Chapter 4 Silence is a Weapon

~Her POV~

The room was colder now.

Not in temperature, but in feeling.

Like his presence had sucked the last drop of warmth from the air when he walked out, leaving only shadows behind. The torn remains of her dress still lay crumpled on the floor-mocking her. Like it had witnessed her humiliation and was now content to rot.

She was shaking, but not from fear.

That had burned out hours ago.

Now... it was rage.

And confusion.

And a quiet, suffocating ache she didn't know how to name.

She had no idea how long she stood there, arms wrapped around her bare chest like her hands could protect what was left of her dignity. But the door never opened again. No food. No clothes. No words.

Just silence.

It stretched into hours.

And with every second that passed, she realized something.

He didn't come back.

Not to hurt her.

Not to mock her.

Not even to check if she cried.

She didn't know why... but somehow, that hurt more.

Because it meant she didn't matter.

Not even as a toy.

Just a name on a list he crossed out when her parents died.

A pawn.

A punishment.

A nothing.

Her throat burned. Not from screaming-she hadn't made a sound. She refused to. If Damien Romano wanted a reaction, he would have to earn it.

She sank to the edge of the bed, still trembling.

She didn't cry.

Not out loud.

She let one tear fall. One.

Then wiped it away before it could dry.

She remembered her father's last words-muffled by gunshots. Her mother's face frozen in terror. And Damien standing over them with cold, dead eyes.

He didn't just kill them. He ended everything.

And now, here she was.

Sleeping in silk sheets soaked in grief.

Waiting to be used.

Like a possession. A trophy. A reminder.

She wasn't stupid.

She knew what was coming.

Eventually, he'd come back.

And when he did... he'd expect her to kneel. To beg. To break.

But the thing about breaking?

It only works if the person doesn't expect it.

She looked at herself in the mirror across the room. Bare. Bruised. Still standing.

Her eyes were different now.

Sharper.

Harder.

She wasn't strong. Not yet. But she was awake.

And somewhere in her pain, a seed had been planted.

Revenge.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

But eventually.

She would learn him. Study him.

Survive him.

And when the time came?

She'd be the one standing over his body.

Maybe not with a gun.

Maybe not even with blood.

But with power.

She curled up under the cold sheets, eyes open, wide awake, while Damien tried to forget her.

Let him.

Because she would never forget him.