Loving Him With Pain

The Slap

Jerome stirred in his bed, the faint light of morning creeping through the window. He turned over, expecting to find Katie already at his side, as she always did.

She was supposed to be there, bringing him breakfast as she always did.

But when his eyes opened, the bed beside him was empty.

A frown creased his face. Where was she?

His anger flared up immediately. Jerome rarely tolerated disobedience, and Katie had always been prompt. This wasn’t like her.

Without thinking twice, he threw the covers off and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

His feet hit the cold floor, his pulse quickening with frustration. He needed to find her.

He stormed into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, trying to shake off the growing sense of irritation.

His mind was already racing. Where could she be? Why hadn’t she come to serve him?

After a few moments, he finally felt the tension in his muscles release slightly, though the anger still burned within him.

Jerome walked out of the bathroom and out of his room, heading straight to the kitchen.

His mind was entirely consumed with thoughts of Katie, his thoughts clouded with frustration.

Madam Ellene was the first person he encountered in the kitchen.

She looked up, startled by his sudden appearance.

“Have you seen Katie?” Jerome demanded, his tone sharp, betraying the irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.

Madam Ellene froze, her eyes wide. “No, Master Jerome. She wasn’t here when I woke up this morning. I haven’t seen her since then.”

Jerome’s jaw tightened. He felt a knot of unease coil in his stomach.

He asked around the kitchen, but the responses were all the same. No one had seen Katie.

His frustration deepened. He didn’t want excuses. This wasn’t like her. She would never leave without a word.

Normally, she would have been the first to bring him his breakfast, as she always had.

Madam Ellene, sensing his mood, quickly offered, “Should I prepare something for you, Master Jerome?”

“No,” he snapped, the irritation in his voice unmistakable. “I don’t want anything.”

Without another word, he stormed out of the kitchen, grabbing his training gear as he passed through the hallway.

His mind was still on Katie. What was going on?

His thoughts were so consumed by her disappearance that he barely noticed when he ran into Marcus.

“You’re going to the training grounds too?”

Jerome asked, his voice still tense but less harsh now, though his anger simmered beneath the surface.

“Yeah,” Marcus replied, raising an eyebrow at Jerome’s mood. “A few things to check on.”

The two fell into an easy conversation, discussing pack matters and other business.

But Jerome’s mind wasn’t really on the conversation.

His thoughts were elsewhere—on Katie, and on the strange emptiness he felt with her gone.

As they approached the training grounds, Jerome’s steps faltered. He stopped dead in his tracks when his gaze landed on the sparring area.

There, in the middle of the ring, Garrett—one of the most brutal warriors in the pack—was fighting someone.

Jerome squinted, trying to get a better look. The person seemed to be struggling, getting knocked down repeatedly but stubbornly rising back up, showing no signs of giving in.

Something about the way she moved caught Jerome off guard—a familiar movement that sent a jolt of recognition through him.

“Wait a minute…” Marcus muttered, glancing at the scene. “Isn’t that Katie? What the hell is she doing in the training grounds?”

Jerome’s breath caught in his throat. His heart skipped a beat as the realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

It was Katie. His Katie—fighting in the training grounds, locked in combat with Garrett.

The shock and disbelief froze him in place for a moment.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, struggling and taking hit after hit from Garrett.

This wasn’t where she belonged. She wasn’t a fighter. She was supposed to be with him, by his side, serving him.

Without a second thought, Jerome rushed toward the sparring area, his fists clenched in anger.

He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he had to stop this.

As he reached the edge of the ring, he saw Garrett knock her down again.

Katie’s body slammed hard against the ground, and Jerome’s heart twisted in his chest.

Without thinking, he reached down and yanked her to her feet, pulling her away from Garrett’s grasp.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jerome shouted, his voice filled with fury and disbelief.

“This isn’t the place for you. You’re not a warrior!”

Katie’s breath came in shallow, labored gasps.

Her body was bruised, her skin marked from the hits she’d taken, but there was a fire in her eyes.

She didn’t shrink away from his gaze.

Instead, she glared up at him, defiance radiating off her in waves.

“I can do whatever I want,” she snapped, her voice shaking with exhaustion but filled with raw anger.

“You don’t control me everytime, Jerome. I can fight if I want to.”

Jerome’s chest tightened, and his jaw clenched. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You’ve forgotten your place,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, his words laced with authority. “You’re supposed to serve me.”

Katie’s eyes flared with fury. “I don’t belong to you,” she spat, her voice cutting through the tension between them like a knife.

Jerome’s patience snapped. His anger flared higher, hotter. Without thinking, he stepped closer, his hands gripping her arms tightly. He wanted to make her submit, to remind her of who she was.

His lips hovered dangerously close to hers, and the urge to kiss her overwhelmed him, a heat building within him that he couldn’t deny.

But before he could act on it, Katie’s hand shot up, slapping him across the face with a force that echoed through the training grounds.

Jerome froze. The sting of her slap burned across his cheek, his mind momentarily blank as the shock of her defiance coursed through him.

Katie stood there, trembling, her eyes flashing with fear.

Her body shook, and for a moment, Jerome thought he saw a flicker of something—hurt, maybe fear—beneath her defiance.

But before he could grasp it, she took a step back, her voice trembling but low and dangerous.

“Don’t ever try to control me again,” she warned, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

Jerome stood there, stunned. His hand hovered near his cheek, feeling the residual burn of her slap.