Page 97 of Beneath Scarred Vows
34
KATERINA
Isit, staring out the window. The lights smear across the glass as I blink hot tears down my face. I don't wipe them anymore—there've been too many.
My throat throbs where his fingers pressed. Each swallow is a reminder of what happened, of how quickly things shattered between us. I trace the tender skin with my fingertips, wincing at the contact.
I should leave this room. It smells like him—his scent and cologne are everywhere. But here in our room, at least no one will disturb me with pitying glances or useless advice.
"Fuck," I say, giving in and wiping some tears from my cheeks.
I swear I still feel the sting on my palm from the slap, a phantom sensation that won't fade. I've never hit anyone before. Not like that. Not in anger.
And I don't know what hurts more—the possibility that I've been wrong about George all these years, or the realization that Ares could turn on me so quickly. I'd thought we were buildingsomething. I'd opened myself to him, shown him parts of me no one else had seen.
And he'd put his hand around my throat.
I'm not wrong.
But even as I think it, doubt creeps in, because Ares is getting to me. Of course he is—he passed all my defenses.
I've been drowning in grief since I was fourteen. Maybe I didn't see George clearly. Maybe I saw what I needed to—a kind face, a connection to my father.
No.
Ares is the one who's wrong. Blinded by grief and the need for revenge. Seeing conspiracies where there are none.
Shit, how did I get here?
My wedding day felt like it was happening to someone else. I was so empty then, so resigned. And somehow, since then, Ares made me start to feel again. To hope again. To believe that maybe this forced marriage could become something real.
But I was a fool.
I think about my scar. The part of me he'd claimed to find beautiful.
Lies.
The truth is, Ares Kastaris doesn't want a wife or a partner. He wants a subject. Someone to rule over, to control. Someone who won't question him or challenge his vendetta.
Is this who he's always been? Was I just too blind to see it?
Or was I the one who pushed him too far?
I shake my head violently. I refuse to blame myself for his actions. I defended someone I believed was innocent. That's not a crime.
But what if I'm wrong?
The thought slithers into my mind. What if George really did order the hit on Ares's father? What if he was involved in my family's death too?
My stomach tightens.
What do I even know for certain anymore?
I mean, I wasn't exactly keeping tabs on the Greek mafia while I was trying to put myself back together after losing everyone I loved.
The door opens without a knock.
I tense. I already know who it is.
