Chapter 245: Do you want to hurt me?

"That doesn’t concern you, Breeder. The state of my private life doesn’t change your duties." Keeping his tight grip on my waist, he rose fluidly from the chair, lifting me effortlessly in his arms. Once again, I was struck by his inhuman, monstrous strength—and his boundless hypocrisy.

"And what if I find her and tell her you’re coercing me into intimacy? What if I tell her you’re trying to cheat?" I breathed out, having little hope it would work. But the man froze, and then burst into laughter—a loud, bone-chilling laugh that sent panic vibrating straight down my spine.

"Are you threatening me?" Setting me down onto the floor, he rested his heavy palms on my shoulders.

I immediately shoved his hands away and limped a step back, tilting my chin up defiantly. It was a mistake. Damian lowered his eyelids slightly, his razor-sharp gaze slicing me into bleeding pieces. The conversation was spiraling out of control at terrifying speed, morphing into clear, imminent danger.

"And what if I am? Will you let me and my parents go then? I’ll get a part-time job and transfer the money to you." Backing away even further for safety, I shifted all my weight onto my good leg.

"I will make your life a living hell, Hart." His voice dropped to a dark, vibrating whisper that felt as though it were tearing the soul right out of my body. Now, running was completely useless.

He was in a full-blown fury.

Taking a cautious step back from him, my mind raced frantically, trying to figure out what to do next. He was furious, and for me, that spelled absolute catastrophe. Say what you want, but I was at a complete and utter disadvantage against him.

"I... I was just kidding," I stammered, holding both hands up in a placating gesture as I forced a smile that turned out completely miserable.

"Well, I’m not," Damian bared his teeth in a predatory snarl.

Closing the distance between us so fast I nearly screamed in terror, his fingers clamped vice-like around my chin, tilting my face upward.

"Remember this once and for all, little bird: if you try to stick your curious little nose where it doesn’t belong, you won’t like the consequences. Right now, I’m treating you gently—lovingly, even. But if you make me truly angry, nothing in this world will save you."

His words shattered me inside. Damian didn’t just evoke fear; he inspired sheer terror. That was the only word for the pitch-black, suffocating abyss he awakened inside me with his mere presence.

"I understand. I crossed the line. It’s just... my leg is hurting so badly, and when I’m in pain, I lose control," I managed to say, clinging in the depth of my soul to a faint hope that maybe he wasn’t a complete psychopath—that his sense of pity hadn’t completely withered away.

"You have a low tolerance for pain?" the guy asked with an eerie, unhinged curiosity as his heavy gaze dropped to my legs. "Then you definitely shouldn’t make me angry."

"Are you threatening me?" My throat dried up in an instant, like sandpaper scraping against itself when I tried to swallow. "Do you want to hurt me?"

"You can’t even imagine in your wildest fantasies what I want to do to you. And yes, it will definitely hurt."

***

My hands were completely numb from sheer exhaustion, yet I still hauled another bucket of clean water over and began furiously scrubbing the tiles for the fifth time.

Sick pervert! Who in their right mind puts down glossy black tile flooring in a house?! It was virtually impossible to wipe off the ground-in dust left behind by the spackle.

Nasty white streaks seemed to have grown into the surface and refused to wash off, no matter how hard I scrubbed. It felt like I was simply smearing the dirt around in an endless loop, killing my back and knees.

My nerves were already fraying, and finally, throwing caution to the wind, I added extra detergent, went over the whole room with foam once more, and left it damp so the stuck-on grime would loosen up a bit, while I headed to the next room. The door was locked.

Jiggling the handle and realizing the futility of my attempts, I turned around and trudged off to find Damian. It was getting close to the dead of night, and I was horribly tired. Plus, my tight dress was soaked through with dirty water and clung despicably to my skin. My leg throbbed with pain, and everything combined was simply driving me out of my mind.

Damian was found in the living room. The guy was sitting relaxed on a leather sofa, with an open laptop on his knees. He was typing something rapidly and looked wildly unusual right then—almost home-cozy, if such a word could ever be applied to him at all.

A black tank top hugged him tightly, baring his powerful shoulders and strong arms, covered in a web of veins. The fabric strained across his broad chest, highlighting the contours of his rock-hard abs. No matter how much I wanted to deny the obvious, Damian had an ideal, perfectly sculpted body straight out of an antique statue, and flawless looks. Only his cruel character ruined absolutely everything.

"Did you want something?" the guy asked without even glancing in my direction.

"Open the locked room. I need to wash it while the floor in the other one is soaking."

He froze, then slowly raised his head, hurling a razor-sharp gaze at me. Gliding it across my tired face before slowly dropping it down to the wet hem of my dress, he clenched his jaw so tight that muscles twitched in his cheekbones. Setting the laptop aside on the cushions, he rose smoothly, walked right up to me, and unexpectedly crouched down.

Out of shock, I frantically tried to step back, but he viciously caught me by the ankle and hoisted my injured leg up so high I nearly fell flat on my back. I had no choice but to grab onto the only reliable support nearby: his broad shoulders.

Frozen in shock and struggling to keep my balance, I looked down and saw a fresh smear of blood staining the light pile of the carpet beneath my foot. The bandage had apparently soaked through from the dirty water, and the wound had torn open.