𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

She did everything she could to push back against the heavy, powerful frame pinning her down, but her strength was nothing compared to his. The struggle was useless. As he violently tore the clothes from her shoulder, the sharp edge of a pin grazed her skin. She let out a ragged gasp. The sting of the wound was sharp, but the ache in her heart was deeper. In the dim, flickering light, he looked at her with a terrifying, predatory hunger. Only when he heard her broken sobs did he finally look her in the eye, but her tears only seemed to fuel his twisted obsession. Seeing the beads of blood on her shoulder, he let out a dark, triumphant hum. “Victor, please… not like this. Anything but this,” she wept, her hands trembling as she tried to shove him away. “Everything you are belongs to me,” he whispered, his voice cold and possessive. “Only to me.” He leaned down and, in a chilling display of cruelty, licked the blood from her skin. She turned her face away in pure revulsion. He gripped her jaw, forcing her to face his gaze. “What? Is this not good enough for you? Do you only have eyes for that other man?” She searched his eyes, desperate to find the man who had looked at her with such tenderness just that morning. But that man was gone. He crushed his lips against hers—a kiss filled with spite and a suffocating need for control. When he finally pulled back, he tasted of copper and salt. She felt like she was being hunted by a madman. As he moved over her, she clamped her eyes shut, screaming silently into the dark. She wondered if marrying him to save her family from debt had been her ultimate undoing. Hours later, he collapsed beside her, exhausted. As the haze of his rage cleared, he looked at her in the shadows. He saw her—broken, terrified, and shaking. “You’re mine, Jane,” he muttered, his voice shifting into something hauntingly soft. “Only mine. No one else will ever touch what is mine.” She looked at him with a weary, hollow smile. “Love isn't proven by breaking someone, Victor.” The comment sparked a flicker of his temper. “Am I not enough? Is my love not enough for you?” “This isn't love,” she whispered, pulling herself to the edge of the bed. “This is a sickness.” She lived two lives. In the light of day, she was cherished; in the darkness of night, she was a victim. She had grown to fear the sunset, for it brought the man who tried to prove his love through pain. When the sun finally rose, Jane’s first instinct was to look for him. He was lying with his back to her. “Cruel man,” she pouted softly. She had hoped he would be holding her. Slowly, she leaned over and pressed a lingering kiss on his cheek. In the morning, she could almost forget. The sunlight was her sanctuary. His presence, when he was like this, was enough to make her ignore the bruises. As she moved to get up, a hand clamped around her wrist. Before she could react, she was pulled back onto the mattress. She opened her eyes to see a pair of soft, enchanting eyes looking back at her. “Jane…” “Mmm?” She leaned in and kissed his forehead. She loved him more than her own life—or at least, she loved this version of him. He began to playfully tease her, his hands light and wandering, trying to coax a smile out of her. He tickled her side until she squirmed, her eyes bright with a momentary, genuine happiness. “Stop it! Let me go!” She laughed, her fake anger failing to hide her blush. He looked at her with pure, bottomless adoration. As he pulled the duvet away, she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly shy. To be continued…