Page 57 of My Dark Divine
Night has fallen, and the room is bathed in a turquoise glow from the moonlight filtering through the curtains. The darkness amplifies my unease, stirring paranoia. It feels like something lurks in every shadowy corner, poised to pounce the moment I lose focus.
I know it’s ridiculous. I’m the only one who has been here for the past two days. I even refused to let the maids in, cursing and screaming at them to leave when they insisted on cleaning the room.
My nerves are frayed, and I can’t even bring myself to turn on the lights. I’ve barely eaten, surviving on a quick sandwich I made a day ago. My stomach refuses to accept anything more.
I turn my head to the mirror before the bed, catching a glimpse of my silhouette. Staring at my reflection, I shake my head in silent reprimand, scolding myself as I often did throughout the day.
What a complete fucking idiot I can be sometimes.
If West doesn’t show up soon, I’m genuinely going to lose it. Spending the whole day sitting on the bed, staring at the front door, and waiting isn’t fucking normal. So when the lock clicks open, I think I’m hallucinating. Even when he pushes the door wider and steps inside, I refuse to believe my eyes.
His tall silhouette blends with the shadows that creep over the space. He’s still in his black suit, and I catch a glimpse of his shirt beneath, though it doesn’t look as pristine as before. Shutting the door behind him, West leans against it, reaching for the switch on the wall. With a silent click, the turquoise glow fades to dim white light.
I blink against the discomfort that the brightness brings, and when I finally find the courage to examine him closely, I become completely immobilized. His hair is a disheveled mess, suggesting he’s been running his hands through it repeatedly. Exhaustion is etched on his face, and his normally vibrant eyes seem a shade darker.
And it’s not even his silence that disturbs me the most—it’s the way his clothes are drenched in crimson blood. His white shirt has lost its color, a mere ghost of its former self, surrounded by a sea of red.
Panic creeps into my mind, and fear spreads like wildfire through my veins. The space feels constricted with him standing there—so close yet so far away.
Feeling small, fragile, and utterly vulnerable, I grip the sheets with clenched hands. A tremor runs through my shoulders, raising goosebumps on my sensitive skin. I fight to swallow the thick knot in my throat while a bead of sweat trickles down the side of my head.
“West,” I rasp, my voice too loud in the stillness he brings with him. “Whatdid you do?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His frosted eyes are locked onto mine, unblinking, as if afraid that the moment he does, I’ll vanish—just like that cursed night in the club.
When he pushes off the door, every muscle in my body tenses. Dread licks at my exposed nerves, sending waves of shivers through me. My throat goes dry, and my pulse quickens as he slowly stalks toward me.
“Ikilledhim.”
A swirl of warm sensations rises in my belly, an intense mix of emotions that travels up my ribcage. The feeling is so vivid that my eyes nearly roll back from how good it makes me feel.
I’m so fucking sick. I realized this long ago—but only now am I fully confronting it. So sick that I find pleasure in what he did for me.
“Are you going to kill me now too?” I ask, stumbling over each word. He seems too composed as he stands there, drenched in blood and shrouded in death. My mind races with thousands of thoughts aboutwhathe will do to me, and none of them feel reassuring.
He’s closer now. Not just in distance but emotionally as well. I don’t need his touch to feel him—his tendrils wrap around my skin, tight and possessive, claiming what is his. The roombecomes so quiet that I can hear his breathing gradually escalate as he savors the sight of me trembling and completely exposed.
I bet he enjoys this.
West doesn’t rush to grab me or hurt me like I thought he would. Instead, this psychopath feeds off my fear. His gaze roams up and down my face and body, taking in every tiny tremor and every anxious movement.
“Strip,” he commands, and a barely audible gasp escapes my lips. I can feel myself growing wetter with each passing second, and his rough voice intensifies the never-ending fear that has become my new favorite drug.
He has both ignored and answered my question—heisgoing to kill me tonight, just not in the way he usually does with others.
With shaky hands, I grasp the waistband of my sweatpants and slide them off, kicking them aside before turning my attention to my top. I pull it up, letting the fabric fall carelessly beside my sweats. He takes his time, his eyes scanning over my exposed skin, and even though I’m still in my underwear, it feels like I’m completely naked.
“Take the rest off.” Another command, only this time his voice slightly wavers. It feels like he’s barely holding himself back. “Now.”
A flicker of confidence breaks through my numbness, and I turn my gaze to the front door—so close yet so far. I can feign compliance, making it look like I’m about to do exactly what he said, but instead, I can trick him and make a run for it. His legs are longer than mine, but if I can pick up speed and put in some effort, I might have a chance to escape.
Because I don’t even feel anxious anymore. What’s swirling inside me is much stronger.
I’m fucking terrified.
Standing up, I let my hands move to my bra, stealing his attention. He’s menacing and intimidating, but he’s alsopredictable. A surge of boldness washes over me as I dash from my spot, sprinting toward the front door. Out of the corner of my eye, I sense his focus shifting, but by then, it is too late.
I nearly laugh out loud as I reach for the door handle, but the sudden pain that explodes across my scalp pulls me back to reality. In the blink of an eye, he yanks me by my hair, spinning me around and throwing me to my knees.
