All Chapters of Sold to the coldhearted beast: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

*Tristan* They are holding me down, beating me, monsters with hideous smiles and cackling laughter. I want to kick at them, strike out with flailing fists, but I have no arms, I have no legs. Nothing. I can do nothing, not even roll. Everything is pressing in. My chest is going to cave in. I can’t breathe. I hear the whimpering, the fading cries for help. They are coming from me. They are not coming from me. They stop, and that terrifies me even more. “I’m a bet. You can’t treat me like this ! I’m a beta. My father was an Alpha. My brother’s an Alpha”. But they only laugh louder, push harder, wrap more tightly. They are putting me in a cocoon, like the one I had once seen a caterpillar create. Being inside it had changed the insect into something else, something beautiful. I had seen it emerge. But I know I won’t emerge from this. I am going to suffocate, die. I can feel less and less of myself. I am disappearing while the monsters loom larger. When I no longer exist, I will not

*Tristan* I awake, momentarily disoriented by the silken sheet beneath my back and the velvety canopy above my head. I am as bare as a newborn baby, my wound uncovered. The stitches pulls when I roll onto my hip. And there she is, turned on her side, a hand resting beneath her cheek, her long lashes lying gently against her skin. Her knees are drawn up, her nightgown having gathered at her calves. Her toes curl and unfurl as though she is dreaming of skipping over green fields. I inhale her fragrance with each breath, and watch her rhythmic breathing. She has left a lamp burning just low enough that I can see her clearly, and yet the shadows still form a gossamer layer over her. I almost find myself envious of the shadows. I remember how gentle her hands had been as she had tended to me, careful to touch me as little as possible. During that time as her hands had moved so tenderly over me, I had experienced an unfamiliar sensation: of being loved. And the feelings I felt towards h

*Tristan* The yacht slices through the water, with Eve of all people at the helm. Some scrawny lad stands slightly behind her and guides her. Her smile is so bright as to be blinding. Her laughter is carried by the breeze, and sitting at the end of the boat, I fight not to growl. I also fight to keep my stomach from heaving. While we had missed the planned christening of the yacht, I had sent word to Raphael that the next time he took it out, Eve would like to join them. I had thought it would be weeks before I was forced to go sailing, but Raphael had promptly shown up at my club with a devilish smile. “Tomorrow. I’m not going to give you a chance to change your mind”. So here I am, impressed with the beautiful woodwork and craftsmanship. Raphael had taken us on a tour when we first arrived. Below deck, he had shown us a library, a sitting room, three bedchambers, and I had known that one is for me, that Raphael had designed the yacht hoping that all three of us brothers would ta

*Tristan*I press my back to the vibrating door. I didn’t need my key because it's no longer locked. I should be familiar with the room by now, but it still takes me off guard. All my clothing is gone. Every torn shirt, waistcoat, jacket. Every pair of trousers. Every scrap of remaining neckcloth. Every discarded bit of attire that once offended me, threatened to suffocate me. Gone.Eve had gathered them up and taken them to the poor.The bare mattress upon which I once slept when the thought of sheets or blankets would make me break out in a sweat is no longer visible. It's covered by violet velveteen. The recently hung draperies are drawn aside to let in the night. Not a speck of dust is to be seen. The wooden floor is polished to a fine sheen.The room smells of beeswax and polish. The room smells of her.She has done this. She has chased back the demons. She has returned to me the magic of touch. She has helped me conquer the madness.I stride over to the window and gaze out when e

*Everly* I think I should be hungry, especially as the dinner set before me is one of the finest I have ever seen, but everything tastes of nothing. I eat tiny bites because it makes things more palatable. "Is it not to your liking ?" Mary asks. "I can have Cook prepare something else”. I smile at her. "I have no appetite. That's all. You have been so kind”. They took me in the night I walked out on Tristan. I didn't know where else to go, but I learned early on that the Luna is an extremely compassionate sort. She held me while I wept and blubbered. She passed no judgments on Tristan except to say that I had been right to leave him. But if that's the case, why do I hurt so badly ? Why do I sit in my bedchamber and stare out the window at the residence across the way, hoping for a glimpse of Tristan ? Is he well ? Does he miss me at all ? Sometimes I consider returning to him, but I want so much more than he can give me. I yearn for the essentials that can't be purchased: love,