Days bled into each other. Time losing its meaning on this godforsaken island. Each morning began the same-waking to the intrusive reminder of his ownership, and each night ended with him claiming me in ways that left my body trembling and my mind fractured.
Judas was relentless, yet… he was something else entirely. More ruthless, yes, but also gentler. It was a dichotomy I couldn’t reconcile. He’d bathe me with meticulous care, clothe me in silks too fine for someone who felt like a shattered doll, cook meals as if he were feeding a queen, and spoon-feed me even when I clenched my teeth in refusal.
It was maddening, this man who had once been pure cruelty, now wielding tenderness like a weapon. A paradox wrapped in dark intent, yet somehow… softer at the edges.
And I hated him for it.
But more than that, I hated myself. For the way my heart clenched when he pressed a kiss to my forehead after he’d destroyed me. For the way my chest felt too tight when his arms cradled me as if I were something fragile, something worth holding onto.
Judas wasn’t the man who had dragged me here. No, that man was a storm, wild and uncontrollable. This Judas was something worse. A quiet sea with depths I couldn’t fathom. He restrained himself now, no longer lashing out in anger or using force to get his way. He didn’t need to. I had become compliant, a prisoner not just of this island but of him, of his words, his touch, his presence.
And it broke me.
Some nights, the tears would come, silent and searing, burning a path down my cheeks as I lay in his arms. Not from the pain he inflicted, but from the confusion, the overwhelming storm of emotions I couldn’t name. The anger, the longing, the shame, the terrifying ache of something more.
He’d notice, of course. He always did. His hand would brush the hair from my face, his lips grazing my temple as he whispered in Russian-soft, unintelligible words that carried a strange warmth. I didn’t understand the language, but I understood the weight of them. The gentleness. The sincerity.
And that was my breaking point.
Because it wasn’t his ruthlessness that shattered me-it was his kindness. The way he saw through the walls I tried to build. The way he gave me no choice but to feel when all I wanted was to be numb.
Judas was a contradiction, and I was caught in the centre of it, drowning.
I didn’t know who I was anymore. The girl who had come here would have fought, would have screamed and clawed and spat in his face. But now… I didn’t recognize the woman who stared back at me in the mirror. Her eyes were hollow, her spirit bent but not broken.
Not yet.
Somewhere in the depths of my mayhem, a thought surfaced like a poison. Was I… feeling something for him? Or was this just another layer of his control, another way he had managed to own me completely?
But then, did it matter?
Because whether it was attraction or something darker, it consumed me just the same.
“You’re just my slut.” He had said it with the cold indifference of a man who knew his power, who reveled in my submission.
And yet, there were no morning-after pills, no measures to ensure there would be no consequences to the nights he claimed me. It was terrifying that he had stopped giving me that power. He’d take, and take more.
I knew what it meant-what he might be trying to do. And still, I clung to the fragile hope that he wouldn’t. That despite everything, Judas wouldn’t cross that line. He was a monster, yes, but even monsters had limits. Didn’t they?
But the growing dread in my chest told me otherwise.
At first, I dismissed it. The idea was too ludicrous to entertain. He wouldn’t dare. But as the days went on, the signs began to gnaw at me. A wave of nausea that hit me one morning, leaving me doubled over and clutching my stomach. The sudden, inexplicable exhaustion that made my limbs feel heavy, my mind foggy. The tightness in my chest every time I thought of the possibility.
I told myself it was just the stress, the trauma. My body was reacting to the hell I was living through. And yet… somewhere deep down, I was afraid.
The thought rattled me to my core. If it were true, if Judas had done this, what would it mean? Would he care? Would he even acknowledge it? Or would he use it as just another chain to bind me, another way to claim me as his forever?
The man who bathed me with care, who whispered soft words in a language I didn’t understand, who kissed my forehead as though I were something precious-was he capable of such cruelty? Or was I the fool for ever thinking he wasn’t?
No.
I shook my head. Clutching the damn jacket closer to my chest as I stared at the bowl of soup.
It didn’t help that he was sitting just beside me.
It scared me.
I couldn’t be… carrying his child, right?
“Eat, ptichka.”
His deep husky voice shook me and I managed to glance up at him. Pale eyes stared back at me, as if he were already looking at me.
“I’m not hungry,” I finally whispered.
Judas’s brow arched ever so slightly, a small flicker of annoyance-or was it amusement?-crossing his features. “You’ve barely eaten all day.”
The way he said it, soft but edged with steel, sent a shiver down my spine.
“I said I’m not hungry,” I repeated, firmer this time, though my hands trembled as I set the spoon down.
His gaze dropped to the motion, his lips curling into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned closer.
“Not hungry,” he murmured. “Or there’s something going on in your head?”
My heart stopped. Would he understand me if I say it? Would he… feel what I feel?
“I…” My voice faltered, barely a whisper, and I hated myself for the vulnerability that crept in.
His gaze sharpened, and he tilted his head slightly, studying me as though I were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. “Speak, ptichka.”
The command was quiet, but it carried the weight of certainty, a pull I couldn’t resist no matter how much I wanted to.
“I… might be pregnant.”