97
Dorian POV
I walk out of the airport, and on a nearby billboard, I see Harry.
It's an ad. Some ridiculous energy drink campaign. I've been seeing more of him lately—more than I'd like. Not as often as Ivan, but enough for the scar on my forehead to sting with every smug photo.
How is he getting these jobs?
The thought has been clawing at me. Gnawing. I've had a suspicion, one I can't shake.
I don't go to my apartment. I tell the driver to take me to the one Harry stays in. The one I gave him.
When I unlock the door and step inside, he's there. On the couch. Alive, well-fed, glowing in a way that irritates every nerve in my body.
"You've been busy," I say, circling the counter like a predator.
"New ads. New jobs. Got yourself a sponsor, huh?"
He scoffs. Doesn't even look up from his phone.
"Contrary to what you think, I'm actually talented," he says flatly.
"Ha. Talking back now, I see." My jaw tightens. My fists curl.
"Remember, I took you off the streets. If it hadn't been for me, you'd have rotted out there. And now you're talking back?"
"You also took me off the streets with promises," he snaps, standing now. "You said I'd be a star."
This fame has gotten to his head. The sparkle in his eyes, the steel in his spine—I don't like it.
I grab his arm, roughly, yanking him toward the bedroom.
He struggles. "Let me go—"
But I push him down on the bed and begin to unbuckle my belt.
"I can't—I have work tomorrow!" he protests, scrambling back, but I snatch at his leg, dragging him closer.
"You forget your place," I growl. "You're just a hole for me to use. That's all you've ever been."
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Harry POV
It hurts.
It fucking hurts.
"Let me go!!!" I scream, but my voice bounces off the walls like it's nothing.
He's over me. Angry. Unyielding. His belt undone. I freeze, my body going limp like it used to. That awful instinct to survive by silence.
But this time—
This time, I remember.
I remember Ivan's voice:
"Remember, Harry. No one owns you. You fight. The only power they have is what you give them. Claw. Scream. Run. Don't fall back into that hole—I saw you once, and you were barely human."
I remember the bruises I used to hide. The deadness in my own eyes. The nights I spent waiting for someone who never loved me, just used me.
I remember how I begged for scraps and mistook it for love.
Not anymore.
I start to fight.
Not with hesitation, not with hope—but with rage.
I scream, I kick. I writhe under him with every ounce of strength I have. My hand scrambles along the nightstand until it finds something—anything. My fingers wrap around a heavy glass object and I swing it as hard as I can.
It hits his head with a dull, ugly crack.
He stumbles back, cursing, stunned.
I don't wait.
I run.
I leap from the bed, sprinting through the living room. I don't grab anything. No coat, no phone. Just the clothes on my back and my will to survive.
Behind me, Dorian screams my name. Threatens. Pleads. I don't stop.
I run down the stairwell.
And into the night.
And this time—I'm not looking back.