CHAPTER 141: SAVAGE

AIDEN’S POV:

Mature Content Ahead

Her body trembled beneath my grip, back arched perfectly as I held her hair tight, forcing her to look at herself—at me—through the mirror. Her breath hitched, a whimper spilling from her lips, but I didn’t slow. Couldn’t.

"You don’t get to look away," I growled against her ear. "You’re going to watch every second of this. See what you’ve become. What you made me become."

I drove deeper, harder, each thrust deliberate—measured. This wasn’t about pleasure. This was reclamation. Retribution.

She tried to speak, to stammer something, but I tugged her head back tighter. "Don’t waste breath on apologies unless you mean them. Say it," I snapped, voice low and dangerous. "Say what you did."

"I—I was cruel," she gasped, voice shaking. "I—I hurt you. I hurt Mira—"

"Look at me."

She did. Those wide, wet eyes locked with mine through the mirror, shame and arousal warring on her flushed face.

"You stripped me of my name, my dignity. You made me nothing," I hissed, thrusting again, making her cry out. "And now you want to cry? After all those years of pretending our screams were music to you?"

She sobbed, biting her lip. "I didn’t know... I was just—"

"Just a spoiled little monster," I snarled. "Say it."

She hesitated. I slapped her ass, hard. She cried out, back jerking into a deeper arch.

"Say it."

"I was a spoiled monster!" she choked. "A cruel, selfish brat—I didn’t see you as human—"

"Louder."

"A cruel, selfish brat!" she screamed. "I—I used people! I used you!"

I slowed only slightly, letting the words hang in the air, her confessions crashing into the silence between our breaths.

"And now?" I whispered darkly, lips brushing her neck. "What are you now, Alexia?"

She hesitated again—until I tightened my grip and thrust in deeper, rougher.

"Yours!" she cried. "I’m yours—I’m... your wife, your punishment, your—whatever you want me to be—"

I stared into her reflection. "That’s right."

Her cheeks were streaked with tears. Her mouth trembled.

"But don’t think for a second this means forgiveness," I said coldly. "You haven’t earned that. Not yet."

Then I leaned in close, voice like a blade against her skin.

"Now beg me not to stop."

Thought for a few seconds

I drive into her again, harder this time, fingers digging into the curve of her hip as I set a savage rhythm. Her back arches off the counter, nails digging in through the thin fabric, but I don’t relent.

"Look at you," I growl, voice low and rough. "A royal princess, spread open for the slave you once spat on—and you’re fucking loving it."

I yank her hair so her head snaps back, exposing her throat. She gasps, mouth parting in a delicious mix of shock and surrender. The sight of her shuddering beneath me fuels every brutal thrust.

She tries to speak—"Aiden..."—but I cut her off with another slam. Skin meets flesh with a wet smack that echoes in the quiet room. I lean closer, teeth grazing her jaw as I whisper, "Beg me to keep going."

Her eyes shine with tears and desire as she obeys: "Please... don’t stop."

I tighten my grip on her waist, nails scratching through silk, and push deeper, watching that heated hush fall over her. Each strike of my hips is a reminder of the power I reclaimed—her gasp, her moan, her name tearing itself from her throat.

This isn’t pity. It isn’t tenderness. It’s punishment. It’s justice.

And as I fuck her with relentless purpose, I see it in the mirror: her surrender, her shame, her want.

Because no matter how monster she was—no matter how cruel—I’m the one in control now.

And I won’t stop until she truly remembers what it feels like to be powerless in my hands.

I turned her around so that her back now faced the mirror, her front to me. I needed her to see. To witness every broken piece of what we’d become. Lifting one of her thighs, I pushed into her again. This time, I didn’t wait for her to adjust. I didn’t give her a moment to breathe.

My hips slammed into her with a rhythm that was violent and raw, fueled by the ghosts of a past she didn’t remember—not like I did.

She cried out, her voice echoing against the mirror and the cold marble walls of the room. My hand went to her breast, squeezing it hard enough to leave marks, and she was screaming—not in pain, not entirely in pleasure, but something unholy in between. A sound I’d never forget.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

"You remember now?" I rasped into her ear, dragging my teeth down her neck. "This is how you made me feel. Powerless. Filthy. Like I was nothing but an object for you to command."

Her eyes were wide in the mirror. No innocence. No lies. Just raw, trembling understanding.

"You made me fuck them," I growled, my thrusts growing erratic. "Seven of them. One after the other. While you watched. While you smiled."

I could still see her in that past life—Princess Alexia of Epheffestus. Draped in silk, cruelty dripping from her painted mouth. She’d held my sister’s life in her hands like a coin to be tossed.

"Say it," I snarled. "Say what you did."

"I—" she whimpered.

My hand tangled in her hair and yanked her head back. "Say it!"

"I made you fuck them," she sobbed. "Because I was jealous. Because I thought—" She broke off, gasping, tears streaming down her face.

"Because you thought she was your rival. My sister. You had her executed for touching me."

She turned her face away from the mirror. I grabbed her chin and forced her to look again.

"Look. Look at what you reduced me to."

"I didn’t remember," she whispered. "I swear—I didn’t know. Not until now."

"You don’t get to forget," I hissed. "I never forgot. Every night. Every time I touched someone else, I remembered it was because I had no choice."

My fingers slid between her thighs, cruel and skilled, making her cry out again. Her body betrayed her—arching, tightening. Desperate.

