to pull it off the fire. “This,” he snarled, “is exactly what got your stupid mother into trouble. Food poisoning.” My chest tightened. He never missed an opportunity to insult me and my parents. I started dishing the meal, trying to salvage what I could for breakfast. “I hope it isn’t what I’m thinking,” he thundered. “I’m only trying to serve it,” I said calmly. “You said meals must be served immediately they’re ready. That’s what I’m doing.” He stepped closer. I knew at this moment he was going to hit me because he definitely won't leave me untouched. The slap came hard, whipping my hair across my face. “You think we want to eat this nonsense?” he barked. He grabbed a bowl, filled it with water, and walked back toward me. I braced myself for the splash of cold water on my skin… but it never came. He poured the water into the pot of food instead, ruining the meal completely. “There’s no wastage of food here,” he said. “That’s why we have you.” I stared at the pot, my soul sinking. I woke up at 3 a.m. to prepare this meal. I always did, because breakfast had to be ready before 6 a.m. and his two cars had to be washed before then too. I usually went to bed around midnight. Sleep was always a stranger to me. “Uncle, I made that meal…” My voice broke. “Yes. You made it. And now I’ve made it specially for you,” he said, covering the pot. Specially for me? Wait! Did he mean I was the one who would eat this ruined mess? “This should be enough for you for two days,” he added, walking out. “Prepare another breakfast. It must be ready before six.” The moment he left, my knees buckled. Tears poured freely as I clutched the counter for support. “Why… why,” I whispered. I heard footsteps approaching. I stood immediately, wiped my tears, and began preparing the new meal. “You bastard!” Remus, Damien's second son roared, his voice shaking the kitchen walls. I pretended not to hear him. “Am I not speaking to you?!” “Please, Remus… I’m making breakfast,” I said softly. “Breakfast? At this time? Do you know what the time is?!” I said nothing. “Are you deaf?!” This time he grabbed my neck from behind, tightening it. “Please… please… your father…” “Shut up! My father did nothing!” he shouted. “Yes, sir… it’s my fault,” I murmured, still in pain. Then I felt a slap on my cheek. “That’s for speaking ill of my father. Next time, you’ll be dead.” My lips trembled. I wanted to speak, to fight, to scream but fear held me tight. Why am I so scared of him? Why do I let him treat me like this? He’s only two years older than me… yet I tremble like a child. “You disgust me,” he growled, yanking my hair so hard I almost fell. He pulled again. And again. Five painful tugs before he let go. “It’s already 5:55 a.m. Let’s see how you finish before six. You know the consequences.” He walked out. This time, I cooked with trembling hands but full alertness. Minutes later, the meal was done. I carried it to the dining room. Only Damien was there. “I’m sorry,” I whispered as I served the plates. “Sorry for what exactly?,” he barked. “And you’re still serving?!” His anger surged as I stood still in panic. He grabbed the plate I had dished the steamed food on and threw it on me. A sharp, searing pain shot through my skin. I sucked in a breath, tears blurring my vision. This is too much. Too much. “Why?” I cried. “Why do you hate me so much? I know it’s because of my parents, but I know nothing about them! How could you pour this on me?” “You dare speak back at me?” He thundered. “Where did you get such guts?!” “I’ve endured enough!” I yelled through the pain. “You and your sons treat me worse than an animal! If you don’t want…” His slap cut me short. This one was heavier. My lip split; I tasted blood. “You think slapping me will shut me up?” I forced a smirk. “I’ve had worse this morning.” “You brat!” He struck me again, even harder. Tears pricked my eyes, but I held them back. I refused to let him see me break. “You treat me this way because of what my parents did, right? Please… tell me how they died. Tell me what they did.” He slammed his fist against the table. The plates rattled. “Seeing you alone reminds me of them. I’m trying so hard to forget,” he muttered. “Please,” I whispered, falling to my knees. “Tell me.” “You broke the rule in this house. Breakfast is forty minutes late. You will pay for that.” “Please…” I begged. “Please just tell me.” He stared at me. His chest rose and fell heavily. His jaw twitched. His eyes widened. “You really want to know how stupid and senseless your parents were?” “Yes,” I breathed. “Please.” “I always knew you were just like them. Senseless. Stupid,” he hissed. “Tell me,” I repeated, a whisper of pleading hope. He exhaled sharply, his eyes boring into mine. “Your mother…” He paused. My heart galloped. “…was a servant to the Queen.” I froze. Please… continue. I waited, breath locked in my chest. Then he opened his mouth to speak again.