“This needs medical attention,” he said, voice breaking completely now. “Immediately.”
The words hit harder than any slap.
Humiliation crashed over me like ice water, stealing the air from my lungs.
I turned my face away, the ceiling blurring as my eyes burned. I didn’t want him to see this. Didn’t want him to see how ruined I was. How broken. How obvious it all was when someone finally looked closely.
“I’m fine,” I tried to say.
The lie shattered on my tongue.
The sobs came instead—quiet at first, leaking out in broken breaths I couldn’t stop.
Then harder. Louder. Chest-heaving, throat-scraping sobs that tore through me like something feral had been unleashed.
My body folded in on itself, instincts kicking in too late. I curled tight, arms wrapping around my knees, trying to make myself smaller. Trying to disappear.
Dmitri moved instantly.
There was no hesitation, no shock, no recoil.
He dropped onto the bed beside me and pulled me against his chest, firm and unyielding.
One arm wrapped around my back, the other cradled my head, anchoring me there whether I wanted it or not.
I broke.
I buried my face into the warm hollow of his throat and cried—hard, ugly, uncontrollable.
My tears soaked into his skin, my breath coming in gasps that scraped my lungs raw.
My voice went hoarse. My head pounded. Sweat broke out across my skin despite the chill in the room. My hands shook so violently I couldn’t unclench them even when my fingers cramped.
I wasn’t here anymore.
I was back in that cell—stone walls slick with damp, the stink of fear and unwashed bodies clinging to everything. I was pinned, used, reduced to something disposable.
The memories looped without mercy: rough hands, grunts and laughter, the metallic taste of blood when I bit my lip to keep from screaming louder. The way the door always closed behind them, sealing me back into the dark.
I whimpered.
Dmitri’s body went rigid for half a second—like a man restraining a killing instinct—then softened again. His hand moved in slow, steady circles across my bare back. Never straying too low. Never demanding. Just there. Present. Real.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, over and over, his lips brushing my hair. “You’re here. You’re safe. I won’t let anyone touch you. Ever again.”
Gradually, painfully, the shaking eased. The sobs dulled into hitching breaths. My muscles unclenched one by one. The room crept back in—the quiet, the low hum of the house, the warmth of his skin beneath mine.
I realized, dimly, that I was safe.
Warm.
Held.
Exhaustion finally dragged me under like a tide I couldn’t fight.
Chapter 7
PENELOPE