Dangerously His

Chapter 002

Cora

Cold water rushed down my throat as I thrashed beneath the surface. My eyes burned as it forced its way into my nose, and every instinct inside me screamed for air. I clawed at the slippery porcelain of the bathtub, gripping the edge until my knuckles turned white, but Patricia's hand remained firmly pressed against the back of my neck.

She held me down with a cold, merciless strength. My lungs burned, and my chest throbbed. For one terrifying moment, I thought she might actually let me die.

Some days, I wished she would — wished the darkness would swallow me whole and put an end to everything. But Patricia was precise. She held me beneath the water until the very last second, then dragged my head out by my wet hair just as my body began to give up. She wanted me alive to suffer.

I collapsed onto the cold marble floor, coughing violently as air rushed back into my lungs.

"Know your place, Cora," Patricia spat.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I wrapped my arms around myself, slowly pushed my weak frame off the floor, and stumbled down the hallway to my room.

It used to be a storage room back when my family was still whole. Now, it was the only space in the house I was allowed to occupy. There was no bed or warm blanket — just a thin, stained mattress on the bare floorboards. I crawled onto it and curled into a tight ball as the cold settled deep into my bones.

I gave myself thirty minutes to stop shaking before going downstairs to prepare dinner. The last thing I needed was to give Patricia another reason to hurt me.

When the time was up, I forced my weak legs to carry me to the kitchen. I prepared the meal in complete silence, my hands trembling as I chopped vegetables and seasoned the meat. I couldn't afford to make a mistake in this house.

When everything was ready, I served Patricia, my stepbrother Jake, and my father, keeping my head lowered as I moved around the dining table.

I hated them. Every single day, I cursed the moment my father brought Patricia and Jake into our lives. They had taken my happiness, my safety, and my home. Worst of all, they took my father. He had once been the person I believed would protect me; now, he watched my suffering as if it had nothing to do with him.

For a long time, I didn't understand why Patricia hated me the way she did. I used to think it was simply because I existed — because I was a reminder of a life she hadn't been part of. It wasn't until months later, in the middle of an argument, that she finally said it out loud.

"You have her eyes," she'd hissed, gripping my chin hard enough to bruise. "Every time I look at you, I see her. I can't stand it."

She meant my mother. My thick, wavy hair, my dark eyes, even my smile — every part of me was a ghost of the woman who came before her, and Patricia never let me forget it after that.

I missed my mother desperately. Sometimes, late at night, I whispered her name into the darkness and begged her to somehow save me. But month after month, nothing changed.

Once, I tried to run away. I planned everything carefully and escaped in the middle of the night, convinced I could be free. They caught me within minutes. Patricia dragged me back by my hair and locked me in the basement for an entire week with barely enough water to keep me alive. That was the day I learned that escape had a heavy price.

"Cora!" Jake's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Yes?" I hurried into the dining room, my eyes fixed on the floorboards.

"Look at what I just pulled out of my food." His tone was strangely calm, which terrified me more than shouting ever could.

I slowly lifted my head. Between his fingers was a single, long strand of dark hair.

My heart dropped. Before anyone could say another word, I fell to my knees, tears immediately filling my eyes. "I'm sorry! I swear it wasn't intentional. I wore a hairnet, I promise. Please, it won't happen again."

"Shut up," Jake said flatly.

His palm struck the side of my face, sending me crashing onto the floor. Before I could recover, his heavy boots came down hard against my ribs and stomach. I curled into a ball, throwing my arms over my head to protect my face. I couldn't fight back, and I couldn't even scream.

Through the blur of my tears, I looked toward the head of the table. My father was sitting there, watching. For one desperate second, our eyes met.

Please, Dad. Stop him.

My father looked away, picked up his fork, and continued eating as though nothing was happening. As though I didn't matter.

Something inside me broke. I closed my eyes and began counting silently in my head, waiting for the darkness to take me.

---

When I finally opened my eyes, the house was silent.

My entire body throbbed, dried blood felt sticky against my cheek, and every breath sent a sharp pain through my chest. I slowly pushed myself up from the dining room floor, using the wall for support as I limped down the dark hallway.

All I wanted was my mattress — my tiny corner where I could disappear until morning.

I reached my door and turned the handle. Nothing. I tried again, pushing against the wood, but it didn't budge. Panic surged through my chest as I rattled it harder.

"Looking for a key, little sister?"

A low, mocking voice came from the pitch-black hallway behind me.

I froze, every muscle in my body going rigid. Heavy footsteps echoed slowly through the dark as a silhouette stepped out from the shadows, completely blocking my only path of escape.