"You should've stripped yourself the moment you stepped into this room. No one should have to tell you. You were sent in here to be used, and you damn well should've prepared yourself for it."
The bastard. Isolde hated the way he spoke—like he was standing on top of the world and everyone else was trash beneath his feet.
She used to be like that, too. Arrogant. Arrogant enough to treat anyone below her like they didn't matter. But now, being on the receiving end of that same disgust, it was infuriating.
And what did Severin say? Used? He talked like she wasn't even human—just a thing to be used and tossed aside.
"You're worthless," Severin sneered. "Keeping you alive brings no profit. You haven't brought in a single client. No one wants to pay to fuck you."
Isolde scoffed. "No one wants to waste their money on me, and yet the great Boss of this place came back a second time to fuck me—despite this body of mine being far from the prettiest among the whores. Makes me wonder... maybe the almighty Boss's taste isn't as refined as he thinks it is. Or maybe... just maybe... you still see your dead lover's face every time you look at me."
Severin's eyes sharpened—but Isolde wasn't done.
"You used Liraine's suicide threat as an excuse, but the truth is—you don't want me dead because you can't stand the thought of losing this face. The face that looks like your dead lover's." Severin tilted his head slightly. His face was unreadable, cold and unmoving, making it impossible for Isolde to tell whether he was angry or not. He was always a goddamn enigma.
"You've got some nerve for a prisoner," he said, gripping her chin so hard she winced in pain. His hand was massive—scarred, tattooed, and strong as hell. If he pressed just a little harder, her jaw might actually shatter.
"You think you're special because of your fucking face? You're not worth half as much as you think. If I wanted to, I could kill you right now. And if I really wanted to keep that pretty face around, I'd toss you in a tank and preserve your corpse so I can look at it whenever I damn well please."
A smirk curled on Severin's lips, sharp and cruel enough to send chills down her spine. "Looks like what I did to you yesterday still wasn't enough to teach you your place."
He called for his men. The door to Room 429 creaked open again. One of his lackeys stepped in, and Isolde's face went pale. She remembered his threat from the previous day all too clearly.
Don't tell me Severin's actually going to...
"Drag that table over here," Severin barked at one of his men. "Put it right in front of this whore."
There were four of them—his men—and two immediately stepped forward, hauling the heavy black table from the corner and placing it squarely in front of Isolde. Without a word, they returned to their position, standing in line like fucking statues.
Severin walked toward her. Without warning, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her head down onto the table.
Thud!
Her forehead and nose crashed hard into the solid wood. A sharp, sickening pain shot through her skull. She could feel something warm trickling from her nose, seeping down to her philtrum.
He yanked her head back by her hair, forcing her to look up. Blood dripped freely from her nose onto the black table.
Once wasn't enough. He smashed her head again—harder this time. Her vision swam. Her nose was definitely broken, and from the throb in her brow, her forehead was likely split, too.
The pain was sharp, burning, dizzying. She didn't even have the strength to fight back. She just stayed there—frozen—as Severin flipped up her skirt and ripped her panties apart like they were nothing.
She shut her eyes as he shoved himself inside her, forcing his way in from behind. Right there. In front of his four men. It was fucking humiliating.
He was degrading her like an animal. Like less than that. And she couldn't even see their faces—just a blur of uniforms and boots as Severin pounded into her like she wasn't even there.
Isolde's eyes stung—not just from the tears welling in them but from the blood running down her forehead and seeping into her eyes, tinting them a sickly red.
Severin had poured himself into her after degrading her like she was nothing. When he was done, he pulled out and finally let go of her hair. He adjusted his pants as he walked past his men.
"You can have her now," he said coldly.
Isolde shook her head rapidly, ignoring the wave of dizziness that hit her from moving too fast.
"No... no... please, no…"
She scrambled to his feet, dropping to her knees in front of him, begging for mercy. She shouldn't have talked back. She shouldn't have provoked him. She'd been too cocky—thinking his sister's sympathy somehow made her safe. She forgot just how cruel this man was.
Crueler than the Devil. Or maybe… Severin was the Devil himself. But her pleas meant nothing to him. He didn't even spare her a glance. One of his men grabbed her and dragged her away as Severin walked out of Room 429 without a word.
.
.
.
Isolde stared at the ceiling. Her body was wrecked.
Her tears had dried—she'd cried too much to shed anymore. Her voice was gone, too, stripped from her throat after a whole night of screaming for help. But no one came. Not even Liraine could stop this hell from happening.
Isolde was afraid of dying. But right now? She wanted it. Desperately. She should've just stayed unconscious after being used like a fucking plaything by Severin's four men. But no—she woke up. Still breathing. Still alive. Even though she didn't fucking want to be.
