Chapter 227
KATYA POV
— continued —
For half a second, my brain refused to process what I was seeing. The space between my closet and the bathroom—solid wall, familiar wall—moved.
A door that had never existed until now. It slid aside without a sound, so smooth , revealing a shirtless and unmasked Roo.
The world narrowed to a sharp ringing in my ears, the phone slipping slightly in my grip as my fingers went numb.
"Mr Salvator?!" The words tore out of , too loud. Michael’s voice was still faintly audible from the phone, confused and distant. "Katya? What’s going on?"
I barely heard him.
My gaze was locked on Roo, frozen sowhere between panic and disbelief. My eyes dragged themselves over the hard lines of his chest before snapping back up to his face, heat rushing to my cheeks at the realization.
I looked away imdiately. "What—" My voice shook. I hated that it did. "What are you doing in my room?"
Click.
The whole room light died. Gone. The world collapsed into black.
My lungs locked.
Air refused to move in or out, like my body had forgotten how breathing worked. The darkness was thick, crushing, swallowing the room whole.
What—what—what—
I couldn’t see. My brain scread at my eyes to adjust, to find anything, but there was nothing. My window curtain was pulled shut, no moonlight could co through. No crack beneath the door. No glow from the hallway.
Nothing. Panic exploded.
This is it.
This is how he does it.
The thought slamd into so hard my knees almost buckled.
Just like how he killed his cousin, but this ti in the dark?
Cold terror surged through . My pulse thundered so loudly it drowned everything else out. I couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t hear breathing. Couldn’t hear movent.
That was worse.
He’d said little sister.
The mory surfaced uninvited—his calm voice, his steady gaze, the way the words had sounded less like a warning and more like a decision already made.
Was this the threat?
Was this what he ant?
My breathing shattered into short, panicked gasps. My hands shook violently as I staggered backward, then sideways, completely disoriented.
The room no longer made sense. Walls felt too far. Furniture too close.
He turned off the lights so I wouldn’t see it coming.
So I wouldn’t know where to run.
A broken sound tore out of my throat, half-sob, half-plea.
No—no—no—
My foot caught on sothing unseen. I pitched forward with a sharp cry, barely managing to stay upright.
Michael.
The thought flickered weakly, then vanished beneath the rising tide of fear. I spun, heart racing, breath burning my lungs, my head filling with mories I couldn’t stop.
My back hit sothing solid—wood. A wall. A door. I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I pressed myself against it, curling inward, trying to make myself smaller.
Invisible.
Tears spilled hot and fast as my breathing completely unraveled. My vision swam uselessly in the dark.
Please—please—
I didn’t know who I was begging anymore.
The sharp trill of my phone rang out. I flinched violently, a cry ripping from my chest. The screen’s small glow cut through the darkness, briefly illuminating the bed across the room.
Light.
My body moved without permission, pure instinct taking over. My legs were too fast it snagged on sothing and the world tilted.
I fell. My head hit the floor with a sickening crack. Pain exploded behind my eyes, white and blinding.
The impact knocked the breath clean out of as stars burst across my vision. At the sa ti the room lights snapped back on.
Too bright. Too sudden.
My stomach twisted violently, nausea rising as my chest burned. I couldn’t tell where the walls were anymore. The room felt endless, like I was sinking inside it.
My mind didn’t co back with it. The walls blurred, edges warping as if the room itself was breathing.
My ears rang violently, a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else. My head throbbing with imrsed pain from the floor.
The room swam, warmth slid down my temple. I lifted a trembling hand, fingers coming away slick.
Blood.
My body began to shake uncontrollably. The mansion disappeared totally. The silk sheets. The chandelier. The quiet luxury.
I was small again.
The air felt thick, heavy with sothing sour and familiar. My chest locked painfully as mories surged forward without warning—hands too rough, a voice too loud, fear pressing down until there was nowhere left to run.
Don’t cry.
Don’t make him angry.
