Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Eva’s Point of View

I woke up in darkness, my body aching, my vagina sore. The bed beneath me was cold, just like the man who once lay beside me. I reach out to the other side of the bed, but Max was no longer there, I wondered if he had sneaked out of the room without me noticing.

My gown was torned, shreds of my cloth was scattered across the floor like the little dignity that i had left, I was broken, violated, and utterly alone. I was disgusted with myself.

Max’s assault wasn’t just physical, it was emotional , it destroyed everything that i have ever believed, it destroyed my dignity, my sanity. It is gradually making me insane. I pull the sheets tightly around my body, my body trembling, not from the cold, but from the horror of what’s just happened. His cruel words still ranged in my mind, “Aren’t you a slut? Better to be treated like one.”

I clench my eyes shut, wishing I could make it all go away. My entire life, I’ve been the obedient daughter, the quiet one, the girl who did as she was told, hoping that somehow doing the right thing would lead to happiness. But there’s no happiness here, only sorrow. There’s no love, only hate. Max’s hatred for me is visible and frightening, flowing into every corner of this room, of this marriage.

A sob rises in my throat, but I swallow it down. No. I won’t cry. Not now. Not here. He doesn’t get that satisfaction. I refuse to let him see how deeply he’s hurt me. I won’t give him the power to break me any more than he already has. But deep down, I know something that can't be fixed has been torned, something that i can't get back has been taken away from me.

I slowly sit up, biting back the pain that flows through my body. My hands tremble as I touch the bruises already forming on my arms, my thighs. Each mark is a reminder that I don’t belong here. That I never should have belonged here.

It's a reminder that i lost my virginity in the most cruelest way ever.

His side of the bed is rumpled, and I notice his clothes are gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of whiskey. He must have gotten up before me, abandoning me to deal with the aftermath of his violence alone.

I force myself to move, though every part of me protests. Quietly, I slip off the bed, my legs weak and unsteady. My fingers brush against my torn gown, and I let it fall from my grasp. I don’t care anymore. The gown, the wedding, this entire nightmare, it’s all meaningless now.

If only my mom was alive i won't be forced into this sham called marriage, if only she was alive i would have the best life ever.

I walk over to the window, the empty garden below. It feels like a cage, just like this marriage. Just like my life. I press my hand to the cold glass, wishing I could break it into pieces, wishing I could escape. For years, I believed in fairy tales. I believed that one day, a man would sweep me off my feet and love me for who I am. But there are no fairy tales in real life. No prince. Only monsters.

Max is a monster.

The door to the room creaks open, and for a moment, I freeze, terrified he has come back to continue what he started last night. But when I turn, I see no one. Just the empty hall way, calling me to leave, to run. But where would I go? This is my prison now, my life. No matter how much I want to escape, I’m bound to this place. To him forever.

I close my eyes, breathing in the cool air from the window. It’s not fair. None of this is fair. But I have to endure.

Ever since the death of my mother i had been a pawn in my Dad, stepmom and my step sister Sara's game, the rules of the game were set by them.

I make my way toward the small mirror near the door, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My reflection looks new to me, it was pale, shaken, bruised. I almost don’t recognize the woman staring back at me. My blonde hair, once neatly pinned, is a mess, my face looks much older than it did just yesterday. I turn away from the mirror, unable to bear the sight. The person in the reflection is not me. She’s a shadow, a ghost of the woman I used to be.

I pull the robe hanging from the chair around my shoulders, wincing as the soft fabric brushes against my bruises. My body feels like it’s been through a war, and maybe it has. But it wasn’t a war I chose, a battle I agreed to fight. It was one forced upon me, and now I’m left to deal with the aftermath alone.

Suddenly, the door swings open, startling me out of my thoughts. My heart leaps into my throat as I whirl around, but it’s just the maid, her head bowed low as she steps inside with a tray.

"Good morning, ma'am. Sir Max requests your presence in the living room." Her voice is soft, but I can feel the tension beneath her calm voice and composure. She must have heard something. She must know.

I nod stiffly, unable to form words, and she quickly leaves the room, the door clicking shut behind her. Max wants to see me. I feel my stomach churn, the thought of facing him again making me physically ill.

I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to be anywhere near him. But what choice do I have? In this house, in this life, I have no choice at all.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady the trembling in my hands. I will not break. Not again. He may have taken everything from me last night, but I still have my pride. He can’t take that unless I let him.

I walk to the door, every step feeling heavier than the last. My body aches, my heart aches, but I keep moving. I have to. I have to find a way to survive this. I step out into the hallway, the walls towering over me like the prison bars they truly are. 

Each step echoes through the silent house as I make my way toward the living room. The air feels thick with tension, and the further I walk, the harder it becomes to breathe. When I finally reach the door, I pause, my hand hovering over the doorknob. 

Do I want to go in? Do I want to face him, to hear whatever cruel thing he has to say next?

My fingers tighten around the knob, and with a deep breath, I turn it. The door swings open, revealing Max seated on the couch, a glass of whiskey in his hand, despite the early hour. His eyes lift to meet mine, and for a brief moment, I see something there something that almost resembles regret. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same cold demeanor I’ve come to know too well.

"You're late," he says, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.

I say nothing, simply standing in the doorway, unsure of how to respond. The silence stretches between the both of us, the silence was chocking me, and for a moment, I wonder if he can feel it too.

But then he speaks again, breaking the long silence

"We have things to discuss, Eva. Sit."