Page 139 of Monsters Wear Crowns
“I never wanted this,” I whispered, my voice breaking completely. “I never wanted you to make me feel like this. I thought you were the one man I could truly trust in that regard.”
He watched me, his face a battlefield of pain, guilt, longing. But worst of all… fear. Fear of what he’d done. Fear of what he was. Maybe even fear of losing me forever.I didn’t care.
“I said get out,” I whispered again, this time so quietly it almost didn’t carry. But the words trembled with more power than any scream.
For a long moment, I honestly thought he wouldn’t move. But then, without a word, Rafe turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him. And yet that final glance, so hollow and sorrowful, stayed with me long after he was gone. His dark eyes had looked bright again as if he’d just come to. But the damage…
The damage was already done.
***
The knock came too softly for Rafe. But I didn’t answer. I...couldn’t. Sleep had barely touched me. When it did, it came in fleeting, twisted fragments and memories I couldn’t escape. My body ached from the bruises blooming beneath my skin and the tension I’d held all night. My throat was raw from screaming, my chest hollowed out by grief, by confusion, byhim.
I stared at the ceiling for hours, numb and wired all at once, waiting for morning to mean something. It didn’t. Another knock. A little firmer this time. “Adela.” His voice was quiet and hesitant.
I couldn’t find my voice to respond, and maybe that was my first mistake. Because a second later, the door creaked open, and Rafe stepped inside.
He looked…wrecked.
The man who had pressed me into his desk like he wanted to break me, dominate me,destroyme, was gone. In his place stood someone hollowed out by grief. His eyes were rimmed with shadows, his face pale, lips drawn tight. There was blood on the cuff of his shirt. His knuckles were scraped and healing badly. His shoulders were tense like he was bracing for a bullet, not words.
For once, I didn’t know what to say. So I said nothing.
He didn’t move closer. He just stood there, eyes locked on mine, his throat working like he was swallowing glass. “I–” His voice cracked. He stopped. Took a slow, shaky breath through his nose. “I shouldn’t have… I–”
“Don’t.” My voice came out hoarse, ragged, a ghost of itself. But it still cracked through the silence like a whip. “Don’t say you’re sorry, Rafe. Not when you meant every second of it. Not when you found pleasure from it.”
He flinched. And then his eyes met mine again, glistening with unshed tears. “I’ve never felt this before,” he said, voice splintering, words barely more than breath.
My stomach twisted. I wanted to hate him. Ideservedto hate him. But the ache in my chest told me the truth I didn’t want to face.I never would.“What?” My voice softened, no matter how I tried to stop it. “What haven’t you felt?”
His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists like he could squeeze the answer back inside him. But then, with a quiet, broken exhale, the word slipped free. “Regret.”
The room spun, or maybe it was just me. I swallowed hard, glancing down to see the bruises his fingers left on my hips.
He didn’t move or dare touch me. He just stood there, bleeding out in front of me, without a drop of blood hitting the floor.
And I hated that I still loved him.
It was twisted and wrong, and I couldn’t explain it. How I could still want him after everything. But I did. And the worst part was…I saw it in him, too. That fear. That desperation.
He thought I was going to leave him.
He should have been right. Iwantedhim to be right.
But my heart was a stupid, reckless thing.
“Come here,” I whispered.
His hesitation lasted only a breath. Then he crossed the room, slow and heavy, like every step carried the weight of everything he'd done. He carefully sank onto the edge of the bed beside me. His hand reached out, and I let him help me sit up.
He held my face in both hands, thumbs brushing over the dried tear tracks on my cheeks, as if he could erase them with touch alone. His eyes were glassy, full of a grief so sharp it stole mybreath.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” he whispered.
“I don’t think you can.”
He didn’t argue. The silence between us wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy. Like one wrong word would crack it open and send us both spiraling again.
