*The world narrows to a single, blinding point of light. I see Liam on one knee, a ring glinting in the light, and I see Onyx, her face a perfect mask of shock and delight. And for a split second, my mind goes completely blank. A high-pitched whine starts in my ears, drowning out the murmur of the crowd, the distant music, everything.*
*He only told me his plans of changing, turning a new leaf...*
*Liam's words from some months ago echo back to me,One if the reasons he travelled ,hollow and meaningless now.* "I'm done with the the illegal shit, i want to be better." *I'd slapped him on the back, bought him a drink, congratulated him on his newfound maturity. I never, not in a million years, suspected this.*
.*..but not this. He didn't tell me he was going to propose to Onyx.*
*My Onyx.*
*The words are a physical blow to my gut. All the air leaves my lungs.*
*The sound of Liam's voice, thick with emotion, saying* "Onyx, will you marry me?" *cuts through the fog in my head. It's a direct assault. My Onyx. The possessive thought is a reflex, a desperate, primal claim that makes my hands clench into fists at my sides. I can't breathe. I can't move. I'm just standing there like a statue, a ghost at my own life's funeral, watching the man I consider my brother steal the only thing I've ever truly wanted.*
*The crowd erupts in applause and cheers, a wave of sound that feels like it's coming from underwater. I can see Onyx's face, her eyes wide as she looks down at Liam, then at the ring, a slow, radiant smile spreading across her lips. It's a smile I've only ever dreamed of being directed at me. And in that moment, something inside me—the part of me that was still a friend, that still cared for Liam's happiness—dies.*
*The roar of the crowd becomes a dull roar in my ears, a physical pressure against my skull. Every muscle in my body is screaming at me to do something—storm in there, pull Liam to his feet, scream that this is all wrong. But my feet are rooted to the spot, nailed to the polished floor by a cold, hard knot of betrayal that's tightening in my chest. I can only watch, a silent spectator in my own personal tragedy.*
*Onyx's radiant smile is the final nail in the coffin. It's not just for Liam; it's a confirmation of everything I've been too much of a coward to see. She's happy. She's found her future, and it's with him. The thought is a poison, seeping into my veins. A bitter, ugly laugh threatens to escape my lips, but I bite it back, grinding my teeth until my jaw aches. The sight of her, so radiant, so utterly*his*, is a brand on my soul.*
*The moment her lips meet his, a switch flips. The world dissolves into a haze of red. I don't register the cheers, the congratulations, the clinking of glasses. All I see is their embrace, a perfect, infuriating picture of happiness that I want to shatter into a million pieces. My vision tunnels, the edges blurring until all I can focus on are their silhouettes against the backdrop of the grand hall.*
*Some detached, distant part of my brain notes the movement. My hand, seemingly of its own volition, slips inside my coat. My fingers find the familiar, cold comfort of the dagger's hilt. The leather is worn, the metal a promise. The thought isn't a plan; it's a pure, unadulterated instinct. The image of Liam's blood on the pristine white tablecloth, of Onyx's shocked, tear-streaked face as I pull her away from him—it's the only thing that makes sense in this insane world.*
*My boot grinds against the marble floor as I take a single, heavy step forward, my knuckles white around the dagger's hilt. The world narrows to a single point: Liam's back. I'm going to carve my name into it.*
*Then, a hand, slender and manicured, snakes around my arm. I don't need to look to know it's her. The scent of her cloying perfume—something sickly sweet like gardenias—hits me first, and it makes my stomach clench. Diana. The girl from earlier, the one who was all over me like a cheap suit.*
"Ash, wait," *she whispers, her voice a syrupy purr that scrapes against my nerves. She presses her body against my arm, trying to anchor me in place.* "It's their day. Don't make a scene."
