She's Mine
1009 Words
Michael gazed anxiously at his lover, who was sleeping with a deathly pale face. Luna had repeatedly refused his visits, but he could no longer restrain the urge to see the woman who held his heart.
Her body was dotted with dark, bruised punctures. Though minuscule, their sheer number made the evidence of her torture hauntingly clear. Occasionally, Luna let out a soft groan; the agony was too much for her fragile frame to bear.
Michael picked up a tube of ointment from the table and began to apply it with trembling care. His mind seethed with a white-hot rage—not at the one who had tried to poison him, but at Yohan, his own father. The old man had dared to order an interrogation of his precious girl without his consent, despite knowing full well that Michael was utterly infatuated with her.
“You’re awake, Love,” Michael murmured as Luna’s eyes slowly fluttered open.
“Michael … what are you doing here? Ah—!”
“Calm down. Your body haven't fully closed yet.”
“Didn't I forbid you from coming in?” Luna knitted her brows. “Oh, right. I forgot. You’re the master here, and I’m just your prisoner.”
“Sweetheart, don't say that.” Michael lowered his head, his voice thick with regret. “I know it’s shameless of me, but please, forgive me. If I hadn't brought you into this world, you wouldn't be suffering like this.”
“If you knew that, then why didn't you bring me somewhere else?”
“Because the safest place for you is by my side. I can't turn back time, but I promise you, this will never happen again.”
“How can you be sure?” Luna countered. “If your own people can poison you, what hope is there for me?”
“Luna …” Michael trailed off. For a moment, his eyes glistened with unshed tears of guilt.
Seeing his desperate expression, Luna felt a sudden pang of pity. She looked into his face, which had always shown her nothing but sincerity. She couldn't deny the fact that what had happened wasn't entirely Michael’s fault.
To Luna, who was left alone in the world after being abandoned by her family, Michael was the only one who had ever loved her unconditionally. Despite the horrors of the past few days, he had always been the protector who provided her with a life of comfort until this very moment.
“It wasn't all your fault. How are you feeling?” Luna reached out, pulling him into a soft embrace.
“Don't worry about me. I’m fine.”
“But your neck .…” A dark bruise lingered there.
“Just a side effect of the toxin—it constricted the blood flow. It doesn't hurt at all, I promise.”
“You’ve always pretended to be tougher than you are.”
“I am tough. I survived being stabbed three times when I was a kid.”
A tear escaped Luna’s eye. She regretted the impulsive fear that had put them both in danger. She wondered if she had gone straight to him after finding the body, maybe she could have prevented his poisoning—and spared herself this inhuman torture.
“Don't cry, my love. I’m truly okay.” He wiped her tears away. “And you? Is the pain still unbearable?”
“Oh, this .…” Luna instinctively pulled the duvet higher to cover herself. She was loath to let him see her in this state.
“What is it?” Michael asked, confused.
“Aren't you ... repulsed?”
“Repulsed?”
“My body looks like this now. You couldn't possibly want to look at—” Luna gasped. Her words were cut short by a sudden, firm kiss.
“Luna, do you really think I am that bad? That I’m some low-life who only values your body?” Michael cupped her cheek. “Then or now, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Don't think about things that don't matter. I just want you to heal. Here, let me help with the ointment.”
Reluctantly, Luna pushed the covers aside. She lifted the hem of her nightgown slightly, revealing the needle marks that stretched down to her knees. Michael patiently applied the cream with a touch as light as a feather.
“Is there anywhere else that hurts?” he asked.
Hesitating, Luna slipped the sleeveless white gown off her shoulders. Michael’s face contorted into a mask of pure fury when he saw the marks covering her back. “Did those bastards strip you?!”
“No! They … they drove the heated needles right through my clothes.”
Michael fell silent, his fingers going rigid. He stared at the rows of punctures on her back. In his mind, he no longer saw wounds; he saw an insult to his power.
"Who else was in that room?" Michael’s voice was low, a mere whisper, but it held a chill that could freeze blood.
"I ... I don't know. They wore masks," Luna whispered, her body trembling as she felt the frigid aura radiating from the man behind her.
“Sapphire!” Michael roared.
"Yes, Master," Sapphire answered instantly from outside the door.
"It seems my father sent more than two executioners that night."
“Three, Master. I have confirmed it.”
Michael’s eyes flashed with a lethal glint. "Find the third one—the one who helped those two dead losers. I don't care if he only opened the door or prepped the needles. He dies.”
He paused, his voice dropping into a deeper, more sadistic tone.
"And slaughter his entire family. Leave no witnesses. Anyone who heard my woman scream that night will pay with their lives. Then, put their ears and tongues in a silver box and deliver it to my father tomorrow. That old man needs to understand: Do. Not. Ever. Touch. What. Is. Mine. Ever. Again!"
- Writer
