Page 18 of Peak Cruelty

“And because I plan to prove otherwise.”

I watch her face.The control.The effort.She’s holding it all in, but it’s cracking at the edges.That’s where the real work begins.

She tenses against the leather straps—trying to bring blood flow back—but she doesn’t speak.And she doesn’t break eye contact.

That’s new.

“I don’t need a full confession,” I say.“Just an acknowledgment.That you know what you are.That you understand the damage you’ve done.”

She holds.Not stoic—calculated.She’s gauging how much longer she has to pretend I’m not speaking to her.

I’ve had people beg with less pressure than this.Cry for forgiveness they didn’t mean.Offer their families.Their faith.Their bodies.

She gives me nothing.Not even the courtesy of a reaction.

“I’m not here to punish you,” I say, letting the words settle between us.“I’m here to give you what you wouldn’t stop asking for.”

Her lips twitch—just a fraction—before the smile disappears.I can’t even name it.It’s gone before it even registers.

“I’ll give you one chance to admit what you’ve done.”

She doesn’t.

I lean in, close enough to feel the heat of her skin—hot and damp.Close enough for her to feel it: the weight of the moment, the pull of inevitability.I place my hand on the edge of the mattress, just barely touching the fabric.

Her pulse jumps, stuttering under my fingers.

“You have no idea what I’m willing to do,” I say, letting the words sit heavy in the air.“No idea how far I’ll go to get to the truth.”

The charge isn’t there.The tension that should be crackling in the space between us feels…off.I should be feeling the final twist, the crack before the break.

Instead, I feel her watching me.Not fear.Not defiance.Something… different.It looks like pity.

And that’s the part that fucks with me.

I shift back, not to withdraw, but to reset—the space has grown smaller, and I need a breath.I turn toward the door, fingers trailing slowly along the frame.

“I’ll give you tonight,” I say, and it sounds like a promise.As though it’s something I’m offering her.“To think it over.”

I glance over my shoulder, just once, meeting her eyes.

“After that, your body talks for you.”

I turn the doorknob, pause.

“And if you lie,” I say, without looking back, “you’ll wish I’d just killed you now.”

The door slams shut behind me.

I wait—just one beat—to hear the scream.

They always scream.

She doesn’t.

And that silence?It’s not strength.It’s contempt.I feel it.Like rot in the walls.

I stand there, hand still on the knob, jaw locked so tight it clicks.

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