The Love that Kills me

Chapter 4

His kiss was full of hunger, like he’d been waiting for it for a long time. His hands trembled as they cupped my face, his lips pressing into mine with a desperation that stole my breath away. “I missed you, Daia,” he murmured against my skin, over and over again. Each time he said her name, it was like a dagger twisting in my heart.

But I couldn’t pull away.

The sanity to tell him the truth, to remind him that I wasn’t Daia, had fled from me. It was like all those years of wanting him to see me had finally cracked open a door I couldn’t close. I had dreamed of this moment for so long—of his touch, of his arms around me, of the feeling that I mattered.

So I let him kiss me. I let him touch me, even though every time he said her name it felt like another piece of me was breaking apart.

His mouth moved against mine with a passion I’d never known from him. He kissed me like he was starving, like he couldn’t get enough. He pressed me back against the wall, deepening the kiss, his hands roaming over my body like he was trying to memorize every inch of me.

He traced his fingers down my face, his touch gentle even as his lips grew more demanding. He kissed my forehead, my closed eyelids, the bridge of my nose. And then he came back to my lips, kissing me so tenderly it made me want to cry.

His mouth trailed lower, brushing down my neck. He nipped at the sensitive skin there, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp. He sucked at the spot, and I couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped my lips. The sting of it, the heat—it was like he was branding me.

“Daia,” he whispered, his voice husky with need. My heart ached at the name, but I didn’t stop him. I couldn’t. My hands clutched at his shoulders, pulling him closer, desperate to hold on to this moment even if it was built on a lie.

The night went on in a blur of kisses, of whispered names that weren’t mine, of moans and gasps and tangled sheets. He made love to me like I was the only woman in the world—like I was the woman he had been waiting for.

But each time he breathed her name, it reminded me of the truth I could never escape.

When I woke up the next morning, the bed was cold and empty beside me. My fingers brushed over the sheets, feeling the traces of last night—the proof that it had been real. My body ached from his touch, from the bruises and the kisses he had left on my skin. I sat up, pulling the blanket around me, and stared at the mirror across the room.

In the reflection, I could see the marks he had left. Love bites scattered across my neck and chest, trailing lower to the tender skin of my breasts and down to my thighs. Each one was a memory of his touch—proof that for one night, he had been mine. Even if it wasn’t really me he wanted.

I took a shaky breath and rose from the bed, my legs weak. I made my way to the bathroom, turning on the shower and letting the hot water wash over me. I closed my eyes and tried to let the tears go, tried to scrub away the ache that lingered in my heart.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, I thought I would find the house empty again. I thought he would have left, like he always did, leaving me to wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing.

But to my surprise, he was still there.

Stephen was sitting at the kitchen table, his head bent over a steaming cup of coffee. He looked up when he heard my footsteps, his eyes meeting mine with a hard, conflicted stare.

For a moment, I thought he might be gentle—like he might say something that would soothe the wound in my chest. But then his jaw clenched, and I saw the anger in his eyes.

“Hope,” he said, his voice cold and sharp. “Do you have any idea what you did?”

I flinched at his tone, clutching the towel tighter around me. “Stephen… I—”

“I cheated on her!” he spat, slamming his mug down on the table so hard that the coffee sloshed over the edge. “I f*****g cheated on Daia because of you!”

My breath caught in my throat. His words were like ice water, freezing me where I stood. “Stephen… I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I whispered.

“Oh, don’t act so innocent,” he sneered, pushing back his chair and standing. He came closer, and I could feel the heat of his anger in the air between us. “You wanted this, didn’t you? You’ve been waiting for this moment, haven’t you?”

My mouth opened in shock. “No—Stephen, I—”

“You’ve always been nothing but a pawn,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “Your family, my family—they’ve all used you, and you let them. You’re just as much a part of this sick game as everyone else.”

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes. “I… I never wanted this to be like this,” I said, my voice shaking. “I just wanted you to see me.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “See you? Oh, I saw you last night, Hope. I saw exactly what you are. A desperate little pawn, just like the rest of your family. You wanted this. You wanted me to touch you, to f**k you, didn’t you?”

My hands trembled as I took a step back, the towel slipping slightly from my shoulders. “Stephen, please—”

He grabbed my chin in his hand, forcing me to look up at him. “I’ll make sure you get exactly what you’re hoping for,” he said, his voice low and mocking. “Just like your family. You’re nothing but a piece of property to them—and to me.”

I felt the tears spill over then, my heart cracking wide open. “I’m not a pawn,” I choked out, but the words sounded weak even to my own ears.

He released me roughly, his eyes hard and glittering. “Don’t lie to yourself, Hope,” he said. “You knew what this was. And now you’re going to live with it.”

He turned away from me, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “I’m going out,” he said without looking back. “I need to clear my head.”

And just like that, he was gone—leaving me alone in the silence, his words echoing in my mind like a cruel refrain.

I sank to the floor, my towel pooling around me, and let the sobs come. Because no matter how much I had tried to believe that love could change things, the truth was as clear as the bruises on my skin: I was just a pawn in a game I could never win.

And Stephen… he would never see me as anything more.