Page 4 of Labyrinth of Broken Vows
“No, please,” I beg, my voice shaking. “I just found it… I found it lying around, that’s all.”
He doesn’t believe me. I can see it in the way his mouth twists, the way his hands keep ripping the pages out, throwing them to the floor like they’re nothing.
Page after page flutters to the ground, scattering around me like fallen leaves. My breath catches in my throat, and all I can do is watch, helpless, as the story that had filled me with such curiosity is destroyed.
“You found it?” he spits, tearing another handful of pages. “Lying around. You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?” His voice rises, vibrating through the room.
“No, I swear,” I plead, but my words are weak, pitiful. I know he doesn’t believe me. He never does.
He throws the book’s tattered remains at my feet. “This is what you risked everything for. A worthless pile of lies. And for what? So you can pretend your life is something it’s not? Is that it, Brielle? Are you not happy with me?”
I shake my head, swallowing the sobs that threaten to escape. “No… it’s not…”
But it’s too late. He’s already made up his mind, and nothing I say will change it.
His gaze darkens, and he leans in close, his breath hot and full of rage. “You’re nothing without me. Everything you have is because of me. I am the law here. You’ll remember that.” His words drip with venom as he stands up straight, casting a final look at the shredded pages beneath us.
And then, without another word, he turns and walks away, leaving me alone in the wreckage of what’s left. He looks down at me, the ruined pages scattered like confetti across the floor, and something shifts in his expression. His lips curl into a twisted smile. “Now,” he says, his voice unnervingly calm, “since you’re so sorry and you managed to fulfill at least one of your duties by making a nice dinner, let’s see how well you can finish the other one.”
Before I can move, he grabs me, pulling me roughly toward him. His hand slides up to cup my cheek, and I flinch as his thumb brushes over the split in my lip, smearing the blood. His eyes light up as he watches it, almost mesmerized by the crimson staining my mouth.
“I like you like this,” he murmurs, leaning in close. He presses his lips to mine, hard, the metallic taste of blood mingling between us. When he pulls back, his tongue flicks out, licking the smear of blood from his own lips as if savoring it.
He grins, his gaze dark and possessive. “I’ll show you why you stay, Brielle. No other man will love you like I do. No other man can give you what I give you.”
His words slither around me like chains, tightening with each syllable. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. The weight of his control presses down on me, suffocating.
“I want you in that room,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear. “Kneeling before me. Thanking me with that sweet mouth of yours wrapped around my cock.” He kisses my forehead, mockingly tender. “I forgive you.”
With a final squeeze of my jaw, he releases me and strides toward the bedroom, not bothering to look back. As he reaches the doorway, he throws one more command over his shoulder.
“Hurry up,” he calls, his voice sharp with authority. "Don't make me wait.”
The silence that follows is deafening, and I’m left standing in the wreckage of torn pages and broken will, knowing that my penance has only just begun.
two
Days have passed, and the heavy weight of self pity drags at my every step as I cloak myself, slipping through the streets like a shadow. The wind bites at my skin, but it’s not the cold that makes me shiver. I keep my hood pulled low, my eyes downcast, never lingering too long on anyone's gaze. The fear of recognition, of someone noticing and running back to Henry, sends a tremor through me. I trust no one, for I have no one. My world is a prison, and even the smallest misstep could mean another round of his fury.
The tattered remains of the book are bundled close to my chest beneath my cloak, as though hiding them can protect them from the shame that gnaws at me. I know Alaric will be disappointed, though not with me; but the guilt is a gnawing beast inside me. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t risk so much for scraps of paper. I tell myself this over and over, but the need to fix it, to apologize, keeps pulling me toward the bookshop.
When I turn the final corner and see the small, familiar shop, my heart sinks. The closed sign hangs in the window, stark and final. Alaric is never closed. A terrible thought flashes through my mind; did Henry do something? I press my face up against the glass, peering into the dim interior. A figure moves inside, sweeping slowly, and my heart stutters in relief.
I knock softly. He jumps at the sound, startled, and limps to the door. “I’m sorry, I’m closed,” his voice comes through the wood, tight with caution.
“Alaric, it’s me,” I whisper, my breath fogging the glass.
He hesitates, and for a moment, I fear he won’t let me in. Then he sighs, “Oh dear, you shouldn’t be here.”
“Please,” I beg, desperation in my voice. “I’ll only be a moment.”
The door creaks open, and I step inside quickly. As the light from the window catches his face, I see it—the bruise darkening his frail cheek. My heart clenches painfully, and without thinking, my fingers reach out to gently caress the purple bloom. “Oh, Alaric… this is my fault. I am so sorry.”
He shakes his head softly, offering me a weary smile. He takes my hand and presses a gentle, fatherly kiss to it. “Nonsense, my dear. I’ve had worse in my day.”
My chest tightens with guilt as I slowly unwrap the bundle of scraps, the torn and crumpled pages spilling onto his counter. “The book… I—” My voice cracks. “I hoped you could fix it. I’m so sorry.”
Alaric looks at the remnants, his expression pained. He says nothing for a moment, only offering me a sad smile. “It’s fine, my dear,” he says softly, though his voice falters. His gaze lands on my swollen lip, still healing from Henry’s strike. His brows draw together in concern. “Oh, dear. What has he done this time? Why do you stay?”
