Chapter Twenty Two
I wake up sore. Not just the ache in my muscles from training, but the deeper kind, the kind that comes after giving in to something I swore I wouldn’t. My body remembers every touch, every bruise, every moment Viktor took from me two nights ago. My mind keeps circling it, hating myself for how much I wanted it even as I hate him for pushing me that far. The sheets smell like him. I shove them off and swing my legs over the side of the bed. My chest is tight. Regret burns in my throat, mixed with shame, mixed with something I don’t want to name.
When I head downstairs, the kitchen is quiet. A plate is already on the counter, set out for me—eggs, toast, fruit. Viktor sits at the table, calm, eating like it’s any other day. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, his hair still
