Page 11 of Uprising

He lets out a groan, picking up speeding, fucking me over and over until finally, mercifully, he comes.

He pulls out, wipes himself on a handkerchief and then tosses it at my still sprawled and defeated body.

“Clean yourself up.” He says. “You’ve got five minutes to make yourself presentable.”

And then he walks out leaving me there, leaving me alone, as his come begins to drip out.

I know I have to face them. I know that I have to walk out of this room, look this entire city’s elite in the eye and act like none of this just happened.

I have to do it. For Lara’s sake.

I take in a deep breath, steeling myself. Every time he does this, every moment he violates me, it’s not breaking me, at least not in the way he thinks.

It’s crushing my heart, that’s true. I can’t deny that fact.

But what need do I have for a heart now that Roman is dead?

I can be cold, I can become just as ruthless as all the rest of them, and I am, I will be, I will become everything they are and more.

Because this is how I will save Lara. I will store up every insult, every injury, every degradation and I will serve it back on them tenfold.

And the best bit is they don’t even realise what they’re doing, what they’re creating.

Because this is how villains are made.

And this is what they are making of me.

I will finish what Roman started. I will have my revenge. I just have to bide my time, as he did, and when I serve it, I will ensure there is no chance they can outmanoeuvre me.

I will ensure every one of them is lying dead at my feet.

Rose

Istand staring at myself.

I look like a statue.

I feel like one too.

Emotionless. Hollow.

The seamstress pins the fabric, takes it in a tiny bit more around my waist. I haven’t been to the Clubhouse in forever, haven’t worked out, and all that muscle I used to have is shrinking now. I look like I’m wasting away, all my strength, all of it is going and soon I’ll be nothing more than skin and bones, I guess that will make me a better punchbag for Darius when he loses his temper.

Lara sits staring at me and I don’t know what to say, how to answer the confusion in her eyes.

I’m wearing a wedding dress. One designed for me but not one of my choosing.

None of it is to my taste, it’s too flamboyant, too attention seeking. But Darius wants all the attention he can get, he wants it flashy, he wants me to look like a million dollar bride. And my mother was more than happy to ensure that this dress did all that, starting with the price tag.

I clench my fists, fighting back the bile. I’d given anything to rip this damned fabric off my skin, to grab Lara, start running and never look back.

“It’s beautiful.” The seamstress says stepping back, admiring her handiwork.

Lara tilts her head. “It’s too stuffy.”

I let out a laugh. It catches in my throat and for a moment it feels like we’re both trying not to cry. She steps up to me taking my hand and whispers so quietly no one can hear. “Daddy always said you were most beautiful without all the fancy clothes.”

I let out a low breath, giving her a hug. I like that she remembers him, that she remember us, the three of us.

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