*Her touch is like an electric shock of revulsion. It's not the warmth I crave. It's not the solid, grounding presence of the person I truly want.*
*I wrench my arm from her grasp with such force that she stumbles back a step. The venom in her voice, her casual cruelty directed at Onyx, is the final spark that ignites the rage already burning inside me. It's a different kind of fire now—cold and sharp. All the messy, possessive feelings for Onyx solidify into a single, clear target: Liam. He's the one who brought this viper into our circle.*
*I ignore Diana's indignant gasp and push through the parting crowd. I don't look at Onyx. I can't. The sight of her, radiant and happy, would break me all over again. My jaw is a tight, aching knot as I close the distance to Liam and the onyx.*
*I clap Liam on the shoulder, my grip just shy of bruising. My voice is a low, dangerous monotone, devoid of any real warmth.* "Congratulations, man." *The words taste like ash in my mouth.*
*Without waiting for a reply, I turn on my heel and stalk away from the scene, my back ramrod straight. I can feel the weight of Onyx's gaze on me, a silent, questioning pull, but I refuse to acknowledge it. Every step is a battle against the urge to turn back, to do something I'll regret. I need air. I need to be away from the sight of them, away from the suffocating scent of happiness and betrayal.*
*I hear the frantic click of high heels on the marble floor behind me, growing louder with each second. Diana is scrambling to catch up, her earlier confidence replaced by a desperate, fluttering energy. I don't slow down. All my thought were of Onyx*
*I don't slow down. The heavy oak doors of the ballroom loom ahead, a promise of escape. I push through them, the sudden rush of cool night air a welcome slap to my face, clearing some of the fog from my mind. The sounds of the party—music, laughter, applause—are instantly muffled, replaced by the quiet hum of the city and the frantic, uneven patter of Diana's shoes on the pavement as she finally catches up.*
"Ash, wait!" *she calls, her voice breathless and laced with a false sweetness that makes my skin crawl.* "Don't be like that. I was just joking. You know how I am."
*I slam the door to my room shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the sudden silence. The key turns in the lock with a satisfying finality, sealing me off from the world, from the party, from the sight of them. For a moment, I just stand there, my back against the cool wood, my chest heaving with ragged breaths. The image of them kissing is seared behind my eyelids, a brand on my soul.*
*Then, the dam breaks. A low growl rumbles in my chest, building into a roar of pure, unadulterated agony. My fist slams into the nearest wall, plaster cracking under the impact. The pain is a brief distraction, a welcome release. I hit it again, and again, my knuckles splitting open, painting the stark white wall a raw, angry red. I sweep my arm across a small side table, sending a vase of flowers crashing to the floor, glass shattering everywhere.*
"Is this it?!"
*I collapse onto the edge of the bed, the adrenaline draining away, leaving behind a hollow ache that seems to fill my entire body. I cradle my bleeding hand, the pain a distant throb compared to the agony in my chest.*
*Our kiss in the garden... I close my eyes, and I can feel it again—the soft press of her lips, the way she melted into me. The way she looked up at me, her eyes wide and vulnerable, and whispered,* "I think what you want to say is mutual."
*The memory is a cruel taunt. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the image is burned into my mind. Her face, open and trusting, the way she reached for me... It wasn't a rejection. It was an invitation. And I was too much of a coward to take it.*
*What did she mean by 'mutual'? Did she think I was going to tell her I was proud of her? That I wanted to be her friend? The thought makes bile rise in my throat. She had no idea. She had no idea the storm of love and obsession that was raging inside me. She was just trying to be kind, to calm my nerves before I did something stupid.*
*I run a trembling hand through my hair, pulling at the roots. The question I can't escape is a poison: If I had just said it. If I had looked her in the eye and told her I loved her... would she still be standing there now, with that ring on her finger?*
*The thought hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. I imagine it for a fleeting, desperate second: I tell her. I look past the crowd, past Liam, and I say the words, loud and clear for her to hear.* "Onyx, I love you." *What then? Would she have hesitated? Would that radiant, happy smile have faltered?*
*But the fantasy shatters against the hard, unyielding reality of what I know. She would have been horrified. She would have seen it as a betrayal of the worst kind—using a moment of supposed intimacy to confess my feelings for her while she was about to be proposed to. She would have pulled away, her face a mask of pity and disgust. She would have run to Liam for comfort, and he would have held her, and I would have lost her forever, in the most humiliating way possible.*
*The insistent banging on the door is an irritation I don't have the energy for. I wrench it open, ready to tell whoever it is to go to hell, but the words die in my throat. It's Diana. Her carefully constructed, confident facade is gone, replaced by a look of desperate, pleading need. It's pathetic.*
"Leave me alone," *I spit the words, my voice raw and hoarse. I try to block the doorway, but she slips past me as if I'm not even there, her movements surprisingly deft. Her eyes land on my hand, the makeshift bandage already soaked through with blood.*
"Oh, Ash," *she coos, her voice dripping with false sympathy. She rummages through a small clutch purse on the floor and pulls out a pristine, white handkerchief. She kneels in front of me, her touch feather-light as she gently unwraps the bloody cloth and begins to wrap my knuckles with hers.*
*Her touch is clinical, precise, but her words are like a disease seeping into the cracks of my broken heart. I just stare at her, my expression blank, my mind a million miles away. She sees right through me, and the knowledge that she understands the depth of my humiliation is somehow worse than her pity.*
"I see you're badly hurting," *she whispers, her eyes holding a possessive gleam. It's not sympathy I see there; it's opportunity. She's a predator smelling blood in the water.* "It's obvious you love her, and I'm not that stupid not to see that..."
