Chapter 3

Amaya’s POV

The days that followed, I started noticing Dante more and more around the house. Although we never truly had a proper conversation, he wasn’t yelling like he used to.

One morning, I surprised myself by waking up earlier than usual.

Since there was nothing to do, I decided to take a stroll around the packhouse.

I had barely stepped past the front entrance when something hard and sharp struck my face.

Pain exploded through my skull, and I staggered back as warm blood trickled down my cheek.

“You don’t deserve to live among us!” a woman’s voice shrieked.

I wiped the blood away from my eye and blinked at the figure standing before me.

A middle-aged woman, dressed in ragged clothes, her tear-streaked face twisted with rage. In both hands, she clutched large rocks.

She was probably a protester. But how had she even gotten inside?

“You don’t even recognize me, do you?” she hissed when I didn’t respond.

“My son—he was only fifteen when your father had him tortured! He begged for mercy while your guards ripped his nails out one by one!” Her voice cracked as her hands trembled. “How can you still stand here, untouched, while my child rots in the ground?”

I stood frozen, fists clenched at my sides. How was I supposed to respond to that?

She wasn’t wrong.

This was just one of the many cruel things my father had done. He had committed unspeakable acts, many of which I hadn’t even known about until his death.

Still, I said nothing.

Her face twisted in fury, and she hurled another rock at me.

I flinched, bracing myself for impact—

But before it could hit me, an arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me to the side.

The rock struck Dante instead.

The woman gasped, eyes widening.

“Alpha…” she stammered in horror.

Dante raised a hand, cutting her off. His expression was deadly calm.

“Get her out of here.”

It was only then that I noticed the guards. They had been standing nearby the entire time. Yet they did nothing. They only moved when Dante intervened.

Ah.

I exhaled, biting down on my lip.

The guards rushed forward, grabbing the woman by her arms.

“She’s a monster!” she screamed as they dragged her away. “Just like her father! You should have let her die!”

I couldn’t even mutter a word. I just stood there, staring at the blood on my fingers.

Dante turned to me, his expression darkening as he reached out to touch my forehead.

“Fûck,” he muttered, his fingers coming away stained with blood.

“Come with me.”

I didn’t move, and he clenched his teeth. “Are you out of your mind? Don’t make me drag you by force.”

Knowing there was no point in arguing, I followed him.

He took me to his office and ordered me to sit. As I did, he grabbed a first aid kit and began to dress my wound.

“You stood there,” he muttered when he was done, his gaze shifting to meet mine. “You let her throw that at you.”

When I didn’t respond, he scoffed.

“Pathetic.” He pulled away, then let out a sigh. “Go back to your room.”

That Night, as I lay in bed, tossing and turning, the door to my bedroom creaked open.

I didn’t even need to look to know who it was, but I would be lying if I said I was expecting him.

“Are you awake?” he asked, stepping forward.

I inhaled sharply but continued staring at the ceiling, waiting for whatever he had come for.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he added, walking over to the bed and sitting at the edge.

I held my breath as his fingers traced my wrist, his thumb dragging over the cut on my head.

I instantly knew why he was here.

We had done this many times before. Whenever he wanted it, he would come to my room, and I wouldn’t resist—because that was the only way I could feel something.

Without warning, he leaned in and kissed me.

His hands gripped my waist as he deepened the kiss. It felt like he was desperate, but even then, his kiss felt cold.

It didn’t take long before his hands moved to my nightdress, pulling it over my shoulder.

His eyes darkened as they roamed over my exposed skin. Then, he trailed his hand down my stomach before gripping one of my breasts.

I gasped at his cold touch, and his lips crashed against mine again.

The Next Morning, When I woke up, I was sore all over.

Dante wasn’t in the room.

He had left that same night as soon as he was done.

Gosh, I regretted it instantly.

The sex, although filled with pleasure, was emotionless. He didn’t utter a single word or make a single sound.

Even when he released inside of me. Nothing.

It felt like a machine doing its job, even worse than before.

It took me a while to pick myself up that morning. And after that day, I saw less and less of Dante.

He was always busy with work and even missed our usual morning breakfasts together. And to be honest, I wasn’t even complaining.

******

Two months passed in the blink of an eye, and nothing really changed. Dante still hasn’t agreed to the divorce. Especially after that night, an air of awkwardness spread between us.

“I want to go to the beach,” I suddenly brought up during breakfast.

“I will arrange for us to go this weekend,” he said, looking at his phone.

“No… just me. I want to go alone,” I said, and his eyes instantly snapped up to meet mine.

“You want to go alone?” he repeated. “Why? Who do you want to meet?”

“Why do you assume I want to meet someone?” I asked, but I was met with a cold glare, causing me to swallow nothing.

“I heard your friend is in town.”

He was talking about Ryder, my childhood best friend who had confessed his love to me in the past, but I had turned him down to be with Dante. Although I was aware he was in town, he still wasn’t the reason I was going to the beach.

“I just want some time alone. I have been locked inside for too long. Didn’t the healer say that I needed more sunlight and fresh air?” I reminded him.

He glared at me, then nodded. “Fine, I will make arrangements for a guard to accompany you.”

Even though I wanted to argue, I knew it was pointless, so I nodded.

That weekend, I went to the beach alone. Well, not alone. The guard was following me, but from a distance.

I inhaled the salty air and watched the crashing waves. I played in the sand and picked shells, trying to remind myself of the good old days.

Sitting on the floor, I thought about Dante again. I missed him—or at least the version of him that I had married.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t notice the guard moving closer.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my back as a knife was plunged deep into my skin.

I gasped, and before I could scream, he yanked the knife out, whispering, “The Blackwood family deserves to die.”

A shiver ran down my spine, but before I could react, he raised the knife again, preparing to strike.

“Hey!”

A fisherman spotted us and shouted, rushing toward us and raising the alarm.

The guard, realizing he had been caught, ran away while I collapsed onto the sand, struggling to breathe.

“Stay with me, miss,” the fisherman panicked, reaching for his phone.

Ah. He didn’t recognize me. Thank God. If he did, he would have left me to die.

But even that didn’t stop me from losing more blood until I lost consciousness.