chapter Eleven
929 Words
The silence was suffocating. Serena lay curled on the cold mattress, every inch of her body screaming in pain. She could barely breathe without agony searing through her ribs. The iron collar around her neck felt heavier than ever, as if reminding her that she was nothing but a prisoner. A possession.
She tried shifting slightly, but the moment she moved, a sharp, unbearable pain shot through her body, forcing a whimper from her lips. Bruises darkened her arms, her ribs, her legs—everywhere. Her wrists were raw from the chains that had held her, her lower lip split from the last brutal slap Alessio had delivered before leaving her in a crumpled heap on the floor.
Why is this happening to me?
Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Crying wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t free her. It wouldn’t erase the fact that she belonged to a monster.
The door creaked open, and Serena flinched instinctively, expecting him.
But it wasn’t Alessio.
A tall, cold-faced woman in a black dress stepped inside, carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming soup. Her features were sharp, eyes devoid of warmth, and there was no sympathy in her expression. She placed the tray on the nightstand with a loud clatter, as if Serena disgusted her.
“Eat,” the woman ordered, her voice like ice.
Serena didn’t move.
The woman straightened and exhaled impatiently. “I don’t care whether you live or die, ragazza. But if you don’t eat, Master won’t be pleased. And you don’t want to see him angry again.”
Serena clenched her fists under the blanket, the words slicing into her like a blade. As if she hadn’t already experienced the worst of his rage.
The servant turned toward the door but hesitated before leaving. Then, without looking back, she said in a chilling tone, “Master was merciful yesterday. Next time, you won’t wake up.”
Serena’s blood ran cold.
The door shut, leaving her alone once again.
She stared at the untouched food. Her stomach twisted with hunger, but her pride burned stronger. She would rather starve than accept anything from him.
Her fingers dug into the thin blanket, her lips trembling.
She hated this place.
She hated him.
A single tear slipped down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away.
She couldn’t afford to break.
Not yet.
She would survive—and she would find a way out of this nightmare.
Even if it killed her.
ALESSO....
Alessio stood outside Serena’s room, leaning against the cold stone wall. He had heard everything. The sharp intake of her breath, the way her fragile body trembled at the servant’s words, and most importantly—the defiance still lingering in her silence.
She wasn’t broken.
Not yet.
A smirk played on his lips as he pushed away from the wall, tucking his hands into his pockets.
She would eat.
If not today, then tomorrow.
If not by choice, then by force.
And when she finally surrendered?
He would be there to watch her fall apart.
She was his.
His plaything.
His prisoner.
And soon, she would learn—there was no escape.
Alessio exhaled slowly, his smirk fading into something darker, something more sinister.
She was stubborn.
That fire in her eyes, that quiet defiance—it both amused and irritated him. Most people would have broken by now. Most people wouldn’t have dared to deny him anything.
Yet Serena lay in that bed, her fragile body barely holding together, and still, she refused to eat. Still, she refused to submit.
His amusement soured.
How long would it take for her to realize the truth?
She belonged to him. Her pain, her suffering, her breath—it was all his.
Alessio turned away from her door, walking down the dimly lit corridor, his heavy boots echoing against the marble floor. His men straightened as he passed, lowering their gazes, fearing even the briefest moment of eye contact.
Good. They should fear him.
He descended the grand staircase, stepping into the main hall. A single candle flickered in the distance, casting eerie shadows along the stone walls. The estate was silent at this hour, save for the occasional murmurs from the guards stationed at their posts.
But Alessio wasn’t looking for them.
His jaw clenched as he entered his private lounge, pouring himself a glass of whiskey with controlled precision. He didn’t drink out of weakness—he drank to temper the growing rage inside him.
Because no matter how much he enjoyed breaking her piece by piece, the truth was he hated that she still resisted.
She should be begging by now.
She should be on her knees, pleading for mercy.
Instead, she lay in that bed, refusing his food, refusing his control. Refusing him.
His grip on the glass tightened before he downed the drink in one gulp.
Perhaps she needed a reminder.
A brutal one.
With a slow exhale, he placed the empty glass down and loosened the top buttons of his shirt. He was too wired, too restless. He needed to take out this frustration, and there was only one way to do that.
His mind was made up.
Tomorrow, he would visit her personally.
And this time, she wouldn’t be left alone to recover.
This time, he’d make sure she remembered exactly who owned her.
He owned, every single part of her and he will do as he pleases and till he is satisfied..He is to break her entirely. "how i so much love playthings "
- Writer
