Royal chuckled low in his throat. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Pretty little pet. Not even bleeding anymore. Just breathing.”
She stayed still. Perfect.
Loyal entered second. Slower. Heavier. The door clicked softly shut behind him. No words. No mocking smile. Just that deep, bruised silence Loyal carried like armor.
His gaze locked onto her the second he crossed the threshold. Wide. Pained. Almost reverent. He moved closer. Too close. I didn’t stop him. Because sometimes the punishment wasn’t in pain. It wasin being seen.
My brother crouched. One knee on the mat beside her. His hand lifted. Hesitated. Trembled. Then he touched her. Not rough or possessive. Just—gentle.
His fingers traced the edge of her jaw. The skin there was already bruised. He didn’t flinch from it. Didn’t linger either. Just a brush. A reminder.
She didn’t resist. Didn’t lean in. Just breathed through it. Silent. Obedient. Broken. Royal smirked from the shadows. “Careful, Loyal,” he drawled. “She might think you’re rescuing her.”
Loyal said nothing. Just dropped his hand and stepped back like she burned him. Let them see it. The cost of ownership. The cost of weakness.
I stayed in the chair. Hands steepled loosely. Watching. Breathing. Waiting. Because this wasn’t about pain anymore. It was about proof. Proof of what she would endure. Proof of what she would become. Proof of who she already was.
Mine.
Royal stepped back. Loyal retreated into the corner, chest heaving slightly, as if breathing the same air as her cost him something he didn’t want to admit.
Let them feel the edges of it. Let them know what it meant to look at something broken and still want.
I rose from the chair. Moved slowly. Measured steps across the mat. She stayed kneeling. Stayed breathing. Didn’t lift her head. Didn’t speak. Didn’t beg. Obedient. Exactly as I intended.
I stopped in front of her. Close enough that the scent of salve and sweat clung to her skin. She shivered once. Small. Involuntary. I didn’t touch her. Touch would’ve been mercy.
I crouched instead. Leveling my body with hers. Her head bowed so low her curls brushed the mat.
She was trembling harder now. Not from fear. Not from pain. From restraint. Because every part of her was waiting for something—some command,some punishment,some permission to survive.
I leaned in. Close enough that my breath stirred the hair at her temple. Close enough that if she wanted, she could’ve pressed her forehead to my knee and begged.
She didn’t.
That was better.
I let the silence drag a beat longer. One more breath. One more tremble. Then I spoke.
Low.
Quiet.
Deadly.
“You think this is the end.”
A pause.
A breath.
Her body locked tighter.
“It’s not.”
Another pause.
Long enough for the words to sink into her bones.
