Chapter 59: This is all my fault Pt 1
Torin | A Few Hours Earlier
My room is the second largest in the penthouse, the first belonging to Walter. Him having the largest space is the most practical because he actually stays in that room and it’s designed for an omega who constantly has his mates coming and going, his room always alive with noise and movement especially during his heat.
Mine, by contrast, is stripped down, simple with point‑blank design. At the center sits a round bed, raised slightly on a platform, positioned at the center so that the moment I rise I am greeted by the sprawling city through massive curtainless windows. The skyline stretches endlessly, lights flickering like stars, a reminder of the world outside that never sleeps.
Behind the bed, where the tiles shift from white to a greyish‑black shade, lies my wall‑less bathroom. An open space with a tub, a glass-less shower, a sink and other bathroom things. At the time, I thought it practical to have a two‑in‑one bedroom, but now it feels strange, unsettling even, to sleep with my bathroom looming behind me. I would have had it changed by now if I actually stayed here long enough for it to bother me. Still, it never mattered before that I was exposed when showering, no one ever entered my room when I showered or ever. At least, not until now.
I lower my sleeping omega gently onto the bed, careful not to wake her. I decide it is better for her to stay here, where I can keep a closer eye on her instead of the guest room. It pains me to admit it, but I don’t want to be separated from her, not after being apart for so long. The thought of her in another room makes my chest tighten, as if the our fated mate bond itself is pulling me closer, refusing to let me go away from her.
Dropping to my knees, I take her hand in mine. Her skin feels rough, dry, and fragile against my own. My eyes trace her body, assessing the gravity of her wounds.
They are all bad, but one sticks out... the wound on her shoulder that I failed to notice back at the trailer park. The sheer long shirt she wears covers almost nothing, and beneath it I see the wound.
It looks like skin cut away and later burnt, scarred and raw. From it, vine‑like veins spread across her body, branching like dark rivers beneath her skin. My stomach shifts uncomfortably, my brows knitting tight. How long has she carried these marks?
My mind flashes back to the day she insisted on wearing that high‑neckline dress. I thought it odd at the time, why request such a suffocating gown in the middle of summer? Was she hiding these wounds even then? Or did she get them during her captivity? The thought gnaws at me, twisting my insides.
My thoughts halt as she stirs in her sleep, her body trembling as if caught in a nightmare. She pulls her hand from mine, whimpers escaping her lips, tears sliding down the sides of her eyes. Each tear feels like it slices through me, ripping me open, cutting off my air supply.
Gods, what is happening to me? Her tears send ripples through my body, shaking me to my core. Is this the work of our fated bond? Or is it something else entirely?
Her whimpers drag me back from my thoughts. "This isn’t the time to be thinking of such things," I murmur, brushing my hand gently against Sugarplum’s cheek.
"Wake up, sweetheart. It’s just a dream," I whisper, my voice soft and coaxing.
Her eyes flutter open slowly, red‑rimmed and wet, her breathing uneven and rapid.
"To...rin," she mumbles, her gaze locking onto mine, daggers piercing straight into my heart.
"It’s alright, Sugarplum. I’m here," I whisper again, my thumb grazing her cheek, holding her face as if anchoring her to me, as if reminding her she is no longer alone.
Her lips tremble, her breath catching, and I lean closer, pressing my forehead gently against hers. "You’re safe now," I murmur, my voice breaking with a tenderness I can’t hide. "No one will hurt you again. Not while I’m here."
"Where were you?" she cries, the tears falling like waterfalls down her cheeks, her voice breaking with raw pain. I can only bow my head, unable to answer, unable to meet her eyes. I promised her safety, promised that the horrors of her past in this house would never touch her again. Even if I made that promise to win her trust, I meant it. And I failed her.
"I waited for you to come... but you didn’t come," she sniffs, her voice hitching, trembling with grief. "They even burnt me."
Her words slice through me, and I lift my head in a swift motion, gut tightening. "Is that where the burn on your shoulder comes from?" I ask, my voice strained.
She nods slowly, biting her lip to hold back more tears, her eyes clouded with the weight of memory. I instantly regret asking. My chest aches with guilt, and I rise from the floor, pulling her into my arms as I sit on the edge of the bed. She cries against my chest, her sobs muffled against me, and my hand trembles as I pat her head, trying to soothe her. This is all my fault.
We remain like that for what feels like half an hour, the silence broken only by her cries, until finally she calms, sniffling as she pulls away. "Sorry... I ruined your shirt," she murmurs, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Don’t sweat it," I murmur back, my voice low. Nothing she does could ever cause ruin, especially her tears. She could cry into every shirt I own, and I would never care.
"Sugarplum," I whisper, hesitant but needing to know, "if it isn’t too much... could you please tell me how you got to the auction?" My voice is quiet, almost pleading. I need answers. I need to know who did this to her, so I can find them, punish them, make them pay.
Comments