Page 36 of Darkest Oblivion
The dream’s terror lingered, blurring reality, making me question if he’d let me die next time.
“Penelope,” he snapped, his voice a whip, snapping me from my thoughts.
Shaking, I stood and pressed the inhaler to my lips, the cool mist easing my lungs. I sank back into the couch, clutching it like a lifeline. “I’m not going anywhere,” I said, voice steady despite the fear. “This is where I’m sleeping.”
He stepped forward, boots silent on marble, and I flinched, hands shooting up as if to ward him off. “Don’t dare carry me like I’m a doll,” I warned, voice trembling but defiant, palms useless against his strength.
His eyes stayed cold as the lake outside, jaw tight.
“You body-shamed me an hour ago, and now you want me to sleep beside you?” I snapped, anger flaring through fear. “Sorry, it doesn’t work that way. And I still want to know about Seraphina—who is she to you?”
He smirked, gaze raking me like a blade. “You think you have any right to question me, Penelope?”
“I sure do,” I shot back, heart pounding with rage and hurt. “You forced me to be your wife. I didn’t ask for this. As your wife, I deserve to know if you’re fucking other women—especially with those hickeys on your neck. I don’t believe your bullshit about not sleeping with her.”
His eyes darkened, lips curling into a cruel sneer. “Maybe stop wondering who Seraphina is and focus on yourself, Penelope... your body.”
“You’re carrying far too much weight. That stomach, those rolls... Do yourself a favor—hit the gym. Work. Sweat. And stop thinking you’re special enough to ever question me.”
The words sliced through me. My breath caught, pain blooming in my chest.
I’d been body-shamed before—my plus-size curves a target—but Dmitri’s words cut deeper.
Antonio’s betrayal had stung, but this... this was worse.
He had been my first love, those teenage summers spent sharing cupcakes and dreams now twisted into anguish.
He was my husband, the man who’d forced vows on me, and his scorn made me feel small, ugly, worthless.
My throat tightened, tears threatening, but I swallowed them, refusing to break.
He took another step, looming over me like a storm. “Listen, Penelope, you don’t get to question me,” he growled, voice dangerous. “Not after what you did. This is as meek as I get. Don’t tempt me.”
“You made a promise to me, yet you moved on while I waited. You dated, you courted another man... almost married him. If I hadn’t come and ruined that wedding, you would have gone through with it. You promised me, and yet you forgot. But I came at the right time to make you fulfill that promise. And now... after betraying me, you think you can question me?”
““That’s not betrayal,” I shot back, hands clenched into fists. “You left abruptly and gave me no reason to hope you’d ever come back. Am I supposed to put my life on hold, living in some fantasy that you’d return someday? You could have just kidnapped me outright—I wouldn’t have had the right to question you. But we exchanged rings. We took vows at the altar. You must honor that.”
I took a shaky breath, fury flaring. “And what do you mean I shouldn’t tempt you? Will you kill me if I do? Like you did your own parents?”
“Yes, Penelope,” he said, eyes blazing with hatred. “If it comes to that, I’ll kill you and bury you six feet under. If I could bury my own mother for her sins, who the fuck do you think you are?”
I froze, his words hitting like a gut punch, the mention of his mother a chilling mystery.
“I didn’t make you my wife because you’re beautiful,” he continued, voice dripping with contempt. “You’re not. You’re... heavy, unremarkable, a burden on the eye. Talking about rape as if you could turn me on? You could never, Penelope. I brought you here to make you suffer—for your crimes and your parents’ sins. Consider it an honor that you’re even my wife. Now, stop pretending you have any rights in my house and go to bed.”
Tears burned my eyes, each word a lash, stripping away my confidence and pride.
His hatred mixed with the ghost of the boy I once loved, making the pain raw and searing.
My belly, my curves, felt exposed under his gaze, insecurities flaring, making me feel less than human.
But I wouldn’t cry—not in front of him.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and walked slowly to the bedroom, each step heavy, his words a weight on my soul.
I didn’t speak, couldn’t trust my voice.
The room was as I’d left it.
