Page 65 of No One’s Daughter

Cold droplets soaked through my clothes, slicking the ground beneath us and the scent of mud filled my senses.

He didn’t care, he just moved faster and harder. At some point, his shirt had disappeared. I didn’t see when or how.

He was a flash of skin, rain droplets tracing the refined lines of his body.

“Come on,” he pushed, circling me now. “I know you can do better.”

My chest rose and fell sharply, frustration building, coiling tight beneath my ribs.

“I can’t,” I snapped, backing away from him, my hands raised more in frustration than defence. “You keep pushing and pushing like there’s something to find,” I shook my head. “There isn’t. I don’t know how to do any of this.”

His jaw tightened and something flickered behind his eyes.

“Arghh—why do you insist on fighting me on every fucking thing?” He bit out, dragging a hand though his rain-soaked hair.

“Because you’re acting like I chose this!” I shot back. “As if I want it!”

“It doesn’t matter if you chose it,” he snapped, stepping closer, his presence swallowing the space between us. “Fate chose for you. You can either face it and make peace with who you really are—or fucking die! Those are the options, Princess.”

I scoffed, the sound hollow even to my own ears. I was unable to think of a comeback because as much as I hated it—he was right. And I sure as shit wasn’t going to die but I really hated that stupid nickname. “Stop calling me Princess.”

“Earn it.”

Something in me bristled.

“God, you’re insufferable.”

“And you’re wasting time.”

That did it. Something in me snapped, and this time I moved first.

Anger sharpened my movement, driving me forward as I shoved into him, putting everything I had behind it. He met me easily of course—he always did—but this time I didn’t stop.

We clashed. Hands, bodies and momentum. It wasn’t like before, it wasn’t controlled. It had become personal.

He blocked, redirected, and countered every movement with that same irritating precision but he was using words as weapons now too.

Taunting me.

“Too slow,” he laughed.

I shoved at him again.

“Predictable.”

I swung and he caught my wrist.

“Weak.”

“Pathetic.”

And that word… It landed.

He twisted using my own momentum against me, and suddenly I was on my back again, the wet grass cold beneath me, his weight pinning me down. His hand caught both of my wrists, forcing them above my head, his knees braced against my thighs to keep me still.

“Is this it? He asked, breath steady, gaze locked on mine. “Is this really all you can do?”

My chest rose and fell sharply, rain hitting my face in heavy drops now, the storm above us building in a way that felt impossible to ignore.