Chapter 35: Chapter 35 You Will Never Believe Me
Phoebe’s POV
YOU WILL NEVER BELIEVE ME
Breathe. Just breathe. Stay calm.
I repeated these words like some kind of protective mantra, but they were useless against the chaos inside me.
My pulse hammered at the sight of him. Terror and excitement warred in my chest—a twisted combination that made no sense. Even after everything he’d done, I still craved his presence. The mate bond was ruthless that way, pulling me toward him despite the destruction he’d left in his wake.
"Why did you hurt yourself?"
Perry moved closer, but halted just out of reach. Something flickered across his face when he saw the fear in my eyes, and for a split second, he looked almost... pained.
I’d seen him savor his enemies’ terror before. But with me, it was different. My fear seemed to wound him in ways I didn’t understand.
"Answer me. Why did you hurt yourself?"
His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, fury bleeding through every word. The sound sent shivers down my spine.
My breathing grew shallower. I stared down at my bandaged hand, fingers trembling as I touched the gauze.
"I... I hit the mirror by accident," I whispered, barely audible.
The same pathetic lie I’d fed Helen. Even she hadn’t believed it, and she was just a healer trying to be polite. But Perry? He’d never let me get away with such obvious bullshit.
His footsteps echoed as he closed the distance between us, those predatory eyes locked on my injured hand. "Don’t you fucking lie to me." The words came out as a growl that would make seasoned warriors cower, let alone someone like me.
"I... I..." The words died in my throat. I wanted to speak, needed to say something before his anger exploded, but I couldn’t force anything out. My silence only fed his rage, and the angrier he became, the more my voice failed me.
I was shaking now, completely at his mercy.
Perry cursed under his breath, and I could see him fighting his own demons. He knew exactly how I reacted to his fury, yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself. His anger always consumed everything in its path.
Then something impossible happened.
In one fluid motion, he dropped to his knees in front of me.
A king kneeling. For anyone. The sight was so shocking that I forgot how to breathe.
I’d been staring at my lap, too terrified to meet his gaze. His towering presence usually crushed me, made me feel microscopic. But now, with him lowered to my level, something shifted.
I lifted my head slowly, blinking in disbelief. He was right there, eye to eye with me, and for once I didn’t feel like prey about to be devoured.
"What happened?" His voice was carefully controlled now, like he was handling explosives. "Tell me about your hand. The truth this time."
I opened my mouth, but nothing came. Frustration boiled over and tears spilled down my cheeks instead of words.
"What the hell?!" His control snapped. "Are you crying because you want to die? So I’ll send you back to that piece of shit alpha?"
I shook my head frantically, terror spiking through me.
"I’ll never send you back to that hellhole. You’ll rot here, with me, before I let you humiliate me again." Even kneeling, his presence was overwhelming, his glare cutting through me like glass. "Do you understand?"
My eyes darted to the desk—pen and paper. I lunged for them before he could stop me, scribbling with my clumsy left hand.
He tensed like he thought I was trying to escape, ready to drag me back. But when he saw me struggling to write, he just watched, arms crossed, waiting.
I handed him the messy note: *You scare me. I can’t speak when I’m scared.*
His jaw clenched. He already knew this, but knowing and controlling himself were two different things.
He closed his eyes, his whole body trembling with the effort to rein himself in. "Tell me why you hurt yourself."
I hesitated, then wrote again, longer this time. He waited, though I could see his patience fraying.
When I finished, he snatched the paper: *I didn’t mean to hurt myself, but I hate seeing my reflection. I don’t know why I hit the mirror. I hate myself.*
His brows furrowed as he studied me with that intense stare. "Why do you hate yourself?"
I wrote quickly: *Don’t you hate me too?*
"Of course I do! You were thinking about another man while I was inside you!"
I flinched as his voice exploded through the room. He squeezed his eyes shut, counting under his breath—some anger management technique that clearly wasn’t working.
My next note made him pause: *I didn’t. I didn’t. I hate him.*
"You hate him?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Funny, considering how you kept spreading your legs for him."
I shook my head violently, tears streaming freely now.
"That’s not what your pack told me. They all agreed you’d been whoring yourself out to your alpha."
The pain that flashed across my face made him look like he wanted to punch himself.
I wrote one final message and shoved it at him: *You’ll never believe me, no matter what I say, will you?*
Then I ran. I couldn’t take another second of his accusations, his doubt, his anger. I bolted from the room, leaving him kneeling there with my words in his hands.