So this was what Severin meant when he said he'd break her to the point she'd want to end it herself. And fuck him because he was right. He'd succeeded.
She wanted death. Craved it. But she was still a coward. Too scared to smash the flower vase in the corner and slice her wrists open. Too afraid to drive a shard into her throat and end this nightmare.
The door to Room 429 creaked open. Liraine entered, late as always, like a goddamn useless hero arriving after the war was over. Not that much could be expected of her anyway. She'd probably been locked away by Nikhael on Severin's orders to keep her from interfering.
Liraine's hands trembled as she sat down at the edge of the bed, and tears streaming down her face. She gently helped Isolde sit up, and even that slight movement made Isolde wince in pain—every part of her body was wrecked, screaming, raw. She leaned against the headboard, trying not to sob again.
But the universe wasn't done humiliating her. The door opened. Again. Isolde's entire body tensed.
Please, no. If it was Severin again—or Nikhael—or any of those monsters. She didn't think she could take it. But it wasn't them. It was Tiffara.
And, of course, the bitch didn't come alone. She brought two of her little friends—both of them smirking like hyenas the moment they laid eyes on what was left of Isolde.
"I was going to teach you a lesson," Tiffara sneered, folding her arms across her chest, "but it turns out you're already this pathetic."
Her eyes dripped with contempt as she looked down on Isolde. Isolde was already in a foul mood, and Tiffara's presence only made it worse.
"Get out," Isolde rasped. Her voice was hoarse, every word scraping her throat like broken glass.
"You don't have the right to throw me out," Tiffara replied smugly.
"You're nobody here—just a prisoner. I can walk into any room I want. Lord Severin has never once stopped me from doing whatever I please." She stepped closer, that arrogant face of hers coming into full view.
"I personally asked The Boss's men to break you last night. Judging by the state you're in, I'd say they did a damn good job." Isolde's eyes widened. Rage surged through her, hot and pulsing, and Liraine, too, looked ready to explode. She stood up, ready to go at Tiffara, but Isolde grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
Isolde's gaze locked on Tiffara, sharp and cold. No wonder Severin's men hadn't just used her—they'd tortured her like she was less than human. It had all been orchestrated by Tiffara.
"If I'd known being Severin's favourite meant having the power to order his men to torture others," Isolde said, her voice still ragged, "then maybe I'd want that position too."
She leaned forward, eyes gleaming with cruel defiance. "Be careful, Tiffara. An ugly whore like me might just steal your spot if you let your guard down. After all, your oh-so-great The Boss picked me two nights in a row. Who knows—maybe next time, he'll choose me instead of you."
Tiffara burst out laughing—loud, cruel, and full of mockery. The two women behind her joined in, snickering like vultures.
"Are you stupid or just fucking delusional?" she spat.
"Sure, The Boss visited you twice, but then he threw you to his dogs. Me? The Boss's never even left a scratch on me. Do you know why? Because I don't fuck up." She stepped closer, her smirk widening with every word.
"And what the hell are you gonna use to take my place, huh? That busted body of yours? Or your pathetic face that happens to look like Renata's corpse? Let me make this clear—being The Boss's favourite isn't about getting fucked more than the others. It's about being useful."
"I don't screw up. I bring him profit. I seduce enemies and extract information from them. I'm not like you. And you'll never be like me." Tiffara leaned in, her voice dripping with venom.
"If you really think you can win Boss's attention by making him fall in love with you, you're fucking naive. This isn't some sappy romance novel, Isolde. You're not gonna tame the mafia boss and make him kneel at your feet."
"And even if Severin ever did fall for you," she said with a twisted smile, "he'd kill you, just like he killed Renata. Because Boss doesn't keep weaknesses around. And love? That's a weakness to him."
"You'd die, Isolde. Pathetic and broken, just like the last woman who shared your face."
Tiffara turned, walking away with smug pride, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. But just before she left the room completely, she paused and then turned her head again. This time, her eyes locked onto Liraine.
"You'd better stop meddling in Boss's affairs," Tiffara said coldly. "If you keep causing trouble, he might just toss you to Nikhael. You wouldn't want that, would you? Being forced to marry him and dragged far away from this place?"
Her smile was cruel as ever. "If that's not what you want, then watch yourself. Behave. Stop stirring up chaos over a woman who means nothing to you."
With that, Tiffara turned and walked out, slamming the door shut behind her. Silence settled over the room.
Isolde said nothing, not because she was afraid but because her mind was already busy plotting.
Thinking of how to shut Tiffara up for good. How to crush that smug mouth of hers and make her choke on her own arrogance.
…