Twenty Two

CHAPTER 22

Antonio’s kiss deepened, his lips demanding and dominant, as if he was staking a claim over Cassandra. Her hands, initially stiff and trembling, gradually fell to her sides. Her mind screamed for her to pull away, to resist the trap she could see forming around her, but her body betrayed her. The knife she had clung to was now a distant memory, forgotten on the carpet. She could feel the intensity of his touch, the heat radiating from his skin.

Every kiss, every move of his hands seemed calculated to break down her defenses. And it worked. Somewhere between the fire of his lips and the weight of his body pressing against hers, Cassandra’s resolve crumbled completely. She hated herself for letting it happen, hated the way her body responded to Antonio’s every move. Antonio lifted her, carrying her to the bed, and as he laid her down, the luxurious bedding seemed to mock her.

This was not how she imagined her first time—not here, not with him. But her protests never reached her lips, stifled by the overwhelming sensations Antonio continued to ignite. Her tears, though unshed, burned at the edges of her eyes as he claimed her in ways she had vowed to never allow. She was trapped, and in that moment, all she could do was survive.

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Cassandra stared at the ceiling, the room now silent except for the faint hum of the city outside. Antonio lay beside her, his breaths even and calm, as if he had won a battle only he had been fighting. She turned her head slightly, watching him for a moment, her chest tightening with a hatred so sharp it felt like it could cut through the air.

Without making a sound, she slipped out of the bed. The soft fabric of the sheets tangled briefly around her legs, but she freed herself with care, not wanting to wake him. Her bare feet met the cold floor, and she moved toward the bathroom, each step feeling heavier than the last. Once inside, Cassandra locked the door and leaned against it, the cool wood pressing into her back.

Her reflection in the mirror stopped her in her tracks. Her skin, flushed from the night’s events, felt foreign. Her lips, still slightly swollen, were a cruel reminder of the passion she had allowed to overtake her. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor.

 The cold tiles were a sharp contrast to the heat that had consumed her earlier. And then the tears came. Silent, shattering sobs that wracked her body as she tried to contain the noise. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling the sound, not wanting Antonio to hear.

She cried for the innocence she had lost, for the control that had been stripped from her. She had vowed to keep herself whole, to use every ounce of her strength to destroy Antonio. Yet here she was, feeling more defeated than ever.

 Her virginity had been something sacred to her, a part of herself she had wanted to protect. Now it was gone, taken in a moment she could never reclaim.

“Why?” she whispered to the empty room, her voice shaking. “Why did I let this happen?”

Her fingers dug into her thighs, her nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on her skin. She hated herself more than she hated Antonio in that moment. She had let him win, let him pull her into his game, and now she felt like nothing more than a pawn on his chessboard.

Cassandra stayed on the floor, her back against the door, until her sobs subsided into quiet sniffles. The rage that had always burned within her began to stir again, simmering beneath the surface. She couldn’t let this break her. She wouldn’t let Antonio see her like this. She stood, gripping the edge of the sink for support. Her reflection stared back at her, the woman in the mirror looking like a stranger.

With trembling hands, she splashed cold water on her face, erasing the physical traces of her tears. But the hollow ache in her chest remained, a constant reminder of what she had lost. Fixing her posture, Cassandra straightened her shoulders and adjusted the robe she had thrown on. She would not let Antonio see her pain. She would return to that bedroom and wear her mask, the same mask she had perfected over years of hatred and planning.

 Opening the bathroom door, she stepped back into the dimly lit room. Antonio stirred slightly but did not wake. Cassandra’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She would survive this.

And one day, she would make him pay for everything he had taken from her. Walking to the window, she stared out at the city lights again. They seemed colder now, less alive. But they reminded her of one truth: she was still here. She had not been defeated yet. And as long as she drew breath, her revenge would remain. This was not the end—it was only the beginning.