A Forced Contract Marriage with the Devil novel Chapter 121

Chapter 121

“Shh…” he shushed me again, his voice barely a whisper, calm yet commanding as he drained the water from the tub. The sound of rushing water echoed in the tiled bathroom, oddly soothing in contrast to the storm inside me. He reached out with steady hands and made me stand up, my legs trembling beneath me. The cold air hit my skin like needles as he wrapped a thick, warm towel around my bruised, aching body with a gentleness that only confused me more..

He guided me to the ottoman, his hand firm on my lower back. I sat down, the plush fabric pressing against the back of my thighs, and he moved behind me, drying my dripping hair with slow, methodical strokes. Each motion was careful, almost reverent. My wet bandages clung to my skin, useless now, and he looked at them with a lost expression–as if trying to figure out what part of me to fix first.

“Are you here to ridicule me again? Are you here to say that I am nothing, a lowlife stray who doesn’t even know how to wash herself? That I am yours whether I want it or not?”

The words came out bitter and sharp, slicing through the thick silence. My voice cracked, but I kept speaking, my heart pounding with defiance and pain.

He wasn’t saying anything. Not a word. He only moved to the bed, his body tense. He had shed his jacket somewhere along the way, and now his white shirt clung to his chest, soaked and transparent in patches. He disappeared into the closet and returned moments later with a soft, grey dressing gown draped over his arm.

I stood up too fast, my elbow screaming in protest, and yanked it out of his hands with shaking fingers. I threw it on the floor like it burned me, frustration spilling over as tears gathered in my eyes. My voice shook with fury and despair. “I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP!”

He said nothing. Not even then. Just bent down, picked the gown off the floor, and walked closer, undeterred. He tugged gently on the towel, and I gasped as it dropped to the floor, pooling like a puddle around my feet. For a second, shame surged through me, but he didn’t leer or gawk. Instead, he covered my body with the dressing gown, carefully wrapping it around me, tying it from the front with deliberate precision–almost like he was shielding me from the world, from myself.

“Why did you come for me?” I asked, my voice small this time, fragile as he made me sit down again and resumed drying my hair with the towel, the fibers rough against my sore scalp.

stare

He let out a breath, quiet and tired, and stared at me for a minute–just stared, like he was searching for something on my face. I stared back, refusing to look away. My throat tightened. My vision blurred as tears welled up and spilled freely down my cheeks, warm and relentless. My chest heaved as if I couldn’t get enough air. I clutched the gown tightly, like it was the only thing holding me together, and finally looked down at my feet. I wanted all this to end. The pain. The

confusion. The humiliation.

“Why did you come for me, Alessandro?” I asked again, my voice trembling.

He didn’t answer. Instead, I felt him press a soft kiss to the top of my head, featherlight and fleeting. Then he turned and walked out of the room without a single word, leaving silence in his wake.

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