✔️ ILLICIT DESIRES | 18 +

Chapter 47

ROMAN

I brought her Home.

As the car rolls to a stop in front of the mansion, I lift her into my arms and step inside — our home. This is our home. The thought of sharing a life with her, a home with her, and children with her is enthralling.

Once inside, I carry her to our room, my gaze drifting down to her unconscious form. Her skin remains chillingly cold. Under the dim glow of the bedroom lights, I take in her disheveled state.

Her hair, once silky and smooth, is now a frizzy, tangled mess. Her usually flawless skin, soft like petals, is dry and marred with dirt, her floral scent masked by the stench of urine and filth.

I exhale sharply. This is my fault. She soared me. And I was her ultimate setback. I broke her. She cried because of me. I am the primal source of her current poor condition — her agony.

I only hope I can mend the bond we had, the one I've broken — restore us to what we once were. With careful hands, I strip away her tattered clothes before lifting her again and carrying her to the bathroom.

Then, I lower her into the steaming water, watching as her frozen body slowly adjusts to the heat. I cleanse her gently, running my hands over her fragile form.

The bathwater turns brownish due to the filth that clung to her. Not wanting her to sit in the grime anymore, I drain and refill the tub twice until the water runs clear, revealing her weak and life-drained frame.

"I'm so sorry, Rita," I whisper into her damp hair, pressing a remorseful kiss to her temple. My gaze flickers downward — to her belly, no longer flat. Tentatively, I reach out, my fingers ghosting over the small swell.

"The fee for every single tear leaving your eyes is going to be high, little flower. I promise you," I pledge to her, my vile hands only submitting to her from now on.

Once she is clean, I lift her from the bath and wrap her in a towel, carrying her to our bed. Meticulously, I dress her in my clothes, which are too large for her frame but comforting nonetheless.

Detangling her hair with high patience, as each knot is a battle, I take my time. Then, I braid it loosely. Heaving a deep sigh, I lean back against the headboard, exhaustion and repentance settling within me.

Her belongings still sit untouched in the bathroom, her packed bags in the corner of our dressing room. Maybe I was too proud to admit it, but I couldn't bring myself to erase her presence completely.

And now, with her here again, the truth is dawning on me — I missed her. More than I ever thought possible. Her presence is solely peace.

Her presence feels so natural. She slipped into my life and became the center of it. And I? I became her torment. Her nightmare.

Now, she sleeps, and I can't help but wonder — does she have nightmares of me? Yet, her features remain serene, undisturbed. She looks at peace.

Despite my constant shifting of her position, she remains asleep, which unsettles me. Concerned, I decide to call the doctor. A female is my choice, as I am quite possessive by nature.

I instruct her to come immediately — it's an emergency. Fifteen minutes later, my phone rings. I glance at the screen and see the doctor's name.

"Have you arrived?" I ask as I answer the call, my eyes set on the little flower lying on the bed like a corpse, her skin so pale that it distresses me.

"Yes, I'm at the gates, but they are locked, and no security is around to let me in," she responds. I shift up from the bed, stalking to the window and looking out — fucking idiots taking a coffee break.