Chapter 2 A Beast in the Dark

The walls of this mansion are too quiet.

Even the wind outside doesn't dare howl.

I spent most of the day staring out the tall, glass window in the bedroom he assigned me-if I can call it that. It doesn't feel like a place that belongs to me. Nothing does.

The maids walk on eggshells. None of them speak to me. They barely look at me. It's like they already know I'm just another piece of meat in this house. A temporary toy for their master.

No one told me what to do. No one asked if I'd eaten. But then again, no one needed to. Because Leonardo Vercetti makes it very clear-he doesn't care.

The day dragged on painfully slow. I didn't step out of the room, didn't dare. I knew he'd come.

And he did.

Right when the clock hit midnight again, the door opened.

He didn't knock. He never would.

He stepped in like a shadow, black shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose his sculpted chest. His eyes met mine across the room. Cold. Empty. Not a hint of warmth in them.

"Stand up," he said.

My throat dried. My body tensed. But I moved.

He didn't wait for me to come to him. He crossed the room and yanked my wrist roughly, pulling me into him like he owned my breath.

"I didn't come here to play house," he growled. "Open your mouth."

I blinked. My heart thudded violently. I wanted to scream, to hit him, to run-but I did what he said.

Because I had no choice.

He kissed me-if I can even call it that. His lips were punishing. His tongue aggressive. It wasn't affection. It was control. Every part of him screamed domination.

He shoved me onto the bed like I weighed nothing. My robe slid open, baring me to him. I hated the way my body reacted to him. My skin prickled. My chest rose and fell rapidly, but I didn't fight.

He unbuckled his pants with slow, infuriating confidence.

When he climbed over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, I wanted to disappear. But instead, I stared at the ceiling, willing myself not to cry-not yet.

He spread my thighs and entered me without warning, without a word, without care.

"Fuck..." he groaned against my neck. "So tight."

I bit my bottom lip so hard I tasted blood. My fingers clenched the sheets. The pain stretched through me like fire. He was rough, thrusting hard, his grip bruising my hips.

My body shook beneath him.

He didn't stop.

He didn't slow.

He used me like I was a doll made just for his pleasure.

Every sound that escaped his lips was laced with raw lust, but not once did he call my name. To him, I was just warm flesh. A hole to bury himself in.

I cried. I didn't want to-but I did. Silent tears slid down the sides of my face, wetting the silk pillow beneath my head.

He didn't see.

He wouldn't have cared even if he did.

When he was done, he came hard, cursing under his breath, his body tensing as he released deep inside me.

Then... silence.

He pulled out, stood, and grabbed his shirt from the floor like nothing had happened.

And just like the night before, he didn't say a single word as he walked out and closed the door behind him.

I lay there, legs open, used, shaking.

The tears didn't stop this time.

I curled into myself, holding my knees to my chest, and sobbed until my throat burned.

Why is he like this?

So heartless. So cruel. So cold.

He's twenty-four. At his age, boys are usually chasing girls with flowers, falling in love, getting drunk with their friends over broken hearts. But Leonardo Vercetti? He fucks like a demon and walks away like a machine.

It doesn't make sense.

Unless you know where he came from.

The staff whisper things when they think I can't hear. About his father. About how he ran the empire with a fist full of fire and a soul soaked in blood. Leonardo was raised by that monster.

And he took over not long after the devil himself died.

It all makes sense now.

He's a mirror of the man who raised him.

Born into money, power, and cruelty. Groomed to kill feelings. Trained to break instead of build.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree... and Leonardo never even tried to roll away.

But still, as I lay in the cold sheets, the ache between my legs sharp and raw, I can't help but wonder...

Is there any part of him left that knows how to feel?