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I said I Love You back to him for the first time and stabbed him immediately after.
A lone tear rolls down my cheek as I dab the beauty sponge on my face, blending the blush on my cheeks. I sat before the mirror, my reflection staring back at me with cold detachment. The image before me seemed foreign.
But this was me. I couldn't run from it. I couldn't hide from it.
My reflection seemed to mock me, silently accusing me of the brutal things I did to the only man who loved me truly.
I sniffled, a small sound escaping me as I fought to keep the tears at bay.
Pariston, who had been engrossed in his phone for what felt like an eternity, finally tossed it aside with a sigh. I watched as he turned his attention toward me, standing behind me with his hands on my shoulders.
He leaned in, pressing a kiss on my neck as his lip lingered near my ear, "We have two guests tonight," he whispers, planting a few more kisses on my neck.
Upon noticing my teary eyes, he shook his head, "He is getting engaged to your sister tonight. Stop lusting over him, have some fucking dignity, Amber." he growled, stepping away from me.
I stood up, facing him directly. He looks at me with the same cockiness as always.
"Dignity? You should be the last person talking about dignity, you fucking piece of shit," I hissed, feeling a sharp hit on my cheek immediately.
I stumbled onto the floor, the edge of the vanity leaving a sharp sting along my side. The impact sent a shockwave of pain radiating through my body, leaving me momentarily breathless.
"Watch your tongue, you fucking bitch," he growled.
"You're the most spineless man ever!" I screamed, as warm angry tears cascaded down my cheeks. The burning resentment was raw, painful, and too twisted for me to go back after all Paris has done. It was either he'd kill me or I'll kill him.
He kneeled in front of me, his fingers gripping my throat into a tight hold as his rageful eyes burned into mine. I didn't struggle, why should I? I've been beaten into shape for two years straight now, his beatings don't do shit to me anymore.
"Shut the fuck up. I'm your fucking husband, Amber," he growled slowly, his hold tightening with each word.
"You let men rape me in your bed. . . in our bed and go around calling yourself my husband!"
I felt like punching him until his face was smushed backward into his head like those plastic dolls when he smirked at me. He left my throat, gripping my hair, twisting it in a painful knot.
"It isn't rape if you do it willingly." he chuckled.
This filthy bastard.
I knew he wanted to get a rise out of me, so he can have an excuse to punish me later. But at this point in life, I don't even give any fucks about anything related to this horseshit of a man.
