Page 53 of Sinful Bride

ELENA

Ilock the bedroom door behind me and lean against it, my entire body shaking.

The wood is cool against my back through the thin fabric of my blouse. My hands are trembling so badly I have to press them flat against the door to steady them, and my breath comes in short, sharp gasps that I can't seem to control. The room spins slightly, and I close my eyes.

But closing my eyes only makes it worse, because then all I can see is the men sitting in that office, their faces carefully neutral, their eyes looking anywhere but at me. All I can feel is the humiliation burning through me like acid, eating away at whatever dignity I had left.

They knew. They all knew what I was doing under that desk.

My stomach lurches. I press one hand to my mouth, fighting the urge to be sick. The other hand stays braced against the door, holding me upright when my legs feel like they might give out. I can still taste him, still feel the soreness in my jaw, the ache in my throat from trying not to gag, the feeling of his hand in my hair.

And underneath all of that, the humiliation and the fury and the shame, there's something else I don't want to acknowledge that makes me feel even more disgusted with myself than the act itself did.

I was aroused. The entire time, even as I knelt there with his men ten feet away and struggled to figure out what to do with my mouth and my hands, even as tears pricked at my eyes from the humiliation of it all… I was wet. My body responded to the degradation, and it made me want to crawl out of my own skin.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I push away from the door. There's a dull ache between my thighs, and every step reminds me of it. Every movement sends a sharp twinge through my body that makes me grit my teeth from the spanking last night. I catch sight of myself in the mirror above the dresser and stop.

My face is flushed. My lips are swollen and red. My hair is slightly mussed where his hand tangled in it. I look like I've been thoroughly used. Like I've been marked… claimed.

Like I belong to him.

The thought makes a furious heat rise in my chest. I grab the nearest thing, a decorative vase on the dresser, and hurl it at the mirror. It shatters with a satisfying crash, glass exploding across the surface and spiderwebbing out. My reflection fractures into a thousand pieces.

Better.

I sink down onto the edge of the bed. The adrenaline is fading now, leaving me hollow and exhausted. I want to cry or scream, do something to release this pressure building inside me. But I don't. I just sit there, staring at the broken mirror, and try to figure out how I'm supposed to survive this.

—

There's a knock on the door around seven. "Elena." Declan's voice is quiet and careful. "Dinner's ready."

I don't answer.

"Elena, please. We need to talk."

"Go away."

He pauses. "You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Elena—"

"I said go away." My voice is flat. I don't have the energy for anything else.

There’s another pause, longer this time. I can hear him breathing on the other side of the door. I can picture him standing there, trying to figure out what to say.

Finally, he speaks again. “All right. I’ll have someone bring you up a plate in case you change your mind."

His footsteps retreat down the hallway. I listen until I can't hear them anymore, then let out a breath. I hear someone leave a plate outside a little while later, but I don’t go to get it. I just stay where I am, curled up on the bed, and wait for the day to end.

—

The next morning, I force myself to get up. I can't hide in here forever. As much as I want to, I know that's not an option. This is my life now. This penthouse, this marriage, and this man who humiliated me in front of his men and then couldn’t even apologize to me, even through a closed door.

I’m going to have to figure out how to function in this house, alongside him, because I don’t have any other choice.