ISLA
I woke up to the dull ache coursing through my body, the sting of the night before still fresh on my skin. As I stretched, I winced, my fingers instinctively tracing the marks left behind. Each welt felt like a scar, a reminder of what he did, what he was capable of. Anger bubbled beneath my skin, hot and bitter. How could he act like he owned me? How could he punish me and walk away as if it meant nothing?
I sat up slowly, the blanket pooling around my waist, and stared at the faint sunlight filtering through the heavy curtains. It was quiet—too quiet. The house felt like a prison, each shadow another chain keeping me bound to him. I hated him. I hated the way he controlled me, the way he broke me down piece by piece.
I forced myself out of bed, my legs weak beneath me, and stumbl
