Chapter 3 Third chapter

"We're already six months into this relationship, and I still can't come to your house without informing you first? Then what's the point of having your house key?" Ariel's voice trembled with frustration.

Victor let out a cold, humorless laugh that echoed off the walls. "I don't care if it's been six years," he said, his tone razor-sharp. "You shouldn't have come."

He began to walk toward her with slow, deliberate steps that made the air feel heavier with every movement. His eyes were hard, unreadable. "What did you think?" he continued. "That I valued you? Or this relationship?"

He stepped in front of her, then turned to his partner, who was lounging on the bed. Daniel stood up slowly, his eyes locked on her with quiet menace, and joined him.

"So, Daniel... what should we do with her?" he asked, his voice casual, too playful for the situation. They stood together, shoulder to shoulder, radiating cruelty without a care in the world.

Daniel's lips curled into a smirk. "We should play with her."

Ariel instinctively took a step back, but Victor grabbed her wrist, his smile sharp and wicked.

"You know," he began, his tone dropping to something colder, more intimate, "we've been together six months, and I've barely seen your body. Don't you think that's a little unfair to me?" He laughed, a hollow sound. "But then again, it's not your fault. I was never really interested in your body. It was just a game to me."

He glanced at Daniel. "Still... there are other ways to have fun."

Before Ariel could react, they each took an arm, dragging her toward the bathroom despite her protests and screams.

In the dimly lit bathroom, Ariel tried to stand her ground, her voice trembling as she threatened to report them. But Victor only grew more enraged. He struck her across the face, his eyes cold.

"No one's going to save you," he sneered. "And for the record, Daniel's father is the sheriff. He plays the perfect family man, but the truth would surprise you."

Ariel's heart sank. The last trace of hope drained from her face. "Please," she whispered, barely holding herself together. "Just let me go. I won't say anything. I swear."

The two men exchanged cruel smiles.

"Let you go?" Daniel mocked. "It's party time."

The next moments blurred in a storm of humiliation and cruelty. Ariel's pleas were ignored, her dignity was stripped from her, one lash at a time, as they whipped her with belts, the sound of leather cutting through the air mingling with cruel laughter. They used their phone camera to capture her humiliation, forced to pose exposed, her body no longer her own. The tears eventually dried, not from relief but from exhaustion, her eyes glassy, distant ,her mind retreating to a place where none of this could reach her. They violated more than her flesh; they dismantled her spirit. And in the hollow that remained, hatred began to take root ,cold, burning, and unforgiving.

Victor and Daniel couldn't care less about Ariel once their twisted, torturous act was over. They had used her, broken her, and once they were done, they turned back to each other without a second thought. Their bodies, slick with sweat, tangled together on the bed as if the world was collapsing around them. They moved with an intensity that suggested the end was near, as if nothing else mattered now that their desires had been fulfilled. Their pleasure echoed in the room, stark against Ariel's pain.

Ariel, crushed beneath the weight of what they had done to her, lay motionless on the cold floor. Her body throbbed in pain, each bruise, each wound a reminder of the brutality she had just endured. With trembling hands, she pulled her clothes together and dressed, each motion a battle against the agony in her body. Despite everything, she forced herself to move, to leave, to escape.

She stumbled to her car, bloodied and broken, but she made it. She sat behind the wheel, the tears blurring her vision as she drove in a daze. When she reached the garage of her house, she didn't even remember pulling in. All she could do was cry. She cried until the tears ran dry, until her chest heaved with empty sobs and the silence around her was all-consuming.

Eventually, she opened the car door, only to freeze in shock. Her parents stood before her, their faces full of concern and confusion, staring at her in disbelief.

Her mother rushed forward, voice trembling with worry. "What happened to you, dear? Why... why do you look like this?"

Tears flooded Ariel's eyes once again, but she couldn't answer. Before she could speak, her body gave out, and she fainted. Her father's face darkened, his anger barely contained as he rushed to catch her. Without a word, they carried her to the car, driving her to the hospital, where fear and frustration filled every breath they took.

They reached the hospital in record time. Ariel had been admitted to a private ward, where she now lay unconscious, receiving urgent care. Outside the room, her parents stood in tense silence. Her father paced the corridor, hands clenched and jaw tight, while her mother leaned against the pale, sterile wall, shoulders trembling as quiet sobs escaped her.

After what felt like an eternity, the doctor emerged. He wore the weary expression of someone who had seen too much, but his voice was calm.

"Her condition is stable," he said, and the tension in the air immediately eased. "Her life isn't in danger."

A breath of relief escaped both parents. But the doctor's face didn't relax.

"However," he continued, more cautiously, "I can't say the same for her mental health. There are no signs of sexual assault, but the bruises and welts on her body suggest she was clearly abused. Trauma like this can leave deep psychological scars. I strongly recommend she see a therapist as soon as possible. I'll prepare a treatment plan."

He gave them a nod, a mixture of reassurance and warning in his gaze. "Call me when she wakes up."

They murmured their thanks, voices barely audible, and then quietly stepped into the ward to see their daughter still pale, and fragile beneath the harsh white hospital lights.