Chapter 5 Bruises in Diamonds

XANDER'S POV

She was still on the bed.

Back arched, hair a mess across the sheets, the fabric of her dress clinging to her thighs like it was scared of what I'd do next.

My cum was dripping down her inner leg.

Good.

Let them all know she's mine now.

I stood there, watching her chest rise and fall, slow and unsteady. Her skin was marked-red where I'd held her, teeth bruises at the slope of her shoulder. Her lips were parted like she wanted to say something but knew better.

She looked wrecked.

Beautiful, wrecked.

I hated how beautiful she looked like that.

I turned away, jaw tight, and grabbed my shirt off the floor.

My heart was still hammering like I hadn't finished. Like I'd only started.

I buttoned it one-handed, trying not to look back at her. She was too quiet. Too soft. Like she expected this kind of pain. Like she welcomed it.

That kind of submission-it did something to me.

Twisted me inside out.

"You didn't say no," I muttered, mostly to myself.

She didn't answer.

Of course not.

She never fucking did.

I moved to the window, needing space, needing air. The city looked small from here. All my life I'd looked down on it, knowing I could crush anyone who crossed me.

But Seraphina looked at me tonight like she won.

Like I'd traded her in for a toy I didn't know how to use.

And maybe I had.

Except this toy looked at me like I wasn't a monster.

Like she saw something I didn't.

That made her dangerous.

I ran a hand through my hair, paced once, twice. The air felt too thick. My skin itched. My mouth still tasted like her. And I hated how much I liked it.

I should've stayed away.

I should've sent her home after the fake vows, after I got what I wanted. A name. A distraction. An excuse.

But the second I saw Seraphina tonight-on someone else's arm, laughing like I never meant shit-I needed to mark something. Someone.

Alina was there.

And she was mine.

She let me use her body like it didn't matter.

But it did.

Because now I couldn't stop thinking about her.

Not just the way she felt around me. Not just the way she moaned when I-

No.

It was her face.

The way she looked at me.

Even after I used her.

Even after I made her cry.

Like she was still hoping I'd be better than I am.

She didn't understand.

I'm not a fucking fairytale.

I'm the villain her story didn't need.

But she stayed.

She always fucking stays.

I walked to the bathroom. Turned the faucet. Let cold water run over my wrists.

I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw.

Not because I didn't recognize the man staring back.

But because I did.

And for the first time in years, I wanted to break him.

I leaned on the sink and let out a slow breath.

She told me she loved me.

On the jet.

Ten fucking years of loving me in silence.

And what did I do?

I laughed in her face.

Used her body to erase another woman.

Marked her so deeply she won't forget it even when she tries.

And still... she let me in.

I shut off the water and dried my hands.

When I walked back into the bedroom, she was sitting up slowly, still shaky, still half-naked.

She didn't ask if I was okay.

She didn't ask if I meant what I did.

She just looked at me like she'd take another hit if it meant staying close.

And that scared the hell out of me.

Because I wasn't done hitting.

And she wasn't done staying.

And if she keeps looking at me like that, I'm going to destroy her in ways I won't know how to undo.

But I'll do it anyway.

Because I'm selfish.

Because she's mine.

Because I don't care who breaks-so long as she doesn't leave.