CHAPTER 142: BROKEN

Alexia’s POV

Mature Content Warning

I hated him.

I hated that despite the cruel, merciless way he touched me — my body still responded. That even as my heart cracked, humiliated and bruised, my thighs parted when he commanded, my breath hitched when his fingers curled just right.

God, I hated that I wanted it.

Hated myself more for how much I needed it.

My reflection stared back at me — disheveled, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. Mascara streaked down my face in ugly black rivers. I was wrecked already, and he was just getting started.

His hand twisted tighter in my hair, tugging my head back until my neck ached. The cold marble counter pressed into my hips, unyielding, unforgiving. Just like him.

"You don’t get to look away," he snarled against my ear, voice dripping with venom and heat. "You’re going to watch every second of this. See what you’ve become."

I whimpered, biting down on my lip to keep from sobbing. His hips slammed into mine, every thrust brutal, relentless.

I should have fought. Should have begged him to stop. Should have hated every second.

Instead, my body welcomed him, grinding back against him instinctively, even as shame flooded my chest like ice.

He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t kind.

He broke me.

"You made me become this," he hissed, driving deeper, forcing my body to accommodate him, to surrender.

Tears burned my eyes. I wanted to deny it. Wanted to scream that I wasn’t the monster he remembered.

But when his palm cracked across my ass in a vicious slap, I sobbed and arched back for more.

Pathetic.

"Say it," he ordered, voice cold as iron. "Say what you did."

"I—I was cruel," I gasped, the words tasting like blood and ash in my mouth. "I—I hurt you. I hurt Mira—"

The grip on my hair tightened painfully, jerking my head so my tear-soaked face was pressed right up against the mirror.

"Look at me."

I did. And what I saw there made something inside me shatter.

A broken girl. A ruined woman.

I was no princess. No goddess.

Just his.

"You stripped me of my name," he growled, the thrusts growing harder, crueler. "My dignity. You made me nothing."

I sobbed, a pitiful, gasping sound, but he didn’t soften.

He wasn’t here to save me.

He was here to ruin me.

And I — in all my shame — let him.

"I didn’t know," I whimpered. "I was just—"

"Just a spoiled little monster," he snapped.

Another slap across my already burning skin. Another wave of sickening, humiliating desire flooding my core.

"Say it."

"I was a spoiled monster!" I cried, voice breaking into a scream as his hand cracked against me again. "A cruel, selfish brat—I didn’t see you as human!"

The words spilled out, ugly and raw. Each confession was a dagger to my pride.

But worse—so much worse—was the way my body throbbed for him even as he punished me.

"And now?" he demanded, slowing the brutal pace just enough to make me ache, to make me chase him with a desperate arch of my hips.

I hesitated.

Pain exploded across my ass again, and I screamed.

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

I meant it. God help me, I meant it.

"That’s right," he said, a cruel smirk curling his lips.

But there was no forgiveness in his eyes.

Only retribution.

He leaned down, breath hot against my neck. His teeth grazed my skin, sending violent shivers racing down my spine.

"Now beg me not to stop."

Humiliation burned hot and thick in my throat.

But I wanted him.

Needed him.

"Please," I whispered, barely able to force the word out. "Please don’t stop."

He chuckled, a dark, vicious sound, and drove into me harder, faster.

I screamed.

My nails raked across the counter, searching for something — anything — to hold onto as he battered into me like a force of nature.

My body betrayed me completely, clenching around him, desperate for every brutal thrust, every cruel slap of skin against skin.

He yanked my hair again, pulling me back into the arc of his control.

"Look at you," he sneered. "A royal princess, spread open for the slave you once spat on—and you’re fucking loving it."

I moaned, the sound ripped from me, raw and broken.

I hated how true it was.

Hated how good it felt to be nothing in his hands.

To be ruined.

To be his.

He turned me suddenly, spinning me around so my back was against the mirror and my chest was pressed to his.

I gasped as he lifted my thigh and rammed into me again, no warning, no mercy.

