All Chapters of Pathetically Beautiful : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Willow’s POV Standing on the curb as Dillon and Brax drove away, a wave of dread washed over me. My heart ached, a twisted knot of fear and worry for both of them. They each held a piece of my heart, and the thought of anything happening to them was unbearable.I didn’t realise how long I’d been staring after their car until Nat called my name. “Willow! Are you coming?”“Yeah,” I replied, pulling myself together. I climbed into Kasey’s car, feeling oppressed by the silence of the ride back. I had hoped we’d go to Brax's parents’ place, but Kasey drove us to Brax’s house instead. The chance to inform Brax’s father of what I’d discovered would have to wait. I'll call him later, I promised myself.As we pulled up, I got out of the car and waited for Nat to say goodbye to Kasey. Their budding romance was a flicker of light in the darkness I found myself navigating. The way Nat's eyes sparkled whenever she looked at him made me envy her carefree existence, even if just for a moment.“God.

Willow's POV I sat in Brax's room, my nerves fraying with every passing second. The air felt thick, suffused with the heavy silence that comes only when you're stuck in your thoughts. I clenched my hands together, my knuckles turning white as I stared at the doorway, praying that Brax would walk in and everything would be okay. But the more time that passed, the more my hope started to wane. Suddenly, I heard the front door swing open. My heart leapt in my chest. Finally, I thought, rushing to the doorway and peeking out. I saw Brax storming through the house, his footsteps echoing with each furious step. Kasey and Dillon entered shortly after, their expressions solemn. They exchanged a look that did nothing to alleviate my fears. "What happened?" I asked, rushing towards them. Dillon sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Willow. He won't tell me." I could see the pain etched into Dillon’s face, and that only deepened my concern. Without another word, I w

Willow’s POVThe early morning darkness still shrouded the room as I awoke, the world outside only hinting at the dawn to come. Brax lay beside me, his face softened by sleep, free from the burdens that typically etched his features. Last night, a surreal montage of emotions and sensations played in my mind. I had never imagined I'd willingly give myself to someone, not after everything that had been done to me by cruel men. But with Brax, it had been different—intoxicating, and it made me feel alive.Carefully, I slipped out of bed, not wanting to disturb him. I reached for one of his shirts, its fabric worn-in and comforting. As I buttoned it up, my gaze lingered on him once more: the vulnerable rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of his breath. There was a depth of pain hidden beneath his strong exterior, a pain I recognised but didn’t dare ask about. Whatever he went through last night was something he would carry with him for the rest of his life and probably never talk

Brax's POV---I punched Willow’s number into my phone for what felt like the millionth time, but it went straight to voicemail. My frustration mounted with every unsuccessful attempt. Where could she be? My mind raced through the possibilities, each thought darkening with dread. She could be in trouble or, worse, dealing with one of her stepfather's schemes. I couldn't sit back and wait for her to return my call."Damn it, Willow," I muttered under my breath as I dialled one of my father's men, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. The call connected, and a gravely voice responded on the other end, a mix of curiosity and concern in his tone."Hey, have you seen Willow?" I asked without preamble, my voice urgent."No, boss. Haven't seen her tonight. Should I be on the lookout?" the man replied."Yes, spread the word. If anyone sees her, let me know immediately," I instructed before hanging up.With a clenched jaw and tightened fists, I made several more calls to my father's men,

Willow's POV --- A murmur of voices drifted through the floorboards, rising from downstairs, interrupting the quiet sanctuary of Brax's room. My heart tightened in my chest. I knew they were talking about me. The walls seemed to vibrate with the intensity of the argument, and every sharp syllable amplified my anxiety. As the tension downstairs reached a fever pitch, I heard the unmistakable, steady steps of Brax ascending the stairs. His approach was a drumbeat in my ears. When he pushed open the door, he didn't look at me; his eyes were fixed straight ahead, like a soldier marching to a silent war. He stormed over to his wardrobe, yanking it open and rifling through his clothes with a controlled rage. “Brax?” My voice was tentative, like a child afraid of waking a sleeping giant. “Is everything okay?” “Everything's fine,” he snapped without turning around, his voice a tight coil of anger. “Come on. Let’s go.” I watched him, searching his tense back for cracks where his vulnera