Three

Draven, 29

"She’s ready to have you, sir," Yasmin said behind me, her head bowed low.

I turned to her, the cigarette dangling from my lips as I held Hazel’s picture tightly in my hand.

Every corner of my room was adorned with her images. I needed to see her every damn day to remind myself of the promise I made. I had vowed not only to erase her killer from existence but to annihilate everyone who mattered to them. Every single person they held dear would be wiped out.

Satisfaction was supposed to consume me. I was supposed to breathe in peace, having fulfilled my promise, but the emptiness lingered.

"You had her fed?" I asked, my gaze still fixed on my pretty flower and her swollen belly. That picture was the last she sent to me.

Hazel had left Italy for Australia and sent this photo before she was gone. She never had the chance to cradle our child. She never felt the baby kick.

I turned away, placing the portrait back on the table and picking up my bourbon.

Yasmin, her face still glued to the floor, shifted uneasily on her feet. Her hands trembled as they clasped together.

"I asked a question, Yasmin," I growled, my fingers tightening around the glass as the news played in the background.

Don’t get me wrong—I hated the news. But for the past five days, it had been consumed with the story of Eira’s tragic wedding. Listening to it brought a twisted satisfaction, and in some way, I believed Hazel was listening too.

Eira Katz had lost everything. I made sure of it.

The thought of her suffering gave me a satisfaction I hadn’t felt in years. She had dared to seek happiness after stealing mine. She ripped the smile from my face and expected hers to last forever.

There was no way in heaven, Earth, or hell I would let that happen.

"No… no, sir," Yasmin stammered.

"No," I repeated, my fingers tightening further until the glass shattered in my hand, spilling its contents onto the floor.

Yasmin flinched, fear rippling through her at the suddenness of it. Her trembling grew so violent, I was sure she might soil herself any minute. Disgusting. It baffled me how so many of my staff failed to understand me.

Yasmin had been with me for two years, yet she still shook like a leaf every single day.

"Shall I tend to your wound, sir?" she asked, her gaze darting to my bleeding hand.

I stood and walked toward her, ignoring her question. "Go now. I want to watch you feed her."

Before I finished, Yasmin bolted from the room, and I followed closely, disregarding the sting in my hand from the broken glass.

We turned left, heading toward the room at the far end of the mansion. Yasmin opened the door and stepped inside, holding it for me.

I entered and saw Eira screaming at the top of her lungs at one of the maids, who begged her to eat so they wouldn’t have to bear the consequences of her defiance.

The moment my presence registered, they all fell silent and bowed.

She was already out of that disgusting wedding dress, her body scrubbed clean. To an outsider, she looked untouched by the torment she had endured.

I smirked, admiring the flawless sheen of her skin. That, too, was about to change.

"You all leave," I commanded, and they hurriedly exited, all except Yasmin.

"Put the food before her," I ordered, but Eira’s venomous voice cut through the room.

"I won’t eat a single thing made by your filthy servants!" she spat, her eyes blazing with defiance as Yasmin attempted to present the plate.

I nodded and walked toward her. She knelt on the bed, her fiery gaze locked on mine, hatred radiating from her.

Oh, how I loved that.

"I told you I’d give you a chance for revenge," I said, my voice low and deliberate. "Can you do that without food?"

"I’ll fight you without your—"

She didn’t finish. My hand came down hard across her cheek, silencing her.

Yasmin quickly averted her gaze. I rarely laid a hand on anyone, but they all understood that I would inflict pain without hesitation if provoked.

Eira’s words died in her throat as she glared at me, her lips parted in shock, and in anger.

Yes. That look.

I was done playing chess with her. She would learn, the hard way, to submit.

"Eat," I commanded.

"You hit me? You hit me?" she asked, her voice trembling, tears threatening to spill before she bit her lip to hold them back.

I laughed humorlessly at her absurd question. "Don't be stupid Agent, I don't care who you're." I said, stepping closer as she instinctively backed away. "Now eat."

To my surprise, she didn’t resist. The woman who hadn’t hesitated to pull the trigger on my Hazel two years ago was now subdued.

Why wasn’t she fighting back?

I had watched her closely for years, pretending to be someone she wasn’t. That pathetic charade of seeking happiness, redemption—after committing the ultimate sin against me.

She picked up the spoon and began to eat, her body trembling with every bite. Yasmin stood silently, observing.

After a few bites, I lost patience.

"Take it away from her now," I ordered, and Yasmin quickly complied, gathering the items and exiting the room.

Now, it was time—not just to punish her, but to break her. Completely.

I would shatter her spirit and rebuild it in my image. She would fight at first, but eventually, she would submit. She would worship me, call me her goddamn Lord.

I would be her destruction and her salvation. Her darkness and her light. I would show her what true devastation looked like and mold her into obedience. The rule was simple: two broken pieces must come together as one. But I would never let her become part of me. She would be mine—my slave.

"What now?" she barked, but I could hear the fear beneath her defiance.

I leaned closer, my voice a low growl. "Strip."

Her face snapped toward mine, her lips trembling. "What?"

I nodded, amused at her disbelief.

Raising my hand, I struck her again, this time harder.

She cried out, her hands flying to her cheek.

"I’d love nothing more than to break every single bone in your body," I roared, my fists clenched as I watched her whimper. "Now, strip!"