Page 113 of Shattered Obsession

I press the blade against his chest, slicing through the fabric of his shirt with a deliberate motion. The first cut is shallow yet purposeful. His body jerks against the chains, the metal clinking as he struggles, but he’s trapped, powerless.

“You made me bleed,” I say, my voice trembling with a mix of fury and liberation. “Now it’s your turn.”

As I press the knife against his collarbone, a thin line of red blooms beneath the edge. My hands tremble, but it isn’t fear; it’s the release of torment, nights filled with terror, and months of suffocating silence, all pouring out of me in one cathartic moment. I make small cuts with each word.

“You wanted to break me,” I whisper, leaning close enough for him to see the fire blazing in my eyes, powerful and unyielding. “But I survived you. And now…” My voice hardens, filled with raw emotion. “I’ll end you.”

I don’t hesitate.

Not because I’m fearless, but because I’m finally done letting fear dictate my choices.

Every scar he carved into me was a message.

You’re powerless.

Every breath I draw now is my answer.

Not anymore.

In one swift motion, I drive the blade into his chest, again and again. With one last stab, I twist it with a feeling of finality. The sound is wet and gurgling, a gruesome symphony that echoes around us. His body jerks before going still, his defiance extinguished.

I stagger back, the knife slipping from my blood-soaked hands to clatter against the concrete floor. My chest heaves, my whole body shaking as the weight of what I’ve just done crashes over me. Damian is dead. And I killed him.

The world doesn’t stop.

It should.

It should split open or explode or swallow him into whatever hell he deserves.

But instead, the room stays the same.

Concrete walls.

Harsh light.

Blood on my hands.

I stare at them, my fingers, my palms, the life that used to live inside him staining my skin.

I expect to feel victorious.

Instead, I feel emptied.

Like I poured out everything inside me just to make space for silence.

That silence is louder than any scream. I hear the blood dripping onto concrete, a slow, steady rhythm, proof that what just happened wasn’t a hallucination.

My breath shudders out of me.

I expect to feel remorse.

I don’t.

For a moment, I can only stare at his lifeless form, a mixture of disbelief and relief washing over me. The man who haunted me, who destroyed my life, who thought he would always own me, is gone. Just like that.

Xander steps forward, his arms wrapping around me before my knees can give out. He pulls me against his chest, not caring about the blood that soaks my clothes, his warmth surrounding me, his blood mixing with mine in a visceral testament to our shared trauma. His arms wrap around me slowly, like he’s afraid I’ll crumble if he moves too fast.

But I don’t crumble.