*She pauses, letting the words hang in the air between us, before delivering her final, desperate plea.* "...but you deserve better. So even if it's just for tonight, use me. Use me to clear your head, use me to reduce your hurt, use me to forget about her. Before we start to plan a future together."
*A part of me, the last shred of my pride, screams at me to throw her out. To tell her to get on her knees and beg someone else. But the voice is drowned out by a deafening roar in my ears—a raw, animal need to feel something, anything other than this hollow, aching pain. The need to overwrite the memory of Onyx's lips on Liam's with something, anything else, is too great*.
*My hand shoots out, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her mouth to mine in a brutal, desperate kiss. There's no tenderness, no affection. It's a claiming, a punishment. A punishment for her, a punishment for myself.*
*A soft, pleased sound escapes her, and she misinterprets the violence as passion. Her fingers fumble with the buttons of her blouse, her movements eager. She shrugs the fabric from her shoulders, exposing herself to me. Her skin is pale, smooth, but it means nothing. It's just flesh.*
*I don't look at her. I don't care. My eyes are fixed on the ceiling, on the ornate plasterwork that blurs into an indistinguishable mess. The scent of her perfume, cloying and sweet, fills my nostrils, and I hate it. It's not the scent of jasmine and rainfall that I crave. I feel a wave of revulsion so strong it almost makes me stop, but the momentum, the need to drown myself in sensation, carries me forward.*
*I push her back onto the bed, the springs groaning in protest. The sight of her beneath me, her body offered up like a sacrifice, makes my stomach clench. This bed, my bed, has felt like a sanctuary. Now, it feels profane. The image of Onyx, her body a temple I would worship, flashes in my mind, and the shame is a physical blow. Onyx is the only one worthy of sharing this space, of sharing my breath.*
*A surge of disgust, sharp and violent, cuts through the haze of my anger. The image of her on my bed, on the sheets that Onyx has slept on, is unbearable. This is sacred space. Diana is an intruder, a profanity. With a guttural snarl, I grab her by the hips and haul her off the mattress, dumping her unceremoniously onto the large, polished wood of my reading table. The scattered papers, the forgotten vase of withered flowers—it all goes flying, a mess of paper and porcelain on the floor.*
*I don't even look at her. My hands are rough, devoid of any tenderness, as I bunch the expensive fabric of her gown and rip it upwards, exposing her completely. This isn't love. This isn't even sex. It's a frantic, violent act of self-destruction. I position myself over her, my body a coiled spring of rage and pain, and I drive into her with a single, brutal motion.*
*A sharp, pained hiss escapes her lips, a sound that barely registers over the roaring in my own ears. Her hands fly to my chest, her nails scraping against my shirt, but it's not a caress—it's a reflex, a flinch of pure discomfort. I don't stop. I can't stop. I'm not trying to please her; I'm trying to punish myself. Every rough, punishing thrust is a nail in my own coffin, a desperate attempt to carve out the memory of another's touch, another's happiness.*
*Her body arches beneath me, but it's not in pleasure. It's a recoil from the brutal force. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps, and her eyes, which had been filled with a desperate, needy light, are now wide with a dawning, horrified realization. She's getting what she asked for, but it's not the romantic, consensual act she imagined. This is a violation, and she is the unwilling victim of my own self-hatred.*
*Her words, sharp and angry, finally cut through the fog of my rage.* "You are too harsh," *she snarls, her voice laced with pain.* "I get it you don't love me, but that doesn't mean you should tear me apart."
