Page 18 of Scar

She raises her perfect eyebrow at me as she takes another sip of her drink. “Sure, you don’t. I mean, I get it. He is a good looking man. We’ve all wanted to have a roll in the sheets with a bit of rough, but what I don’t understand is why you would throw your whole life away for a man you barely know. You think your father is bad, just you wait my girl. Layton is worse, so much worse. He’s fucked me, you know,” she confesses.

My gaze snaps to hers, my eyes wide.

She nods. “Oh yes, Layton is thirsty for power, and he will fuck anyone or anything to claim his seat at the head ofthis world. He thought he could control me, but he forgets that I’ve been playing this game for many, many years, and I know exactly what people like Layton are like. He was simply an enjoyable fuck. Well, he needs some assistance in that department, but still, he’s younger and fitter than your father.” She shrugs as she takes another sip of her drink. I shudder at the mention of my mother fucking Layton and my father. They are both images I do not want in my mind, now or ever.

I push my shoulders back and settle my face into one of boredom. “I don’t know why you are telling me this,” I state.

She smirks. “Because I can, and because as much as you hate me, you are more like me than you realise. I had a chance to get away once, to be actually happy, but I didn’t. Your father found out and killed him. He killed the man I loved and trapped me here with him, with you and your moronic brother. Forcing me to live a life of misery.” She looks down into her glass. “Drinking and medication are the only things worth living for around here. Yet to anyone else, I am the doting wife,” she mutters, knocking back the last of her drink.

Nothing like a mother’s declaration that she hates you, your brother, and father. Hates the life she’s been forced to live because of my father. I felt her hatred my entire life, and she never needed to say it. Just from the look in her eyes I knew she despised me.

I clear my throat and stand. “I’m going to get changed for dinner,” I mutter.

“You do that, and take a long look at me sweetheart, because this will be you in less than ten years from marrying him.” She nods, wobbling slightly on her feet.

I don’t respond and just continue up the staircase to my room. Once inside the safety of my bedroom, I allow my silent sobs to break free. As I place my hand on my heart, it feels like my heart is being shredded. I take deep breaths, trying to calmmy emotions, trying to calm my pain. After quickly wiping my cheeks, I stand and walk to my bed. Reaching down, I take the pillow he slept on and hug it close to my chest, still scenting him on it.

It's ridiculous that I feel more for a man I’ve known for only a matter of weeks, a man that was forced here against his will, a man that befriended me. He was kind, respectful, and he treated me better than anyone in my life has ever treated me. Hell, he was kinder to me than my own parents. I lay back on my pillow and sigh. As I roll onto my side, I hear a crinkle under my ear. Frowning, I sit up and slide my hand under the pillowcase, my fingertips finding a small piece of paper. I unfold it and read it.

My Angel,

Thank you will never be enough. XX

I smile as a fresh wave of tears fall down my cheeks. As I get up off my bed and fold the note, I place it in between the pages ofRomeo and Juliet. A small smile plays on my lips. Not that we are two star crossed lovers or anything, maybe more like kindred spirits. There is certainly no love between us, maybe for me, but it’s more a feeling, a connection. Not that I can’t deny my attraction to him. I would have to be blind not to appreciate him, even in his malnourished state. Now he was gone, and I will no longer have anything to look forward to, I will have no one to talk to. Now I will be alone.

After deciding on a dress that I know will please Layton, I quickly slip it on before I apply some make-up and style my hair in loose waves. As I stare at my reflection in the mirror, the image of the perfect wife on the arm of the man who will one daytake over from my father flashes in my mind. A knock quickly startles me from my daze.

“Come in,” I answer. The door opens and Layton walks in. I instantly regret inviting him in. His eyes appreciatively sweep my body, and my stomach lurches at his look. I force a smile on my lips. “I’m ready,” I say softly before reaching for my bag. He reaches out and snatches my wrist, gripping it firmly enough to pinch. I look at him, confused. “Layton, is everything okay?” I ask as my heart thumps in my chest loudly. He takes my wrist and twists it behind my back, locking my body up against his. “Ow, Layton you’re hurting me,” I complain.

His eyes burn into mine, not with desire, but with anger. He leans in, his breath brushing against my cheek. “You think I’m some kind of fool?” he hisses.

I swallow anxiously, my eyes wide. “I, I don’t know what you are on about,” I lie, stuttering. If he was to place his palm on my chest right now, he would feel just how fast my heart is beating.

He smiles an evil smile, while still keeping my arm pinned behind my back. Slowly, he lifts his phone with the other hand, showing me a video on the screen. It takes me a second to realise it’s a video of my bedroom. My eyes widen as it shows me in bed with Scar. I look around my room for the camera.

“You’ve been filming me?!” I hiss.

He yanks on my arm, and I use my free hand to try and push myself away, but his grip is too strong. “You had that cunt in your fucking bed. You helped him escape,” he seethes.

Tears spring in my eyes, but I blink rapidly, refusing to let them fall. “Nothing happened. If I hadn’t helped him, he would have died. He is nothing to you or Dad but a pawn in the game you are playing. He is gone now. I am here, and I have given you everything you have ever wanted. You want to be my father, you want his throne, his fucking power. I have given it to you,” I fume. Pausing, I catch my breath, wondering who this womanis that is speaking. I have never in my life spoken to him like that, and I can see the brief glimpse of shock in his eyes at my assertiveness. He releases his grip on my wrist and turns, walking towards the door. I exhale a breath of relief thinking that it’s over. Slowly, I rub at my wrist, hating the deep red mark from his hold on my skin. The sound of my bedroom lock clicking has my eyes jolting to Layton. He turns, looking at me, his eyes alert with mirth. “What are you doing?” I ask, my voice breaking.

He chucks down his phone and begins unbuckling his jeans as he moves towards me. For every step forward he makes, I step back until I can feel my bed behind my knees.

“We have to go to dinner,” I mutter, a pathetic excuse to try and stop what I know he’s about to do. I shouldn’t have stood up to him like that. Men like Layton don’t like a strong woman, and they don’t like being outsmarted. He’s about to show me exactly what power he has over me.

“Turn around, lift your dress up, and remove your underwear,” he orders.

I swallow, my throat constricting with fear. Shaking my head, I force a wavering smile onto my face. “But my father will be waiting,” I whisper.

“Your father will fucking wait. I either take what I want now, or I tell your father exactly what happened,” he seethes.

I stare at him for a moment, tears brimming in my eyes. He knows what my father would do, and he knows what hell that would be, but right now I have to make a choice between two hells. Keeping my eyes on him, I hitch my dress up and slide my underwear down my legs, kicking them to the side with my heels. His eyes hungrily take in my most intimate area.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he states. “Remove the dress and your bra, and lay on you back with your legs spread,” he orders.

My stomach lurches. The only reprieve I would have had if he’d bent me over is I would have been able to look away from him, take my mind to anywhere but here. It’s a lot harder to do when he’s laying above me. I do as he asked, staring at him with nothing but pure hatred in my eyes. He just smirks as I remove everything and lay on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, refusing to look at him, I wait. I feel him close by before he runs the tip of his dick through my seam. It takes everything in me not to react as I lay there like a lifeless corpse. He wants me like this, then fine. He can take my body, but he isn’t getting anything else from me.

Without warning, he slams himself inside me. Pain shoots through me and I bite back my whimper, refusing to give him anything. He lets out a grunt. “Fuck, you’re so much tighter than your mother,” he breathes. I fight my urge to gag. He laughs, knowing the reaction his words would cause. He slams himself in and out of me a few times, and I remain as still as my body will let me, keeping my eyes pinned to the ceiling. “Look at me,” he growls.

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