Chapter 7

ISLA

The day had dragged on in a haze, each hour a heavy weight that seemed to settle on my chest. The sting of Oliver's actions earlier that morning still burned-he had taken everything from me, made me feel small and powerless.

I couldn't stop replaying the look in his eyes when he'd locked my social media accounts, deleted all my contacts and dismissed my panic as if I were nothing more than an inconvenience.

It was all too much to bear.

So, in an attempt to regain some semblance of control, I decided to cook. It was a simple act, really, but it was mine. I moved through the motions, chopping vegetables, stirring the pot, trying to lose myself in the rhythm of it all.

The heat from the stove was comforting, grounding me in a way that nothing else could.

That was until I heard his footsteps. Slow, deliberate, the kind that made my pulse spike in my throat.

Without even turning, I knew it was him. Oliver. Always lurking, always watching.

I didn't react when his hand brushed against my back.

I flinched anyway, but l didn't pull away, not really. His fingers found my arm, gripping it possessively, and before I could do anything, he pulled me closer, his body pressing into mine.

"Isla," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. I couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down my spine. I hated how easily he had this effect on me.

His other hand slid up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and then his fingers traced along my jaw. His touch was light, but there was a possessiveness in the way he did it-like he owned every inch of me.

I tried to pull back, but it was useless. His grip tightened, forcing my head to turn so that I met his gaze. His eyes-dark, predatory-locked onto mine, and for a moment, I was frozen.

Before I could gather the strength to fight him off, his lips were on mine, hard, insistent, bruising.

His tongue slid into my mouth, dominating my lips, sucking out the air from my lungs and filling it up with his.

I pushed against his chest, trying to break free, but he only deepened the kiss, his body pressing harder into mine. There was no room for me in this. It was all about him, about his power.

When he finally pulled away, I gasped for air, my heart racing. I was trembling, but l couldn't let him see it.

"Don't ever touch me," | hissed, my voice shaky but defiant.

He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, as if I were nothing more than a fleeting distraction. "You're going to learn, Isla," he said softly, almost too calmly. "You won't be able to resist me forever. Soon, you'll want me.”

I could feel the threat behind his words, and I wanted to scream at him, to push him away, but instead, I stood there, my hands clenched into fists. His words hung in the air, chilling me to the bone.

He didn't even wait for a response. He just walked away, his footsteps echoing in the quiet room. I was left standing there, breathless, my heart still racing in my chest.

I tried to steady myself, to regain some semblance of control, but my hands were shaking.

The food... I had to finish dinner. I had to do something, anything, to forget the feeling of his hands on me, the taste of him on my lips.

Dinner was ready by the time he returned.

I placed the plates on the table in front of him, trying to keep my hands steady, trying not to look at him too much. I couldn't let him see how much his touch had affected me.

Oliver didn't even look up as he picked up his fork. I stood by the counter, watching him take a bite. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, and

But then, the tension in the room snapped when Oliver stood up, his eyes burning with fury. His voice was cold, each word deliberate as he condemned my cooking. “What the hell is this?” he spat, the accusation hanging in the air like a dark cloud.

I froze, fear creeping up my spine. “What do you mean?” I asked, my voice small, but the knot in my stomach was tight, suffocating.

Oliver’s eyes narrowed as he glared at me, his lips curling into a sneer. “This tastes like you dumped an entire jar of salt in it. Did you do this on purpose?”

My heart raced as panic swirled inside me. “No! I swear, I didn’t mean to!” My hands trembled as I tried to salvage some dignity, reaching for my own fork to take a bite, but it tasted just as bad as it looked.

How did I end up preparing this? I must have been overthinking when I added the salt.

Oh my God! Oliver wouldn’t believe me if I say it was a honest mistake.

His voice was a sharp knife, cutting through my words. “You really think I’m that stupid, Isla?” His gaze burned into mine as if he could see right through me.

“I wasn’t—” I began, but before I could finish, he slammed his hands onto the table, leaning forward with a menacing growl.

“Trying to get back at me for deleting your contacts and social media accounts? Is this some petty little act of revenge?” he thundered.

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “No. It wasn’t like that, I swear—”

But he wasn’t listening. He was already moving, his chair scraping harshly against the floor as he stood up, his anger radiating off him in waves. Before I could even react, he grabbed my arm with an iron grip, pulling me toward the door.

“What are you—” I gasped, trying to yank away, but his hold was unrelenting.

“You think you can disobey me and get away with it?” he snarled. His fingers dug into my skin as he dragged me toward the door, and I stumbled, panic rising in my chest. “You’re going outside. Now.”

“No, Oliver, please! I didn’t mean it!” My voice cracked as I struggled against him, my feet sliding on the floor as I tried to break free. I kicked, tried to slap his hand away, but he was too strong, too furious. His grip only tightened, dragging me across the room with ease.

“Don’t fight me,” he growled, his voice low and threatening. But I couldn’t stop myself. My heart pounded in my ears, and adrenaline flooded my veins. I clawed at his hand, screamed as loud as I could, but my voice was swallowed by his fury.

“Let me go!” I screamed, my body thrashing in a desperate attempt to break free. “You can’t do this to me! Stop!”

But Oliver didn’t stop. He shoved me out the door with force, sending me stumbling into the cold, harsh rain. The water hit me like a slap in the face, cold and unforgiving, drenching me within seconds. I gasped, shivering as the shock of the cold flooded my body.

I fought harder now, desperate to get back inside. “No! You can’t just leave me out here!” My voice was raw with anger and fear. I dug my heels into the ground, pushing against him, trying to break free, but it was useless. He was too strong.

“Stop, Isla,” he snarled, his voice dangerous. “You’ll stand out here until you learn some respect.”

“Please, just let me back in!” My hands slapped against his chest, my body shaking with fury and helplessness. The rain soaked through my clothes, the chill creeping into my bones, but it wasn’t the cold that made me tremble—it was the humiliation, the helplessness.

Oliver’s grip tightened, forcing me toward the front steps. “I told you to stop,” he growled, and with one last push, he shoved me further out into the downpour.

I stumbled back, my voice rising in a scream. “You can’t treat me like this! I’m not your property!”

But Oliver didn’t care. His expression was cold, his eyes filled with contempt. He reached for the door and slammed it shut with a resounding thud. I heard the click of the lock, and it felt like the final blow.

I stood there, soaked to the bone, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I wanted to fight him, wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, but I was alone now, locked out in the rain.

My body shook, not from the cold, but from the realization that I meant nothing to him. Nothing but a source of anger, a plaything for his whims. And as the rain beat down on me, I knew that no matter how much I screamed or fought, I would never be able to break free from him.