Married For Revenge, Broken By Love

Chapter5

Chapter 5

Keenan’s POV

I stormed out of the diner with a mixture of anger and satisfaction. Yes, I had just hurt Cecily.

And yes, I would do it again.

So why the f**k did my chest feel heavy? Why did the sight of tears in her eyes stay in my head even after I left? Why did it bother me knowing I was the reason she cried?

I cursed under my breath and got into my car.

Three years.

Three whole years of living with her were starting to mess with my mind. That was the only explanation.

Three years….Three years of living in the same house with her…Three years of hearing her laugh with the staff…Three years of watching her quietly endure my mother’s cruelty.

Three years of pretending none of it affected me.

And somewhere in those three years, something dangerous had happened. I had started seeing her as a person. I gripped the steering wheel harder.

That could not happen…Would not happen.

Because no matter what soft look she gave me... no matter how warm she felt in my bed... no matter how many nights I almost forgot myself..I knew who she was.

I knew what she did. And I would never forget it.

No matter how much time passed, I would never forget why I married her in the first place. I would never forget why I hated her.

And I would never forget why she deserved every bit of pain I gave her.

Cecily Hale.

My wife was dead because of her.

The memory still lived in me like a blade.

Amara.

Even saying her name in my head felt like pressing on an old wound. She had been light in human form. Wild, loud and impossible to ignore.

She fought with me like a storm and loved me even harder. When she laughed, rooms changed, when she smiled at me, I believed in things I never had time for before. Then one night, she told me she was pregnant.

I remembered how her hands shook when she placed mine on her stomach. I remembered how happy she looked. I remembered promising her I’d protect them both.

And two days later…She was dead.

Shot twice, Once in the chest…Once in the throat.

Left in a pool of blood before the child ever had a chance.

I had found her body myself…I still remembered the cold of her skin. Something in me died there too.

I spent months hunting everyone connected to it…Every name, Every number…Every man who breathed near that crime.

Then finally, Dominic came with a file.

A photo. “This is the one, Boss.”

I looked down and saw her face for the first time.

Cecily Hale.

This? This was the person who murdered Amara?

She looked too... normal, very plain and too soft.I hated her instantly. The woman who killed my wife. The woman who took everything from me. The woman who smiled and breathed and lived while Amara was buried in the ground.

My grip tightened around the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

No amount of tears would change that, no soft voice or innocent eyes could change that.

Nothing.

I had expected a monster. What I found instead was a girl standing outside a crumbling apartment building with grocery bags in both hands.

She was too thin. Her hair was tied badly, her shoes cheap. And her eyes were empty in a way I recognized. There was no triumph in her face. No arrogance. No bloodlust.

Just exhaustion.

I stayed in the car and watched…She climbed the stairs slowly like her body hurt, The hallway lights barely worked. The place smelled of mold.

“It could be an act,” Dominic had said from the front seat. “Girls like that are trained to look helpless.”

Maybe.

But when she dropped one of the bags and bent to pick up oranges rolling across the floor, there was nothing trained about the tears that slipped down her face.

She wiped them fast, thinking no one saw. I did.

That should have changed something. It didn’t. Because every time doubt tried to enter, I saw Amara dead again.

“It could be a trick, Boss,” Dominic said. “Women like her know how to act helpless.”

Maybe….Maybe not.

I didn’t care.

I looked at her small body bent on the dirty floor and made my decision right there…I wouldn’t kill her quickly. I’d do worse. Death was too easy.

I wanted her to feel pain…I wanted her to lose hope little by little…I wanted her to wake up every day and suffer.

“I’m going to marry her,” I said.

Dominic turned sharply. “Boss?”

I kept watching her.

“I’ll marry her... then I’ll destroy her slowly.”

I’d let her think she had escaped whatever miserable life she came from. Then I would break her piece by piece until she understood loss.

Until she begged for mercy the way Amara never got to…Then I’d finish it.

That was the plan.

But plans rot when people get involved. Cecily had never behaved like I expected…She wasn’t greedy, she wasn't cunning or hungry for status.

When I proposed, she looked confused more than excited. When she moved into my house, she thanked the staff for every little thing. When my mother insulted her the first week, she apologized.

Apologized.

Like she believed she had done something wrong by existing. I hated that.

I hated the softness in her. I hated the way she still smiled sometimes. Like she was used to pain. I hated the way she looked at me like I was worth loving.

Because monsters shouldn’t look at you like that.

They shouldn’t wait up when you’re late.They shouldn’t remember how you take your coffee. They shouldn’t quietly place painkillers on your desk after meetings when they know you get migraines.

And they definitely shouldn’t cry in secret when they think no one can hear them.

None of it fit. So I told myself she was good at pretending…That was easier.

Then there were the nights I drank too much…Those were the nights I slipped…Those were the nights I forgot to hate her properly.

I would come home angry, half numb, and she would be there in one of those soft nightgowns, asking if I had eaten.

And I would touch her.

Hard at first, then not hard enough.

I’d kiss her like I hated her. And she always responded, like I was giving her something previous instead of something scraps

I’d then hold her afterward like I didn’t. By morning, disgust would come back. Not at her but at myself.

Because every time I held her too long at night, I hated myself when daylight came.

So I’d pull away and Ignore her, act disgusted.

I needed her to remember what she was. And I needed to remember what she did.

So I’d become colder…Crueler.

Anything to restore distance.Anything to remind both of us what this was.

War. I remember when I got the urge to punish her so bad that I found her mother's ashes, she kept with her and poured it away. I thought it would make her hate me. I thought it would finally bring out that animalistic side she tried to hide do well but no, she was as soft as ever and it made me go crazy.

Today at the diner, I had gone too far.

I knew it.

The second I saw her tears, something twisted inside me. But I didn’t stop…I wanted her hurt…I wanted her broken.

Instead, I was the one driving away unable to breathe right.

I slammed my hand against the steering wheel.

“Fuck.”

Her words from earlier kept replaying. You only touch me when you’re drunk.

You let your mother insult me. You act ashamed of me in daylight and possessive at night.

Every sentence had landed exactly where it hurt.

Because it was true…The way she asked why I hated her…The way she looked genuinely confused.

Like she truly didn’t know…Another trick.

Had to be.

Because no woman forgets murdering another woman. No woman forgets blood, no woman forgets stealing a life.

I parked outside my office and stepped out. My phone buzzed.

Dominic.

“What?”

“We got more details on Hale.”

My jaw tightened.

“What now?”

He hesitated.

“There are gaps in the old report.”

“Then fill them.”

“I’m trying.”

I ended the call.

Gaps or no gaps, one thing remained the same…Amara was dead and Cecily was alive. That was enough for me.

Or at least...

It had always been enough.

I walked into the building, but for the first time in years, Cecily’s crying face followed me all the way in.