Page 112 of Shattered Obsession

The heavy sound of chains rattling slices through the stillness of the dimly lit concrete room to snap me into razor-sharp focus. My heart races as I take in the sight before me. Damian stirs in the worn chair, blood crusted at the corner of his mouth, his features twisted into a grimace of pain. His eyelid twitches before the eye opens, unfocused at first. Then he sees me, really sees me, and something sharp and malicious sparks in his gaze.

“Back where we started,” he croons.

“No,” I say softly. “Not even close.”

Because this time, I’m not the one chained down.

One of his eyes is swollen shut, but even in this weakened state, he manages to curl his lips into a mocking smirk the moment he realizes what I’ve done.

“Well, well,” he rasps, his voice thick with arrogance that stings like poison even now. “Didn’t think you had it in you, princess. Dragging me here, chaining me up… Guess I taught you something after all.”

My stomach twists, but I refuse to let his words unnerve me. Xander hovers like a protective shadow at my back, close enough for me to sense the heat radiating from his body but far enough that this moment is entirely mine.

“Shut up,” I whisper, my voice low and laced with barely contained fury. He chuckles, the sound broken and guttural, reverberating off the bare walls.

“You think you’re scary? You’ll never be anything but a trembling little girl who begged me to stop.”

My trembling halts.

That’s what he never understood; shaking isn’t weakness.

Shaking is adrenaline preparing the body to survive.

Trembling is the prelude to teeth.

“You should have worried when I stopped begging.”

His smile falters.

Good.

Every nightmare, every flashback, every sleepless night, it all funnels into this moment. My mind fractures under the weight of emotion, splintering into a thousand jagged thoughts.

I don’t just want him to hurt.

I want him to know what it feels like to be powerless.

A surge of adrenaline ignites my veins, pushing me forward, my hand flying across his face in a sharp slap that echoes in the silence. The crack of my palm against his skin resonates in the concrete room like a gunshot, and his head jerks to the side, blood spraying from his split lip. But even then, he’s still smiling.

“You can’t hurt me, Thalia. You’ll never⁠—”

I interrupt him by slamming my knee into his gut, cutting his words short. He doubles over, chains clinking with a harsh rattle, while rage courses through me, hotter than fear, igniting every nerve ending. In this moment, I’m not the one cowering. I refuse to be at his mercy anymore.

“You don’t get to own me,” I spit, thrusting his head back against the chair so hard that the wood creaks beneath him. “You don’t get to live inside my nightmares. You don’t get to breathe when I still choke on what you did to me.”

Damian wheezes, struggling for breath as he coughs up blood, yet his twisted grin lingers, mocking me. “If you were stronger, you’d finish it. But you won’t. You don’t have the guts.”

I grab Damian’s gun, pointing it at him. The simple pull of a trigger, and it could all be over.

“Thalia, wait.” Xander’s voice falters. It’s the first crack in his armor. I lower the gun, looking at him. “Think about what this will do to you,” he whispers. “You’re not like me.”

I freeze for a moment, his words sinking deep like a knife, but then a smile creeps across my face. A cold, jagged smile that feels foreign and terrifying on my lips. “You’re wrong,” I whisper, looking at Damian.

Xander’s voice cuts through the tension behind me. “Do what you need to, baby. I’m here.” He says it casually like the sentence doesn’t gut me open.

I put down the gun, deciding he doesn’t get to have a quick ending but instead a drawn-out, painful one. With a steadying breath, I grab the knife from the table, a weapon I know too well, the same blade Damian once pressed against my skin, a reminder of the torment he inflicted. The weight of it in my hand is grounding, and for the first time, I feel a surge of power. I can see the fear flash in Damian’s eyes as they dart to the knife, a crack in the facade of his arrogance.

“Thalia…” he starts, desperation creeping into his voice, but I don’t let him finish.