Alexia – POV
I woke up sore.
Not tired. Not lazy. Sore.
It was the kind of soreness that reminded you of every second you'd rather forget. A deep, pulsing ache between my thighs that throbbed with each small movement—like a cruel echo of his dominance still embedded in me.
I blinked slowly, adjusting to the soft light bleeding through the curtains. For a moment, I didn't even realize I was in bed. My memory came back in pieces—the jar of water, his voice, the mirror. The feel of his hands on my hips. His eyes. The rage in them.
My body twitched.
I could still feel him. Inside me. Even though he wasn't here.
I forced myself to sit up, wincing at the sharp pull in my core. My legs trembled as they slid over the side of the bed, and I stood slowly—carefully. My knees nearly buckled under the weight of everything, not just the physical. The humiliation. The fear. The guilt I refused to let grow roots.
He hated me. And I… didn't blame him.
