Chapter 96 - 0096: Keep It As A Souvenir

Chapter 96: Chapter 0096: Keep It As A Souvenir

Elena’s Point Of View

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The shame burned hotter than fire, licking up my throat, scalding my skin. I hated saying it out loud. I hated admitting that I had let my pain drive me into the arms of a predator. But it was the god’s honest truth, and truth, I was learning, tasted like ash.

"I would never come to you," I whispered, my voice dripping with pure, unadulterated venom. "Not in a million years. Not if you were the last man on this earth."

He stood there, towering over me while I sat pinned on the table, completely silent. His stare was heavy, suffocating, utterly unbothered by my outburst. He didn’t need words; his silence mocked me, as though he were already dissecting me, carving the painful truth out of my ribs piece by piece.

"You might know how to..." My voice broke, bile rising in my throat. I forced the disgusting words out like poison. "...how to pleasure me with your hands. You might know how to make me scream until I forget my own name for twenty minutes in a locked room. But that doesn’t change a damn thing, Jaxx. That doesn’t change the fact that I hate you. Do you hear me? I hate you!"

The word ripped from my throat... raw, ragged, bleeding.

My chest rose and fell rapidly, every single breath a desperate struggle against drowning in my own misery. For a fraction of a second... just a single heartbeat, Jaxx’s smirk faltered. His dark eyes darkened further, a spark of real, dangerous tension flaring in his jaw, and for that single heartbeat I thought I glimpsed something almost human beneath the arrogance, some fracture in the armor he wore so effortlessly.

But then, almost instantly, the cruel line returned to his lips, sharper than before, and whatever I’d glimpsed vanished as if it had never existed at all.

"I know I’m no saint, Bambina," Jaxx murmured, his voice dropping into a raspy, gravelly purr that vibrated right through the mahogany table beneath me. He stepped closer, crowding me until his chest pressed against mine, his large hands coming up to trap my waist. "I never claimed to be the hero in your pathetic little story. I’m a bastard. I’m selfish. I take what I want, when I want it."

He leaned down, his eyes locked onto mine like iron grips.

"But at least I don’t lie to you," he hissed softly. "At least when I put my hands on you, I look at you. I see you. I don’t pretend you’re someone else. I don’t use you as a corporate prop."

His thumb dug firm into the side of my hip, anchoring me to him. "You’re hurting yourself, Elena. You’re staying in that cold, lifeless house, letting that pathetic excuse of a man treat you like garbage, just to prove a point to a mother who doesn’t care and a society that will replace you tomorrow. Stop hurting yourself!"

"Don’t you dare talk about my life like it’s some bargain-bin drama!" I yelled back, tears finally spilling over my lashes, hot and angry against my burning cheeks. "You talk as if my life is just a gamble to you! ’Leave Graham and come to me!’ As if swapping one arrogant asshole for another is supposed to save me?! You’re no better than him, Jaxx! You just use different weapons!"

"I’m telling you to take what you actually want!" Jaxx growled, his low voice suddenly carrying a terrifying, authoritative snap that cut right through my screaming. "You want out! You’ve wanted out for two years! You’re just too much of a coward to burn the house down yourself!"

"I am not a coward!"

"Then prove it!" he challenged, dangling the black lace right in front of my face again, his smirk widening into a lethal dare. "Walk out those doors, throw that ring in his face, and tell him it’s over. Not for me. For you."

"No!" I screamed.

The fury inside me ignited like gasoline hit by a match. I couldn’t take his voice anymore. I couldn’t take the smell of his cologne, the heat of his skin, or the terrifying truth laced into his words. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to run, to fight, to do anything but stand there and let him keep peeling back my carefully constructed layers.

Before I even registered what I was doing, both of my palms slammed violently against his chest. "GET AWAY FROM ME!"

I shoved him with every single ounce of rage, strength, shame, and pure loathing funneling through my trembling arms.

He stumbled back a step... not because my push had actually overpowered his massive frame, but because he let me. Because he wanted me to feel like I had some illusion of control left. That infuriating smirk lingered on his face like a physical scar.

"There she is," he whispered tauntingly, brushing his jacket flat with one hand. "There’s the wild cat."