I was nothing but a receptacle for his rage. His revenge.

And I wanted it all.

He gripped my breast roughly, squeezing hard enough to bruise, and my body reacted shamelessly, hips rolling, back arching, mouth open in a silent, wrecked moan.

"You remember now?" he rasped into my ear, his teeth scraping my skin. "This is how you made me feel. Powerless. Filthy. Like I was nothing but an object for you to command."

My head lolled back, tears leaking freely now.

I remembered. Oh God, I remembered.

The throne room. The cold gleam in my eyes. The way I’d treated him like dirt beneath my silk shoes. The way I’d laughed as he bled for me.

"I—" I whimpered.

His hand tangled in my hair again, jerking my head back cruelly.

"Say it."

"I made you fuck them," I choked out, shame crashing through me like a tidal wave. "Because I was jealous. Because I thought—"

Another brutal thrust, stealing the air from my lungs.

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

Sobs wracked my body.

I tried to turn away, to hide.

But he wouldn’t let me. His hand gripped my chin, forcing me to stare at myself.

The ugly, shameful truth reflected back at me.

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

"You don’t get to forget," he hissed.

And then his fingers were between my thighs, ruthless, skilled, making me cry out, my hips bucking helplessly against him.

My body loved the punishment.

Even as my soul withered inside me.

He spun me again, throwing me onto the bed. I landed in a heap, hair tangled, mascara staining the sheets.

He spread my legs without ceremony, without care, and entered me again.

Slow. Deep. Unrelenting.

Each thrust carved another piece from me, each stroke branding me as his.

"You want forgiveness?" he asked, voice rough and bitter.

I nodded frantically, desperate.

"Then take it all," he snarled. "Take the pain. Take the shame. Feel what I felt."

I did.

I felt it in the burning stretch of my muscles, in the bruises he left on my hips, in the way my heart cracked open with every vicious thrust.

I gripped the sheets, clawing at them as if they could save me.

But nothing could save me now.

He flipped me again, dragging me to the edge of the bed, and entered me from behind, one hand wrapped around my throat.

Not enough to choke.

Just enough to remind me: you are mine.

I sobbed, body giving in completely.

"I’m sorry," I whispered brokenly. "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?" he growled, driving into me with a punishing thrust.

"I don’t know," I gasped, barely able to breathe. "I only know this. You. Pain."

He laughed.

A cold, cruel sound.

"Good," he said. "Because this is all you’re going to get from me."

No kisses.

No kindness.

Only ruin.

He pulled out again, grabbed my wrist, and yanked me off the bed. My knees buckled, but he didn’t let me fall.

He shoved me down onto my knees.

"Open your mouth."

I obeyed instantly, shame thick and burning in my chest.

He slid into my mouth roughly, no gentleness, no care.

Thrusting deep, making me choke and gag.

Tears streamed down my face.

My hands clutched weakly at his thighs, but he didn’t slow.

He used me.

Fucked my throat like I was nothing.

And I — broken, desperate, lost — let him.

He finally pulled back, letting me collapse to the floor.

A ruined, shattered thing.

"You still think you’re in control?" he sneered.

I couldn’t even lift my head.

"I never was," I whispered hoarsely. "Not really."

He grabbed me again, forcing me to face the mirror.

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

I reached out, touching the reflection.

I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me.

"I hate you," I whispered.

But even as I said it, my body ached for him.

I hated that I loved him.

Hated that I needed him to break me again and again.

"Good," he snarled. "Hate me."

He spun me around and bent me over the vanity again.

"Beg me," he ordered.

"No," I whispered.

A brutal slap across my ass.

Again.

And again.

Until my sobs turned to screams.

"Beg."

"Please," I cried brokenly. "Please... hurt me."

He shoved into me again, harder than before, claiming me with every brutal thrust.

I gave him everything.

My pride.

My dignity.

My soul.

And when he denied me release over and over, dragging me to the edge only to tear me back — I realized:

I was his.

Fully, completely.

Forever.