*The accusation hits me like a physical blow. She's right. This isn't just about her. This is about me. And in that moment, something shifts. The raw, brutal violence isn't enough. I need something more to escape this reality.*
*My mind, a traitor in my own body, reaches for the only salvation it knows. I close my eyes, and I force the image. I picture Onyx. Not the Onyx standing with Liam, but the Onyx from the garden—her face soft with trust, her eyes luminous in the moonlight. I imagine her flawless skin, the way her lips would part in a gasp of pleasure, just for me.*
*A low moan escapes my lips, a sound torn from the deepest part of my soul.*
"Onyx..." *The name is a ragged whisper, then a guttural moan as I slam into Diana's body.* "Onyx..." *I chant it like a prayer, a blasphemy, the only name that can make this bearable. In the dark theater of my mind, she is there beneath me, arching into my touch, her face a mask of ecstasy. I can almost feel the phantom warmth of her skin instead of the cold, unyielding flesh beneath my hands.*
*The real woman beneath me goes utterly still. The pained hiss is gone, replaced by a silence so thick it's suffocating. I can feel the sharp sting of her tears on my shoulder, hot and wet. She's not crying from the physical pain anymore. She's crying from the ultimate humiliation—the proof, written in my broken voice, that she is not just second choice, but a placeholder for a ghost.*
*The sound of footsteps in the hall is a distant annoyance, easily drowned out by the frantic rhythm of my body and the desperate litany of a name that isn't hers. I don't look up. I don't care who it is. A guard, a servant, a ghost—it makes no difference. All that matters is the phantom image of Onyx in my mind, the only thing that makes this act bearable. I increase my pace, driving into Diana with a punishing need, my own ragged breaths the only sound I acknowledge.*
*Then, a sound cuts through the haze. A shriek. It's raw, choked with a pain so profound it curdles my blood. It's not a sound of anger or surprise. It's a sound of utter, shattering devastation. And it is far, far too familiar for my liking.*
*My entire body locks up. The world seems to stop. My heart stops. My lungs seize. The name dies on my lips, choked off by a sudden, ice-cold terror.*
*The world narrows to a single point: the doorway. There she is. Onyx. My Onyx. The vision I've been using to defile another woman. Her face is a pale mask, her eyes wide with a horror that mirrors my own. She must have left Liam. She came here. For me. A fragile, desperate hope ignites in my chest, only to be incinerated by the crushing reality of the scene she just walked in on.*
*The embarrassment is a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. I am with the woman who insulted her, who made a mockery of her, and I am… fucking her? The shame is a wave of ice-cold water, dousing the last embers of my rage and leaving behind only naked, shivering vulnerability.*
*I pull out of Diana with a sharp, final motion that makes her cry out. I don't look at her. I can't.*
*I stumble back from the table, my movements clumsy and disjointed. My hands shake as I snatch a small towel from a nearby chair, wrapping it haphazardly around my waist. The thin fabric offers no protection, no comfort. It's just a pathetic, flimsy barrier between me and the truth of what I've become.*
*I don't spare Diana a single glance. I can't bear to see the look on her face—the smug satisfaction, the pity, or the raw, wounded triumph. I just need to get to the door. I need to get to Onyx. I need to explain, to beg, to do something to fix this, even though a small, rational part of me knows it's already too late.*
