The Scorned Luna-Chapter 16: Not Him

"Turn your back and get on all fours," Damien ordered.

Her heart raced, but she obeyed.

She knelt on the mattress, her back facing him, her body trembling so hard she could barely stay up.

As she knelt on the mattress, she was no longer in this cold room. She was six years younger, sitting on a porch swing while a teenage Damien told her that as long as he was around, she would never have a reason to be afraid. The memory felt like a physical blow to her heart, sharper than the trembling in her knees.

Hot tears ran down her cheeks. She was so scared she could not even find the rhythm of her own breath.

Behind her, Damien stood still for a moment. His chest rose and fell heavily as he watched her shake, watched her arms wrap tightly around her own body. Something inside him twisted painfully. He hated her—he hated her for the jagged hole she had left in his life—but seeing Sofia like this, broken and terrified, triggered a protective instinct he tried desperately to kill.

He forced himself to push those feelings away.

He needed to punish her.

He needed to hurt her the way he was hurting.

He stepped closer, his footsteps slow and heavy. The bed dipped under his weight as he climbed behind her. Then he slipped a blindfold over her eyes, making her flinch.

"Stay still," he warned.

Her breath shook. "What... are you—"

"I won’t give you the pleasure of seeing me," he spat, tying the cloth tight.

But the truth was different. He was lying.

He blindfolded her because he could not look her in the eyes.

Because if he did... he might soften.

He might break.

He might stop.

And he did not want to stop.

As the cloth tightened over her eyes, Sofia’s world went dark, and the scent of him—woodsmoke and expensive whiskey—filled her senses. It was the smell of home, a scent that used to mean safety. Now, it was the scent of her predator. She did not want to see him anyway; she wanted to remember the boy with the soft eyes, not the monster he had forced himself to become.

"Please... take it off," she whispered.

His stomach tightened.

Hearing her beg made him feel sick... because a part of him wanted to comfort her.

But he could not.

Not when he thought she killed Lola. Not when she hurt him... broke him two years ago...

So he answered with a grunt, and the blindfold stayed.

He unzipped his pants, the sound making Sofia freeze. His hands grabbed her thighs, pulling her closer. Her panic filled the air.

And still, Damien hesitated.

Just for a second.

Because this...

This was not how he had imagined it.

Not with her.

Not the girl he grew up with.

Not the girl who used to follow him everywhere.

Not the girl whose smile once softened him more than he ever admitted.

He once thought that if this day ever came...

He would make love to her... worship her... adore her... But he pushed those thoughts down, letting anger crush every lingering spark of affection.

He slammed her head into the pillow and leaned close to her ear.

"You are my slave," he growled. "And you will perform your duty. Your body belongs to me now. If you don’t want this, now is your chance to tell me to stop, or you keep quiet and behave like the slave that you are."

Sofia went numb. She did not fight; she did not scream. How could she fight a man she had already given her soul to years ago? She waited for the pain, her mind drifting to a time when his touch was her only comfort—when even the slightest brush of his hand would send a shiver of excitement, not fear, down her spine.

Damien’s chest tightened painfully at her silence. She was not even fighting. She was not even screaming. She was just... accepting her new fate.

For a tiny second, guilt stabbed him. His wolf whispered, "Please... be gentle with her..."

But he hardened himself again.

"Don’t move or speak," he warned.

He spread her legs, his breath unsteady against her skin. Sofia squeezed her eyes shut behind the cloth, her entire world narrowing down to the terrifying sound of his ragged breathing. When he grabbed her hips and pushed inside her, a sharp, broken gasp was ripped from her lungs.

It was not just the physical pain that shattered her—it was the betrayal of her body.

A part of her, a foolish, buried part, still recognized his scent. Her mind tried to flee, desperately reaching for a memory of the Damien she used to love. She tried to conjure the boy who had once held her hand so gently when she scraped her knee, the boy who had looked at her like she was something precious.

Vision blurred. Sofia closed her eyes and pretended it was the sky from that day Damien taught her how to ride a bike. Back then, he had held her steady so she wouldn’t fall.

"This can’t be him," she thought, a fresh wave of tears soaking into the blindfold.

She felt every ounce of his hatred in the way he gripped her, the way he moved with a cold, mechanical anger. She felt small. Discarded. Like a ghost haunting her own skin.

"You can’t be her," he snarled, his voice vibrating through her chest. "You can’t be Lola."

The mention of the name felt like a physical brand. Sofia wanted to scream that she was not Lola, that she was Sofia—the girl who had adored him, the girl who would have given him the world if he had only asked. But she remained silent, letting the darkness behind the blindfold consume her. She went into the quiet place deep inside her mind where he could not reach her.

Each movement from him felt like a door slamming shut on their past. She did not feel like a person anymore; she felt like a vessel for his grief and rage. The man above her was a stranger wearing the face of her first love.

But when her body responded against her will, Sofia felt sick. It felt like even her own skin was turning against her.

"This is what you wanted, right? Me? You wanted this!" he groaned, losing control.

Minutes passed—angry, rough, painful minutes—until Damien suddenly stopped.

He pulled out of her and sat back, breathing hard.

His chest heaved. His hands shook.

He stared at her shaking body on the bed...

...and shame punched him in the stomach.

What had he done?

He had not even finished. He could not.

His body refused to finish while she remained numb like that.

It disgusted him.

Not her.

Himself.

"Get out," he said coldly. His voice cracked, but he prayed she did not hear it. He craved to pull her to himself and comfort her... tell her he was sorry, but he held himself back.

Sofia removed the blindfold with trembling fingers. When she tried to stand, she collapsed. Damien’s breath caught for a moment, but he stayed silent.

He could not help her.

He would not.

Because if he did...

He might break out of this monster character completely. So he left the bed and quickly dressed back.

Through her blurred vision, she saw him sitting in the armchair, dressed again, sipping whiskey as if nothing had happened.

"What are you waiting for?" he said, his voice cold enough to burn. "Leave," he said again—because he needed her gone before the guilt swallowed him whole.

She noticed his gaze held no remorse—only anger, hatred, and a promise of more suffering to come. As if what she endured tonight was only the beginning.

She forced her shaking body upward, grabbed her gown, and slipped it over her shoulders. Every movement hurt. Every breath stung.

"Get out," he repeated.

She obeyed. She walked toward the door, ignoring the sharp pain between her thighs, ignoring the weight of humiliation crushing her chest. She felt his eyes burning into her back, but she did not stop.

She pushed the door open, stepped into the hallway—and the moment it closed behind her, her body gave out.

She collapsed, the world going dark as she lost consciousness.