Page 106 of My Dark Divine
I glance at him, confusion knotting my stomach, but he avoids my gaze. There’s a barely perceptible unease on his face, one he’s trying to hide.
Before I can voice my questions, Delilah continues. “What I mean is, it won’t be long until he completely unravels and becomes uncontrollable. He’s already used you to wedge himself back into politics, where he doesn’t belong. A person like him can’t have that kind of power. He’s a dictator at heart, the kind who eliminates anyone who disagrees with him. His blind supporters will never see through his façade—at least, not until it’s too late.”
“Are you suggesting—” I begin, uncertain of how to phrase my question. I think I understand her, but I could be wrong.
She glances at West before looking back at me. “Take it away. Make the company a better place. Cut off the excess that seeps from it. It doesn’t need all the crap he claims it does. Sure, it brings in a lot of money, but everything has its limits. Lucas doesn’t see that.”
“Grandma, I thought we were going to have tea and talk about the weather today,” West says, attempting to shift the topic. “It’s the first day you’ve met my fiancée. Let’s take it easy.”
She waves him off, saying something that makes him laugh, while I try to let her words sink in.
Taking down Lucas? It sounds impossible. As cruel as he is, he’s spent years building his empire and has a large following. When I took over Zayden, it was different. He wasn’t respected as a leader, and my father and I transformed his company into something better. People began to believe in us.
But Lucas? He’s a respected man with decades of experience. What could possibly tarnish the polished image he’s created?
And the biggest question—how deep does this go? The way Delilah talks makes me feel there’s something much deeper between Lucas and West, something hidden from me.
Or is she just toying with me? Years in this field have taught me to be skeptical and to never take things at face value.
Whatever the truth is, I’m determined to uncover it.
But for now, I’ll let myself enjoy my time here, putting off my responsibilities for just a bit longer.
I’ve always been struckby my ability to appear untouched, even after a complete breakdown. When the moment demands it, I cover every sign of sorrow and step out with a radiant smile, as if nothing ever happened.
Today is the day. Instead of resting at home, West and I went straight to the office. We’ve been absent too long, and here—surrounded by polished walls and busy faces—we’re safe from whatever wrath our parents might have in store.
Oddly enough, the atmosphere since we arrived has been… too normal. The kind of calm that sets nerves on edge. When our parents saw us, they were silent. No sharp looks, no clipped words—just a brief warning that we’d be meeting someone important in an hour.
As the minutes tick by, unease gnaws at me, turning my insides into a churning mess. I look calm and composed, but my mind races, spiraling into paranoia with every silent second.
West is just as tense. He hasn’t stopped bouncing his leg, his eyes blank and fixed on the wall. Though we sit in silence,his hand finds mine, his thumb lightly stroking my fingers. It doesn’t stop the nerves clawing at me, but in its own way, his touch is grounding, and I’m grateful for that.
We’re trapped in a cocoon of stress, our backs to the door. Then, the click that shatters the stillness, followed by footsteps and a mocking chuckle. Fear, like a venomous serpent, slithers down my spine, and my senses scramble to understand this sudden dread.
And whentheirfaces come into focus, it all becomes clear. My heart stumbles with a sickening thud as a wave of dread and shame crashes over me. A cold knot forms in my stomach, my nausea rising. My hand slips from West’s grip, and I feel his eyes on me, silently asking for an explanation.
But I can’t look at him, no matter how much I wish I could. I can’t tear my gaze away from the two men now seated across from me, each one digging deeper into wounds I thought I had healed.
Logan and Joseph—Zayden’s friends. Men who took pleasure in breaking me, piece by piece, until I no longer recognized my own body, until every inch of my skin bore their marks, a canvas of pain and humiliation. They mercilessly used me, knowing no one believed my story.
Panic surges through me, my breath coming in shallow bursts as I clutch the chair’s arms, trying to steady myself. My vision clouds, tears threatening to spill as my mind desperately tries to shield me from the predatory smirks that haunt me. But I canfeeltheir eyes on me—a cold, invasive sweep that leaves new scars with every leer.
I swallow hard, trying to suppress the prickling sensation that crawls through every fiber of my being, as though a virus is sinking under my skin. Time slows, and I feel my body buzzing with the sensation of invisible insects I can’t seem to shake off.
My dad starts speaking, attempting to divert their attention, but they’re fixated on me. Just me. They don’t care that my father is only a few steps away or that my fiancé is sitting right beside me.
They’re doing this on purpose—trying to make me feel small, reminding me that I’m shattered and that any hope for peace is just an illusion. As long as they’re here, I’ll never escape the shadows they’ve cast over me, never break free from the pit I’ve spent years trying to claw my way out of.
I’m fifteen again, trapped with no way to escape.
West reaches for my hand, and I instinctively pull away, even though I want his comfort more than anything. But my mind won’t let me. He tries again, and this time, I yank my hand back with such force that it slams into the underside of the table. The sharp crack of bone against wood fills the room, and a hiss slips through my clenched teeth. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the throb of pain radiating from my hand, heat blooming under my skin. Now, it’s not just them staring at me—West, my father, and Lucas have turned their attention to me too.
Too much.It’s too much. The faint nausea I felt moments ago intensifies, bitter bile surging in my throat as I fight to keep it down.
“Excuse me,” I choke out, pushing myself up from the chair, stumbling as my legs wobble beneath me. My knees nearly buckle, and I have to grip the table to keep from collapsing.
Clutching my bruised hand to my chest, I shove the door open with my shoulder and rush out of the meeting room. Tightness seizes my chest, and I struggle to hold on to the fragile threads of my composure.