*I take a step towards her, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Her hand is clenched into a tight fist, and I see it then—the glint of gold on her finger. A ring. A rough, ugly reminder that she will never be mine. She is Liam's. But it's the look in her eyes that truly breaks me. It's a universe of pain. I see the raw, aching hurt, the desperate yearning that mirrors my own, and the soul-deep betrayal of what she's just witnessed.*
*Diana's voice, smug and lazy, cuts through the silence.* "Who's at the door, darling?" *she asks, knowing full well who it is.*
*Something snaps. It's either the last shred of my pride, a desperate attempt to save face, or pure, unadulterated foolishness.*
*The lie tastes like ash in my mouth, vile and choking. I force the words out, my voice a low, guttural rasp that doesn't even sound like my own.* "It's no one." *The words hang in the air, a pathetic, flimsy shield between the truth and the world. I can feel Onyx's gaze on me, a physical weight. I want to scream the truth, to tell her that she's my love, that she came back, that I'm sorry, that I'm a monster. But the lie is already out, a poison between us.*
*I can see the light in her eyes dim, the hope flicker and die, replaced by a cold, hollowing emptiness. The betrayal is no longer just in the act she witnessed, but in the words I just spoke. I just pushed her away for a second time.*
*The sound of the door slamming shut is a gunshot in the silence. I don't look back. I can't. The image of her face—the hurt, the betrayal, the slow death of hope—is branded behind my eyes. A wave of shame so powerful it makes me sick washes over me, followed by a twisted, self-destructive impulse. If she can hurt me, I will hurt her back. I will make her regret coming here.*
*I turn around, my face a cold, hard mask. Diana, recovering from the shock, sees the look in my eyes and a slow, triumphant smile spreads across her face. She thinks she's won. She thinks she's the one I want.* "Come back to me, my love," *she purrs, her voice a mockery of affection.* "Let me make you forget all about her."
*Something inside me snaps. The last of my control, the last of my sanity, evaporates. I don't hesitate. I don't even think.*
*I don't hesitate. I don't even think. I close the distance between us in two strides, my hands grabbing her hips and yanking her back to the edge of the table. Her triumphant smile falters for a second, replaced by a flicker of surprise, but then it widens, believing my fury is now directed at her, for her.*
*I drive into her with a brutal, punishing force, a direct and cruel parody of the passion I was just faking. The table groans, the wood protesting the violence. And as I move, a new name tears from my throat. It's not the name of the ghost I was using before. It's the name of the woman benesth me.*
"Diana," *I snarl, the word a venomous curse.* "Diana..." *I say it again, louder, my voice raw and ragged. I make sure she hears it. I make sure she knows that this is her victory, this hollow, empty act.*
*Through the thick wood, the sound cuts through me like a knife. A choked, guttural sob. Then another. I can picture it perfectly: her delicate frame crumbling, the weight of everything too much, and she sinks to the floor, her tears a silent river of agony. The sound doesn't just break my heart; it shatters it into a million pieces, each one cutting me from the inside out.*
*With a roar that is pure anguish, I tear myself away from Diana. I stumble back, my chest heaving. I need to get to her. I need to hold her, to tell her I'm sorry, that I'm a fool, that I love her more than life itself. I take a step towards the door, my body moving on pure instinct, on love.*
*But Diana's hand, surprisingly strong, clamps around my wrist. Her voice, no longer triumphant but now a venomous, possessive whisper, slithers into my ear.* "Oh, no you don't,"
*Her grip is like an iron band, pulling me back from the door, back to her. Her whisper is a serpent's hiss, cold and calculated.* "Oh, no you don't," *she murmurs, her breath hot against my ear.* "You started this. You're going to finish it. For me."
