Page 16 of The Beast's Broken Beauty

Pain flickers across her face, and for a split second, I hate myself more than I've ever hated her.

"The contract," she repeats, the words hollow. "Always the fucking contract. I don't even know what it—" Her words cut off as she gasps, sliding down the wall, one hand clutching her chest.

I reach for her despite everything, despite the walls between us, despite the venom in her voice. My hand closes around her wrist, monitoring her pulse. Too fast, too erratic.

"Let go of me," she demands, but her fingers clutch my arm, belying her words. She's terrified, and I can't blame her. The doctor might need to give her adenosine, momentarily stopping her heart to reset the rhythm. The thought makes something primitive roar to life inside me.

"At the mention of the doctor, fresh tears spill down her cheeks. "I can't." She shakes her head, voice breaking. "Not again. I can't..."

My thumb brushes away a tear before I can stop myself, the gesture more gentle than anything I've allowed myself since that morning I shattered whatever was growing between us. She flinches away, eyes narrowing, defensive even in her vulnerability.

"Don't touch me," she hisses, but doesn't move away. "Don't act like you give a damn when you've had me locked away for months."

"You don't understand anything," I snap back, my own defenses rising to meet hers. "You never have."

"Then make me understand!" she challenges, anger fighting through her fear. "Tell me why you hate me so much when youtouched me like I was something precious. Tell me why you—" Her words dissolve into a pained gasp, her body curling inward.

"You don't understand... I don't want to... I don't want to," she whispers, her voice as fragile as glass.

"What?" I press, needing to understand what terrifies her more than her racing heart.

She shakes her head, eyes wild with fear. "I'm just scared, okay?" The admission costs her, I can see it in the way her jaw clenches afterward, in the flash of vulnerability she tries to hide.

"Of what? The treatment? Your heart?"

"Of everything!" The words burst from her, raw and honest. "Of the doctors, of the adenosine, of feeling my heart stop again, of being alone in that room for another three months, of—" She cuts herself off, but the unspoken words hang between us. Of you.

Something cracks inside me. Some wall I've carefully maintained since that morning I found the letter. I close the distance between us, ignoring her instinctive push against my chest. My arms wrap around her, pulling her against me, one hand cradling the back of her head.

She fights me for a moment, fists beating weakly against my shoulders before her body betrays her, sagging into my embrace. I feel her tears soaking through my shirt, feel the tremors running through her frame, feel the racing pulse where my fingers rest against her neck.

"I've got you," I murmur against her hair, the words a promise I'm not sure I have the right to make. "I'm not going anywhere."

And in that moment, I'm not sure if I'm comforting her, or making the most dangerous mistake of my life.

Chapter ten

Isabella

Hisarmswraparoundme, strong and familiar, pulling me into the scent that's been haunting my nights. Sandalwood and salt air and something uniquely him—the same scent that clung to my skin on our wedding night before he shattered everything hours later.

"Focus on my heartbeat, Bell'cenda," he growls, voice dark and commanding. "Match your breathing to mine—feel it, let it control you. Your rhythm follows mine now." No tender reassurances or false promises—just practical direction from someone who's clearly researched my condition. The Beast offering structure where comfort would feel like a lie.

The bitter laugh that bubbles up gets trapped in my throat, caught between my racing heart and the cynical voice screaming inside my head. Focus on his heartbeat? The same man who locked me away for three months in that moldy stone prison?Who tore my heart out and stomped on it the morning after making me believe I was something precious?

His grip remains steady when I try to pull away. "Non è il momento, Bell'cenda," he snarls, and the Italian slides under my skin like a blade. "Save your defiance for when you can stand without trembling. Now breathe with me."

I want to push him away, to remind him of every tear I shed on that hard mattress, every night I stared at his mother's letters until the words blurred together. But my body betrays me, leaning into him—a traitor to every promise I made in the darkness of that forgotten wing.

"This doesn't change anything," I manage to whisper, my voice tight with pain and racing pulse.

His body tenses against mine, but his arms don't release me. I feel his jaw clench where it rests against my temple.

"Never said it did," he answers, his voice low and dangerous. "You're more valuable alive than dead."

There it is…the cold calculation beneath the momentary warmth. To him, I'm still just an asset, a chess piece, a means to an end. Nothing more.

Fear grips me tighter than his arms ever could. It's not a fist around my throat. It's a boa constrictor that squeezes and squeezes until I'm not sure I can stand. My racing heart thunders in my ears like a countdown to disaster.

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