Behind His Eyes

The room was cold.

Not from the temperature, but from the silence—the kind that sinks into your bones and wraps around your lungs. I blinked slowly, my vision still adjusting to the clinical whiteness of the hospital room. My wrists ached beneath the bandages, and my thighs throbbed with the memory of what had been done to me.

I was alone. But only for a moment.

The door creaked open, soft footsteps tapping across the floor. A new face leaned in—gentle, pale-skinned, with warm eyes that didn't carry the usual indifference of hired help. Her voice was soft, touched with concern.

"You're awake."

She moved closer and placed a hand on my chart. "I'm Nurse Elise. I'll be taking care of you from now on."

Her name barely landed in my memory. I nodded weakly.

She began checking my IV line, her fingers cool but careful. I flinched slightly, and she paused, eyes flicking up to meet mine.

"Did he do this to you?" she asked gently.

My heart seized in my chest. No one had dared to ask before. Most of them just knew—or pretended not to.

My lips trembled. "Yes."

She didn't speak. She just kept her hand on mine, letting the weight of my confession settle.

Something inside me cracked.

I told her everything. Between shallow breaths and choked sobs, I told her about the lake house, the chains, the cold rage in Kendrick's eyes. I told her about the tea, the poison, the mistake. I told her how I screamed until my voice broke, and how he didn't stop until I was nothing but limp flesh and fading thoughts.

She didn't interrupt. Not once.

When I finished, I was shaking. Elise leaned in and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "No one deserves what you went through," she said, her voice a whisper. "Especially not you."

I opened my mouth to thank her, but her next words stopped me.

"You don't know what he's hiding, do you?"

I blinked. "Kendrick?"

She nodded slowly, her expression darkening. "I knew him… before the suits, before the mansion. Before he became this."

I swallowed hard, my curiosity overriding my fear. "You knew him?"

Elise exhaled, as if debating whether to speak. But something in her face changed—softened, then hardened with purpose.

"I used to work at a psychiatric youth facility… years ago. Kendrick Hale was admitted when he was just fifteen. He had been rescued from his home after a neighbor found him locked in a dog cage… beaten half to death."

My heart stopped. "What?"

"He was raised by a man who believed children were born evil. Kendrick was tied, burned, starved. I read his files. He didn't speak for almost two years. When he finally did, it was only to say he would never be weak again."

I gripped the sheets, cold running down my spine.

"His wife tried to save him," she added softly. "But she left after he started locking their daughter in her room for hours, repeating his father's rituals. She took the kids and disappeared. That was the last time he ever allowed anyone close."

A silence stretched between us.

"He thinks love is poison," Elise whispered. "So he serves it in the only way he knows- through control. Through pain."

I wanted to feel pity. I wanted to care. But all I could feel was anger—fury for the way he broke me, all because someone once broke him.

"That doesn't excuse what he did to me," I said, my voice shaky.

"No. It doesn't." Elise's gaze was firm. "But it explains why he can't let you go."

My lips parted to speak, but the door suddenly swung open.

Kendrick.

Tall. Immaculate. Unbothered.

He stood there in a dark navy coat, his hair slicked back, sunglasses in his hand. But his eyes—those gray, stormy eyes—locked on mine instantly.

"You can leave us," he said to Elise, his voice calm but absolute.

She hesitated, then nodded and stepped out without another word.

He walked to the foot of my bed slowly, his eyes taking in every inch of me like he was counting the ways I was still his.

"You told her," he said simply.

I didn't answer.

He moved to my side, sitting down without asking. "Do you think she'll save you? That any of them will?"

"You almost killed me," I whispered.

"I warned you," he said quietly. "I told you I owned you. You chose betrayal. That was your price."

"Then why am I alive?" I snapped. "Why not let me die like the others?"

He paused.

And then, something raw flickered in his eyes.

"Because I've already lost too much," he said.

My throat dried.

"Kendrick…" I swallowed hard. "You can't fix what happened to you by breaking everyone else."

He leaned closer. "Don't pretend to understand me."

"I don't," I said. "But I know what it's like to grow up unloved."

His jaw flexed. His hand moved to my face, brushing my cheek. "You think this is about love?"

I didn't answer.

He leaned down, his mouth ghosting over my ear. "This is about ownership. About hunger. About needing something so much you'd rather destroy it than let it leave."

His fingers slipped beneath my blanket, brushing along my thigh. I gasped, body still too sore to respond properly, but he didn't care. He needed control. Now. He wanted to brand himself into my soul.

"I should make you scream again," he whispered. "But this time... not in pain."

He pulled the blanket down, exposing me. I tried to cover myself, but he pinned my wrists above my head, careful not to hurt the bandages.

"You're mine, Bekky," he murmured. "Say it."

I turned my head. "No."

His grip tightened. "Say it."

"I hate you," I spat.

"I know." His voice was ice. "And that makes it even better."

He climbed onto the bed, spreading my legs with his knee. He didn't ask permission. He never did. But this time, there was no anger in his touch—just a terrifying calm.

He slid into me slowly, and my back arched involuntarily. Pain sparked through me, but beneath it was a pulse I couldn't suppress.

"You feel that?" he whispered against my throat. "That's not hate. That's mine."

He moved slowly, agonizingly, like he wanted to etch himself into my skin. His hand wrapped around my throat—not squeezing, just holding. Like I was delicate. Like he was pretending.

And it was a performance. One that teetered between tenderness and torment.

I hated how my body responded.

I hated that somewhere in the ruins of my soul, a piece of me wanted more.

When he came, he bit down on my shoulder and stayed inside me, breath ragged. For a moment, we just breathed—his chest rising against mine, my limbs trembling beneath his weight.

Then he kissed my forehead.

Like he hadn't just broken me all over again.

When he finally stood and dressed, I turned my face to the wall, ashamed. Afraid of what I was becoming.

Before he left, he looked over his shoulder. "You're not going back to the mansion yet," he said. "You'll stay here. Heal."

"And then what?" I asked bitterly.

He smiled faintly. "Then I'll show you what real obedience looks like."

When the door shut, I curled into myself, tears running silently down my cheeks.

But something had shifted.

Now, I knew his weakness.

And I would use it to destroy him from the inside out....