Page 91 of Silken Chains
Victor’s weight suddenly crushes me, his body unnaturally still. A cold dampness spreads across my hair and skin.
Panicked, I push him, my voice trembling as I cry, “Victor? Victor, wake up!” But he’s unresponsive, heavy. The dark stain on my shoulder and hair sends my heart into a frenzy.
With a desperate shove, I manage to roll him off.
My eyes are met with horror—a bullet hole in his forehead, blood a stark contrast against his skin.
Trembling uncontrollably, I bring my bloodstained hands to my mouth, tasting the metallic tang of death.
Tears blur my vision as I whisper in disbelief, “No, this can’t be happening.”
Rolling the diamond ring on my finger does nothing to ease the knot in my chest. I catch the time on the clock by the bed—it’s six in the morning already.
The night was rough, my nightmares worse than any before. Victor’s face messed up in my dreams. A bullet right through his head, turning those sharp gray eyes pitch black, like the life in them just vanished.
A chill ripples through me as I sit up, trying to shake off the dread.
“Could he be dead?” I murmur to myself, my heart thudding painfully at the thought. It’s a weird ache, deep and sharp.
Laur, get a grip.
Rubbing my chest, I try to ease the tightness, to shake off the cold dread that’s settled there.
There’s no way I can fall back asleep now.
I slide out of bed, the silk nightgown feeling out of place on my skin. It’s a constant reminder that my life has taken a surreal turn. The luxury around me feels empty, meaningless.
Anxiety won’t let me sit still. I pace the room, trying to shake off the unease.
“It was just a nightmare,” I tell myself, hoping to believe it.
But the truth nags at me. Victor is in the mafia, a world steeped in danger and death. Why does the thought of him hurt like this? He’s the reason I’m trapped in this golden cage. Yet, the worry for him feels as real as the grief I felt for my mom, lost to her sorrows.
Fuck, I’m overthinking again.
I force myself to stop pacing, realizing I need a distraction, something to cleanse the remnants of the nightmare clinging to my mind.
The idea of a shower flickers through my thoughts like a beacon. Maybe the water can wash away the images, the fear.
As the silk of my nightgown slides over my head and falls to the floor, the chill of the room brushes against my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth I’m about to seek. I step into the shower, letting the water cascade over me. But it does little to wash away the dread.
My heart feels heavy. “I’ll go look for him,” I consider.
No, Luar. He’s not your husband; he’s your captor!
Decision made. I won’t go searching for him.
Finishing the shower, I wrap a fluffy towel around myself, almost in a hug, seeking comfort from its soft embrace.
I approach the fogged mirror, wiping it with a hand to clear my reflection. It’s then I notice the puffiness around my eyes.
“Did I cry?” I murmur, staring at the stranger in the mirror.
The realization hits harder than the cold tiles beneath my feet. I’ve been shaken to my core by a nightmare, by the possibility of a loss I hadn’t even admitted mattered to me. This concern for Victor… it’s unsettling, confusing.
Why the hell do I care so much?
I take a deep breath, trying to anchor myself to the here and now.