Say you’re sorry.
Footsteps approached. A shadow lood. A hand reached for .
I flinched hard, scrambling backward, my heels dragging against the floor as I tried to put distance between and the ghost of my father. I didn’t stop until my back slamd into the solid wood of the bedpost.
The impact jarred my head, sending a fresh wave of hot pain through my temple where the blood was still trickling.
I curled into a ball, my knees tucked to my chest, my eyes clamped shut so tight that stars danced behind my eyelids.
The air in the room was thick with the scent of copper and the sharp, jagged edges of a mory that wasn’t supposed to be here.
"Please—please don’t touch ," I sobbed. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t—I won’t do it again. Please don’t hurt ." My whole body shook as I begged, bleeding, terrified, drowning in a past that felt just as real as the floor beneath .
"Katya." I flinched violently. It wasn’t my father’s voice.
That realization ca slowly, sluggish and wrong. My father’s voice was thin, reeking of cheap gin and bitterness.
This voice was deep—a low, resonant vibration that seed to rumble through the floorboards.
It was harsh, demanding, and carried the weight of a man who ruled with iron. But it was still a man’s voice.
"Katya," it said again. Firr. "Hey. Look at ."
I shook my head, eyes still clenched shut, breath tearing in and out of my chest like I was drowning.
If I opened them, I’d see him. I’d see the belt, or the hand, or the darkness. I kept begging, the words spilling out in a mindless chant of a broken child.
"I’m sorry... I’m sorry... please..." The air shifted. Suddenly, the heat was right in front of . I felt calloused fingers—strong and unyielding—wrap around my jaw.
It didn’t squeeze to hurt, but held with a terrifying grip that made movent impossible.
I was still shaking, my breath coming in short, hitching gasps. I was waiting for the blow. I was waiting for the pain to finish off..
Instead, he tilted my face upward, forcing my head back against the bedpost. My eyes stayed clamped shut, tears leaking out from the corners as I shook, waiting for the pain I knew was coming.
"Katya." The voice was right there now. Close. Steady. Sharp. "Hey. Look at ."
I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. My mouth kept moving, the words tumbling out broken and desperate. "I’m sorry... I’m sorry... please..."
The grip on my jaw tightened just a fraction. Sothing solid pressed against my forehead.
Not a blow. Not a grab ant to hurt. Just pressure—grounding, anchoring—forcing my head to stay still, forcing to stay here.
"Breathe," The voice said, low and commanding, each word asured. "No one’s hurting you."
My breath stuttered violently.
The world wavered.
I could feel him—his skin, the faint heat of his body, the steady presence inches from my face.
My father had never been this solid. Never this controlled. "Open your eyes," he ordered quietly and my eyes flew open.
The world rushed back in—the high ceilings, the silk sheets, the glow of the bulbs. And right there, inches from my face, were the stormy gray eyes of Roo Salvatore.
He wasn’t hitting . The shock of it was like a bucket of ice water poured over a fever. The past vanished.
The cellar, the belt, the shadow of my father—it all dissolved, replaced by the overwhelming, suffocating presence of the man in front of .
His forehead was still pressed to mine, his hand still holding my jaw, thumb brushing against my skin where blood from my temple had sared warm and sticky.
He was now having his mask on. "Good?" he murmured when he saw recognition flicker through my gaze.
His eyes weren’t filled with the madness of my past; they were filled with a dark, sharp intensity that demanded I stay right here, in the present, with him.
My body was still shaking, my chest still burning, but the past finally loosened its grip.
††
Ok ok, I want to use this dium to say thank y’all again for the support and gift, I really do appreciate the support, if it wasn’t for y’all comnts, Golden tickets, power stone and gift I don’t really think this book would have co this far.
So thank y’all for it, I really love y’all and yeah, thanks my loves.
What do you think about this Chapter and the next that’s about to co. Would this make them closer or nah and poor Michael, Katya forget about him being on the line till it got disconnected.
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