She was unraveling. But I wasn’t done.

I spun her around again, throwing her on the bed like she weighed nothing. Her hair spilled across the sheets, wild and tangled like the mess of us. She looked up at me, lips bruised, eyes red and wet.

I spread her thighs with brutal care and entered her again, this time slow, deep, unrelenting.

"You want to make it right?" I asked, voice hoarse. "You want forgiveness?"

She nodded frantically.

"Then take it all. Take the pain. Take the shame. Feel what I felt, knowing I had no choice but to obey or lose the one person I loved."

Her hands gripped the sheets, her body lifting to meet mine with a need that disgusted and thrilled me. She was burning—breaking.

And so was I.

Each thrust carved away the hate, the years of resentment, the agony I had wrapped around my heart like armor. I watched her shatter, and in her breaking, I found a part of myself I thought had died.

When I slowed, she looked up at me in confusion.

I pulled out and flipped her again, dragging her to the edge of the bed. I entered her from behind, one hand wrapped around her throat—not choking, just claiming.

Her cries grew louder. Hoarser. Each one like a confession.

"I’m sorry," she whispered. "I’m sorry for everything. For what I did to you. To her. I—I didn’t know love then. I only knew power."

"And now?" I asked, thrusting deep enough to make her knees buckle.

She cried out, her body giving in as she clutched the sheets, her head bowed in shame—or maybe ecstasy. I couldn’t tell anymore. I didn’t care.

Her silence made my chest burn. My hand shot out, tangling in her hair again, yanking her head back until her spine arched like a bow.

"Answer me."

"I don’t know," she gasped, tears trailing down her cheeks. "I don’t know what love is. I only know this. You. Pain."

Her words pleased something inside me. Something feral and cruel.

"Good," I said through gritted teeth, pulling out only to ram into her again, harder, deeper, until she screamed. "Because this is all you’re going to get from me. No kisses. No kindness. Just this."

Her body jerked with each savage thrust. She was shaking now. Her breath came in ragged sobs, wet and wild.

She was unraveling.

But not fast enough.

I pulled out again, gripping her wrist and dragging her off the bed like a ragdoll. She stumbled, her legs barely holding her weight. I shoved her to her knees.

"Open your mouth."

She blinked up at me, face soaked in sweat and tears, but her lips parted without protest.

I gripped her jaw and slid into her mouth, watching her eyes widen as I began to thrust again. Relentless. Vicious. I gave her no time to breathe, no room to think. She choked, gagged, but never stopped looking up at me.

I could see it—the flicker of the old Alexia, the one who thought she was untouchable, royal, above consequence. She was still in there, somewhere. But not for long.

I grabbed the back of her head, fucking her throat until she was gasping and drooling, until her body shook from oxygen deprivation and her nails scratched weakly at my thighs.

Only then did I pull away, letting her collapse onto the floor like a broken doll.

"You still think you’re in control?" I growled, crouching beside her. "You still think you get to decide who suffers?"

She coughed and gagged, her voice barely more than a whimper. "I never was in control. Not really."

"Liar."

I hauled her up again, dragging her to the tall mirror. I forced her to look at herself—smeared mascara, bruised lips, bite marks down her throat and breasts.

"This is what you look like now. Not a princess. Not a goddess. Just a toy. Mine."

Her reflection trembled. She reached out a hand, almost like she didn’t recognize herself.

"I hate you," she whispered. But her voice shook. "I hate you for making me feel this."

I smiled coldly. "Good. Hate me. It means I’m doing it right."

I spun her around, bending her over the vanity, her face smashed against the mirror.

"Beg me," I snarled into her ear.

"No."

I grabbed her ass, brought my hand down in a sharp slap that made her cry out. Again. And again. Until her defiance melted into sobs.

"Beg."

"Please," she finally choked. "Please... hurt me."

I shoved into her again, claiming her with the force of all the pain she’d ever caused me. Her legs trembled. Her body no longer fought me. It accepted. Endured.

She was close. Not to climax.

To breaking.

I didn’t let her finish. Every time she neared the edge, I pulled away. Over and over. Denial. Humiliation. I wanted her to feel it all.

"Did you let me come when you made me fuck those slaves?" I asked between thrusts.

She couldn’t speak anymore. Her throat was raw. Her cries came silent now, only breath and desperation.

I dragged her back to the bed, tossing her onto it. I tied her wrists with the discarded tie from my robe. Spread her legs.

"No more words," I muttered. "Just scream."

And she did.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until her voice was gone. Until her eyes stopped focusing. Until her body trembled beneath me with every thrust, yet gave no resistance.

I didn’t stop when she passed out.

I took her until my own body gave out, collapsing beside her, drenched in sweat and the ruin of us both.

Her chest rose and fell, shallow, soft. She was unconscious.

Only then did the silence settle in.

And with it, something colder than hate.

I stared at the ceiling, heart pounding, jaw clenched. The scent of sex and vengeance hung heavy in the air.

I thought I’d feel satisfied.

I didn’t.

I only felt... emptier.

Like every piece of her I broke had only carved something out of me in return.

I turned to her. Her lashes were wet. Her body, bruised and beautiful, curled instinctively away from me even in unconsciousness.

She looked small.

Human.

Not the monster I remembered.

But I couldn’t afford to forget. Not yet.

Tomorrow, I’d start again.

She still had a long way to fall.

And I wasn’t done making her pay.