Drunken Assault And Tearing Clothes

When I returned to Sienna's ward, the room was quiet. Sienna was fast asleep in her hospital bed. A middle-aged woman sat near the window, glancing up from her phone when I walked in. She gave me a brief nod. She was the professional caretaker Damian had hired to watch over Sienna. Seeing her there made one thing clear: Damian had arranged for someone else to handle Sienna's needs. I had no forced duties left to fulfill.

I turned around, left the hospital, and hailed a taxi.

By the time I unlocked the front door of the villa, my body felt like lead. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting long, pale shadows across the empty hallway. The physical drain of the past two days, combined with the heavy lethargy brought on by my early six-week pregnancy, dragged me down. I bypassed the silent living room and went straight upstairs to the master bedroom. I did not bother turning on the lights. I collapsed onto the mattress and succumbed to a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

I woke up groggy and disoriented hours later. The sky outside was already dark. A harsh cough tore through my throat. I blinked against the sharp sting in my eyes. The master bedroom was stifling. The acrid, thick scent of cigarette smoke choked the air, making every breath a struggle. I squinted through the dark haze and froze.

A shadow sat in the deep corner by the edge of the bed. Damian.

He never smoked. Yet there he sat, a lit cigarette pinched tightly between his fingers, the glowing ember illuminating the deep exhaustion etched into his features. I pushed myself up, trying to maintain some sense of normalcy despite the erratic pounding of my heart.

"You're back," I said softly.

My voice was raspy. The polluted air made it incredibly difficult to breathe. I swung my legs over the side of the mattress, intending to walk over and open a window for ventilation.

I barely took a single step. Without any warning, Damian lunged forward from the shadows.

He grabbed me, yanking me aggressively into a frighteningly tight embrace. I crashed against his hard chest. His arms locked around me, forming an inescapable trap. A sharp, overpowering stench of strong liquor washed over my face. He was heavily intoxicated.

I looked up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. His brows furrowed deeply. His eyes looked heavy, swirling with visible exhaustion and turmoil.

"Don't you hate me?" he demanded. His tone was freezing.

I struggled against his iron-like grip, pushing my palms against his shoulders. "I do!" I replied honestly. I tried desperately to pry his heavy hands away from my waist.

He did not budge. His dark, drunken eyes locked onto mine. "Will you take it back?"

Before I could even process the meaning behind his slurred words or form an answer, his large palm moved. He shoved his hand under my shirt, roaming aggressively over my bare skin. His touch was forceful, rough, and crossed all boundaries of consent.

A massive wave of panic hit me. I snatched his wrist, digging my nails in to halt his aggressive movements.

"Damian, I'm Adeline, not Sienna," I pleaded, trying to pierce through his drunken haze. "Look carefully."

He remained silent. In the dim light, his face was an unreadable mask. Instead of stopping, he tightened his hold and effortlessly lifted me off the floor. He threw me back onto the mattress. His body followed instantly, pinning me down with his crushing weight.

Hasty, alcohol-laced kisses crashed against my lips and neck. His mouth was punishing and fierce. He bit down hard on my collarbone.

Desperation clawed at my throat. I reached up and firmly held his face, forcing his head up so he had to meet my terrified gaze. Sheer terror spiked in my veins. "Damian, I'm Adeline! Look carefully."

The heavy silence stretched taut. He stared at me for a few agonizing seconds. His eyes were cold and indifferent.

"Mmhm."

A single, dismissive sound. He acknowledged exactly who I was, and he did not care. He immediately grabbed the collar of my shirt and yanked. The fabric tore open with a sharp rip. He ruthlessly tore at my clothes, stripping away my defenses, determined to take what he wanted by force. His knee shoved roughly between my legs.

The terrifying reality of this violent situation crashed over me. I watched in horror as he reached down, fumbling urgently to unbuckle his heavy leather belt. The metal buckle clinked sharply in the quiet room.

My mind screamed. I carried a fragile, six-week-old child in my belly. I could not allow him to subject my body to this aggressive, drunken assault. His reckless force and crushing weight could easily cause a miscarriage.

Fierce maternal instinct flooded my system, instantly overriding my usual submissive nature. I gathered every ounce of my remaining strength. I planted my hands flat against his solid chest and shoved him backward.

Caught off-balance by the heavy alcohol in his system and my sudden retaliation, Damian tipped backward. He tumbled hard off the edge of the bed, crashing onto the wooden floor with a heavy thud.

I did not waste a single second. I snatched the thick quilt from the mattress and wrapped it securely around my exposed body, using it as a desperate shield. I stood up, my knees shaking, and looked down at him sprawling on the floor.

"Damian, you're drunk," I stated. My voice trembled, but the words were firm.

I refused to say another word. I did not wait for him to recover his footing. I turned and fled the master bedroom in sheer terror.

I rushed down the hall into the guest room and slammed the door shut. My hands shook as I hastily changed into fresh clothes, pulling a thick sweater over my head and slipping into jeans.

I abandoned the villa. I ran out the front door and fled into the dark night. The cold wind bit at my face, but I kept running. Staying in that house with an out-of-control, intoxicated man was a deadly risk. I had to protect the secret life growing inside me.