13. Didn't Resist

The suffocation she thought had eased came back with double the weight. Deeper. More humiliating. More painful.

Because the worst part wasn't the betrayal. It was that she still tried to protect him. Still hoped. Still believed he might've meant it. Still thought she deserved the truth.

Nayla suddenly felt nauseous.

She was a tragic character in a cheap drama. Played without pay, laughed at from behind the screen.

"Fuck!"

Her scream echoed across the room. Sharp and piercing. Like an animal wounded beyond repair.

Her hand swept across the table. Glass, books, a vase, everything crashed to the floor. She didn't care. Maybe she didn't even realize.

She bowed her head. Her hair was a mess. Her shoulders trembled. Not from cold, but from a rage that no longer fit inside her.

"Am I that stupid?! Huh?!" Her voice cracked, hoarse, soaked in tears. "AM I REALLY THAT STUPID?!"

She screamed again. Louder and more broken. She pounded her own chest, as if she could rip the pain out of her body by force.

"NATHAN!"

Her world blurred again by tears and fury. She kicked a chair, slammed her phone to the floor, then collapsed to her knees. This time, she didn't bother hiding her pain.

"Nayla!"

A sharp voice outside her room yanked her back to reality.

Damian.

He knocked once. Then again. But Nayla didn't move. She didn't answer. She didn't care.

She heard his footsteps retreat from the door. But she knew Damian wasn't the type to give up that easily.

And she was right.

The door burst open with one swift kick. He stood at the doorway. His silhouette framed by the dim hall light.

He didn't say a word as his eyes scanned the wreckage, then landed on Nayla, still curled on the floor, red-eyed and trembling.

There was no compassion on his face. No empathy in his eyes.

Seconds passed in silence. Then his voice finally cut through. Low, flat, but laced with naked threat. "Are you proud of yourself now, Nay?"

She looked up, breath still caught in her throat.

He walked toward her, slow and deliberate. Bending slightly, he picked up her phone from the floor. The screen cracked. He arched a brow.

"You think that pathetic post made you look stronger? Or holier?"

It wasn't a shout. His tone was gentle, but that made it far worse. His words weren't just sharp. They were precise.

"You haven't learned a damn thing," he murmured, letting the phone drop again. "About who deserves your defense and who isn't worth a single second of your time."

He reached for her chin, tilting it so her eyes met his. "Congratulations, Nayla. You've just humiliated yourself… again."

She closed her eyes. No more tears left to cry. Her lids were too dry.

Her lips parted, but no sound emerged. She was too broken to speak.

"You knew I always hated that man, didn't you?" Damian's voice was quiet. Venomous. "So why, Nayla?"

He yanked her to her feet. Rough. Unyielding. A second later, his lips crashed onto hers.

There was jealousy in the way he kissed her, but no tenderness. Nothing romantic. It was raw. Urgent. A punishment.

Nayla resisted. She tried to pull away, but his grip was too tight. One hand trapped her body, the other yanked her hair back, forcing her mouth open beneath his.

She winced in pain, but Damian didn't stop. He kissed her like he was trying to erase Nathan's trace. From her mouth. From her mind. From her soul.

Then he lifted her off the ground. His fingers dug into her waist. Too hard to be gentle, but this wasn't just about violence.

It was control. It was desperation. It was a storm brewing beneath the surface, too loud to be silenced, too wild to be tamed.

Her breath hitched, caught somewhere between shock and surrender. Damian wasn't touching her like a man claiming a woman. He was touching her like a man trying to erase something that never should've existed. Like her skin still held the imprint of someone else's sin, and he refused to let it remain.

Every movement was rough, but calculated. His grip didn't tremble, not even once. It wasn't lust that guided him. It was fury wrapped in hunger, grief disguised as desire.

"Nayla," he growled, her name barely a whisper, yet it thundered in her ears.

She didn't answer. Couldn't.

And Nayla didn't resist. Not this time.

Because if love couldn't save her, maybe destruction would.

***

The darkness continues, and it's already dozens of chapters ahead on Patreon! Support me there and follow the full journey. patreon.com/KataHanana