My hands trembled so violently I could barely manage the simple action as I frantically yanked my emerald silk dress back into place, smoothing down fabric that felt dirty, fabric that felt like it would never be clean again.

My hair hung in messy, tangled dark waves around my face, a chaotic halo of my absolute humiliation. I shoved it back behind my ears with stiff, shaking fingers, distantly aware of how wrecked I must look, how far from the composed woman who had walked into this suite less than an hour ago.

That woman felt like a stranger now, someone I’d left behind on the lounger along with my dignity.

I slid off the wooden dressing table, my knees instantly feeling like liquid jelly. My heart was hammering a terrifying rhythm against my ribs, but I forced my spine to go rigid. I forced my chin to lift.

Each step toward the heavy suite door felt like trudging through waist-deep quicksand, but I kept going. I had to. If I stayed in this room for one more minute, I would completely shatter into a thousand unfixable pieces right in front of him, and I refused... absolutely refused, to give him that.

At the threshold, I stopped.

My back straightened, stiff and sharp with pure defiance, even though my legs felt ready to fold beneath me at any second. My hands clenched into fists at my sides so tightly that my manicured nails bit half-moons deep into my palms, drawing tiny pinpricks of blood.

I didn’t dare look back. I didn’t turn around to face the dark, predatory storm in his eyes... I knew that if I looked at him right now, it would gut me completely, would undo every last thread of resolve I had left to hold myself together.

"You can keep the panties," I said.

Each word was ice. Cold, clipped, cutting through the suffocating quiet of the room like heavy glass snapping under immense pressure. My voice didn’t tremble. Not once. Not on a single syllable.

That was the only victory I had left, the tiny piece of pride I clung to with white knuckles as my chest heaved against the cage of my ribs.

"Keep them as a souvenir," I added, my tone dead and hollow. "Because that is the closest you will ever get to having me again."

Then, I turned the brass handle and walked out.

His silence followed me... sharper than any steel blade, louder than his footsteps, louder than the lingering echo of his mocking chuckles still ghosting around my ears. It pressed heavily against my spine, chasing me down the quiet, carpeted corridor like an inescapable phantom.

I could feel his gaze burning invisible holes right between my shoulder blades, watching me retreat, and some traitorous part of me almost turned around just to see if he was still standing there, still watching.

My legs betrayed me with every yard I gained. My knees buckled, trembling violently, threatening to fold with every heavy step I took. But pride... bitter, stubborn, desperate pride, shoved steel through my bones. It forced me upright. It forced my chin high.

I will not give him the satisfaction of watching me crumble. Not here. Not now.

Each step was a war against my own body. The long hotel corridor seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance, the mirrored walls closing in around me, throwing back fractured glimpses of a woman I barely recognized - hollow-eyed, disheveled, undone.

The suffocating silence amplified every frantic, erratic beat of my damaged heart. My breaths came in ragged, sharp gasps, but I forced my jaw shut and swallowed the heavy sob clawing its way up my throat.

Finally, I turned the corner... completely out of sight, far out of his reach.

The moment the suite door was no longer visible, my body surrendered. The steel in my spine vanished. I slumped heavily against the cold, wallpapered wall, my shoulder dragging along the surface as I slid down, down, down, until the carpeted floor caught my collapsed weight.

My chest caved in with a violent shudder. The tears I had dammed up behind my eyes burst free in a flood... hot, scalding, and relentless, streaking dark paths down my face, ruining my makeup.

My hands shook uncontrollably as I brought them to my mouth, desperately trying to smother the humiliating sounds, but the sobs ripped through anyway. Raw. Broken. Tearing my insides apart piece by piece.

"It hurts," I choked out into the empty hallway, clutching my stomach tightly with both arms as if I could physically hold my shattered body together. My forehead pressed hard against my pulled-up knees, my breath hitching in ragged, agonized gasps.

"God... it hurts so bad..."

The words spilled out of me unbidden... a pathetic mantra, a broken plea whispered directly into the quiet shadows of the empty hall.

"Please make it stop... somebody just make it stop..."

But only the cold, heavy silence of the corridor answered me back. Merciless. Uncaring.

And right there, huddled on the floor in an emerald dress with bare skin beneath, surrounded by nothing but marble and shadow and the wreckage of everything I’d tried to hold together, I completely broke.