Bound to my Enemy Chapter 55

Elaine’s POV

The car barely stops before I’m reaching for the handle.

I don’t wait for him to step out or open any car door for , not like I expect it from him, he isn’t a gentleman. I step out into the night air, heels hitting the gravel too hard, dress clutched in my fist so I don’t trip and fall. The house looms ahead of ....

I hear his car door slam behind .

"Elaine."

I don’t turn, I’m too tired for whatever he has to say.

My pulse is still buzzing from the party, from the forced smiles, from holding myself together with sheer will. I make it three steps into the fhouse before his hand catches my arm and spins around.

The movent is ......angry?. What the fuck is he angry about this ti.

"Don’t ever," he says, voice low, clipped, "behave the way you did tonight at a public event again."

I stare at him, stunned for half a second before the heat surges up my spine.

"Excuse you?"

He steps closer, crowding my personal space. "You heard ."

I laugh loudly . It cos out short and disbelieving. "What are you on aboutz. I behaved with grace, so much grace Considering the overwhelming urge I had to punch and hit you during the ceremony, I’d say I showed remarkable restraint and grace Zane."

His jaw tightens.

"You flirted with people. n" he snaps. "You smiled and had other n touch you. You made a spectacle of yourself."

"Correction I danced with you." I say. "With your friend. In front of everyone zane, that’s not a freaking cri."

"It’s disrespectful to . First it was David of knight empire then my friend " he says. "You paraded yourself in front of n like a....."

"Like what?" I cut in. "I dare you to complete that sentence Zane, I fucking dare you.?"

His eyes harden.

"Like a whore."

The word lands heavy and ugly, suckng the air out of the room.

I feel it before I register it.....my chest tightening and throat burning.

"You will not," he continues, voice cold now, deliberate, "be your mother in this marriage, in your marriage to ."

Sothing inside snaps at the ntion of my deceased mother .

"Don’t," I say quietly. "Do not bring my mother into this!."

"She slept her way into your father’s bed, slept her way into the high ups" he says without hesitation. "And married him. I won’t have my wife doing the sa to another man. I do not trust your mothers blood blood running ij your veins."

For a second, everything goes very still.

The house, the space between us.

I can hear my own breathing, fast and shallow. I can feel the pressure building behind my eyes, the sting I refuse to let fall.

"You don’t get to talk about her," I say, my voice shaking despite my effort. "You don’t know her. You don’t know anything about or my family ."

He scoffs. "I know enough to know she whored her self around."

That’s when my hand moves, I strike his left cheek.

I don’t plan it.....I don’t think, I just react. The sound is loud in the quietness of the house.

His head turns slightly with the impact.

The second that follows is worse than the slap itself.

His eyes lift back to mine, dark with fury and barely contained anger.

Before I can step back from him, his hand is on .....high on my throat, not squeezing enough to hurt but enough to make the ssage unmistakable, enough to freeze in place and for to know that if he wanted to hurt he easily would.

"Never, ever " he says through clenched teeth, "raise your hand to again Elaine."

My heart slams against my ribs and my hands curl into fists at my sides. I refuse to beg or cry as mories of the last ti I was in this position assault , I try to regulate my breathing and assure myself that I’m okay or will be okay. I wasn’t being held down and chocked by plenty unwanted habss, I am fine. I thought repeatedly

For a mont, I think he might do more but he doesn’t.

He shoves away instead.

I stumble, losing balance, landing hard against the edge of the bench by the wall before sliding down to the floor, the impact knocking the breath out of .

By the ti I look up, he’s already turning away.

His footsteps are heavy as he takes the stairs two at a ti, anger radiating off him like heat. A door slams sowhere above.

Then Silence rushes in.

I stay where I am for a mont, sitting on the cold floor, dress pooled around my heart still racing. My hands are shaking, but I keep them pressed flat against my thighs until they stop.

I will not cry here.

I will not give him that.

Slowly, I push myself up. My legs feel weak, but they hold. I straighten my dress, smooth my hair with hands that are finally steady, and walk upstairs.

My room door closes softly behind .

That’s when I let the mask drop....not into tears, but into exhaustion.

I peel the dress off like it’s burned . The fabric slides to the floor, forgotten. I step into the bathroom, turn the shower on hot, and stand under it .

When the water finally hits my skin, I breathe alittle.

I wash. thodically. Face, arms, hair. I scrub until the tension drains from my shoulders.

After, I go through my skincare routine on autopilot. Cleanse. Serum. Moisturizer. Familiar motions that anchor .

By the ti I crawl into bed, the house is silent again.

I lie on my side, staring at the wall, refusing to replay what just happened downstairs. Refusing to let it take root.

I will survive this.

And when sleep finally takes , it’s not peaceful.....but atleast I’ll get so rest .