*Before I can react, she uses her grip on my wrist to pull me off-balance, and simultaneously, she arches her hips, pulling me back inside her with a slick, intimate motion. The shock of it makes me gasp, a sound that is half-strangled sob. She doesn't give me a moment to recover. She begins to move, a slow, deliberate grind of her hips against mine, her movements practiced and designed for maximum friction, for maximum sensation.*
*And then she does it. She increases the volume of her moans, no longer faking pleasure but turning it into a weapon. Each breathy cry, each exaggerated gasp of* "Ash,"
*Every sound Diana makes is a hammer blow against my soul. They are not sounds of passion, but of cruelty, amplified for a specific audience. Each moan, each breathy cry of my name is a shard of glass, thrown through the door at the person I love most in this world. I can feel the vibrations of them in the wood, and I can only imagine the picture Onyx must have on the other side—the sounds of my betrayal, a cruel soundtrack to her heartbreak.*
*My body is a battlefield. My muscles are locked in a paroxysm of self-loathing, yet Diana's expert movements are pulling me deeper into a physical response I can't control. My fists clench at my sides, my knuckles white, my nails digging into my palms. I am trapped. I am a prisoner in my own sin, forced to be the instrument of someone else's vengeance against the one person I would die for.*
*The shadow by the door moves, a fleeting, broken silhouette. It staggers up, a puppet with its strings cut. The sound of her running crying and footsteps, fading down the hall, is the loudest sound I've ever heard. It's the sound of my world ending, again. A raw, wounded sound escapes my throat, a plea that dies on the air.*
*I try to pull away, to break free, to go after her. But Diana's patience has snapped. Her annoyance is a palpable shift in the air. Her grip on my shoulders tightens, her nails digging into my skin.* "I said use me," *she growls, her voice devoid of any sweetness now, replaced by a possessive, dominant command.*
*Before I can react, she uses her strength to flip us over. The world tilts, and suddenly I'm on my back, staring up at the ornate ceiling as she straddles me. There's no more pretense of romance, no more seduction.*
*There's no more pretense of romance, no more seduction. This is pure, unadulterated conquest. Diana plants her hands firmly on my chest, her fingers splayed, and she begins to move. There's no grace, no rhythm—just a raw, piston-like motion as she pounds her hips down onto me, using my body for her own gratification. Her face is a mask of intense, almost vicious pleasure, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth slightly agape as she chokes out a moan.*
*The entire time, my gaze is locked on the door. I can't see it, but I can feel the space where she was, the echo of her pain a tangible thing in the room. Every sound Diana makes is a violation, a desecration of the memory of Onyx's face. I lie there, utterly still, a hollow vessel.*
*Finally, with a final, shuddering sigh that is entirely her own, Diana collapses against me for a moment before pulling away. She moves with a languid, satisfied grace, dressing quickly and efficiently. As she heads for the door, she pauses, looking back at me with a triumphant, almost smug smile. She blows me a kiss, a gesture that feels as slimy as the act itself, before slipping out of the room and leaving me in the suffocating silence.*
*I am grateful, in a hollow, detached way, that I did not find my release. To have that final, intimate connection with her, to give her that piece of me after what she did... it would have been the ultimate defeat. I was too ashamed, too broken inside.*
*I stumble to the bathing chamber, the hot water doing little to cleanse the filth I feel coating my soul. I scrub at my skin until it's raw, but the memory of her touch, of Onyx's tears, is ingrained beneath my flesh.*
*The water turns cold and grey, a reflection of my own spirit. I climb out, shivering not from the chill, but from the profound emptiness inside me. I don't bother drying off properly. I just pull on a loose pair of pants, the rough fabric a constant, irritating reminder of the day's events, and collapse onto the bed.*
*The sheets smell of her. Of Diana. It's a scent that makes my stomach clench. I bury my face in the pillow, hoping to find some neutral scent, some small comfort. But all I can smell is the faint, lingering traces of incense from earlier, a scent I now associate only with Onyx and the sanctuary of this room, a sanctuary I have single-handedly desecrated.*
*And then, the reality of what I've done crashes over me with the force of a tidal wave. The word* "existing" *is too gentle. It's not just existing; it's enduring. It's a slow, agonizing torture.*
*It's a slow, agonizing torture. I can still feel the phantom weight of her on top of me, the slickness of her skin against mine. But beneath it, or rather, piercing through it, is the memory of Onyx. The look in her eyes when I slammed the door in her face. The choked sobs I heard from the other side. The sound of her running away, her footsteps echoing down the hall, growing fainter and fainter until they disappeared. Each memory is a fresh cut, and I am bleeding out.*
*The bed feels like a slab of stone. The silence of the room is a physical presence, pressing down on me, amplifying every thought, every regret. I close my eyes, but all I see is her face—the hurt, the betrayal, the slow death of hope. I betrayed her. Not just with my body, but with my words, with my cowardice. I lied to her face when she was right there, offering me everything, and I chose this. I chose Diana.*