Page 5 of Beautifully Damned
“I want to go home!” She screams. That’s it? That’s the worst she can do?
“You have two choices, sweetheart,” I snap.
Her head lifts. Eyes wet.
“You walk upstairs on your own—or I carry you there myself. And if I do…You won’t be in that room alone.”
Her face goes white. And then she bolts, turning so fast she nearly trips over her own feet. Stumbling up the stairs like hell is licking at her heels.
She’s still soft. Still untouched. But that won’t last. I’ll peel the goodness out of her, strip it bone by bone until nothing golden remains. She’ll leave this place with a soul as black as mine.
If she leaves at all.
?Chapter IV ?
Ayla
The room is too quiet. It’s not mine. None of it is. Not the silk sheets, or the glass of water on the nightstand, or the white walls that look like they’ve never seen a handprint.
I think about crawling under the bed. But I don’t know what’s worse—being dragged out or being left to rot like a coward. Today was one of the few times I fought back, and it still wasn’t enough. Nothing I ever do is enough.
The door opens, and my heart drops. Movement brushes into my periphery. She sits beside me—the same woman who watched me as I was dragged like an animal.
She glances over, voice low. “What’s your name?”
There’s a beat before I respond, still disoriented from everything that happened in the span of these few hours. “Ayla.”
She nods, filing it away. “Ayla,” she repeats.
I finally glance at her. She’s beautiful—unfairly so. Long auburn hair, skin pale like a porcelain doll, but there’s something coiled beneath all that softness. Something dark.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” she assures me. “I know you’re scared. You should be. But not of me.”
I don’t respond. What would I even say?
“You should take a shower,” she adds. “You’ll feel better.”
It hits me how filthy I am. My hair’s sticking to my skin, and my clothes stink of hay, sweat, fear. But still, the only thing I want more than a shower is to restart this day. To check on Emir, whom I put in danger. To undo the moment I stepped foot in that stable. To do one thing right for once.
“I don’t have clean clothes,” I mutter.
“I’ll bring you some,” she promises.
I should keep my mouth shut. But the question burns at the back of my throat. My tongue presses it down, holds it hostage.
Asking could ruin everything. Maybe this is just her role, bait the girl into thinking someone gives a damn. But if I don’t ask... then what? I pretend to scratch my arm just to do something with my hands. Asking would be stupid, not asking would be even stupider. This could go wrong. So, so wrong. But it might be the only shot I get. It might be the only time I see someone in this house who has empathy for me.
My voice barely makes it out. “Can you help me escape?”
She’s silent. Long enough that I already know the answer, even though there’s conflict on her face.
“Coward,” I snap.
Her eyes flash with pure rage, and in that split-second, I see it. She’s just as dark as the rest of them. A prettier face with the same blood-soaked teeth. She swallows down whatever that darkness tells her to do—probably to bury me six feet under and be done with it.
“You’re angry,” she hisses. “Good. Stay angry. It’ll keep you sharp.”
Then softer, but still not soft: “Don’t confuse my no with indifference. I’m not throwing you to the wolves.”
