The Scorned Luna-Chapter 27: Suicide

The room fell into a suffocating silence the moment he pulled away.

Damien stepped back like he had been burned.

For a moment, he just stood there, his chest rising and falling hard, his hands clenched into fists. His face was unreadable. Not rage. Not satisfaction.

Something else.

Something darker.

Sofia slid down slowly, her back against the bedpost, her legs giving out beneath her. Her wrists were still bound. Her body felt heavy. Numb. Her chest hurt in a way she couldn’t explain.

Her eyes stared at nothing as shame wrapped itself around her like chains.

Why did my body react?

Why didn’t I fight harder?

What is wrong with me?

Damien turned his back to her.

For a second, it looked like he wanted to say something.

Anything.

But no words came.

Instead, he reached for his clothes and pulled them on roughly, like he was angry at the very air around him.

He yanked the silk tie loose from her wrists—not gently, not cruelly—just fast. Then he stepped away again, putting distance between them like he needed it to breathe.

"Clean yourself," he ordered. "And get the fuck out before I return."

His voice echoed through the room before he shoved the door open and stormed out.

Left alone, Sofia stared at her wretched body and sighed. This was supposed to be a punishment, but why did she... enjoy it?

"Pathetic," she whispered.

Maybe... she thought it was because, deep down—even through all this—a part of her, a stupid part of her, still had feelings for him.

Slowly, ignoring the ache between her thighs, she swung her legs down from the bed. She gathered her clothes from the floor with shaking hands and dressed in silence.

She was about to leave when her eyes caught the bottles of dry gin lined neatly on the minibar. Without giving it a second thought, she went over and took three bottles of the strong gin. She had no idea why she was doing it. Maybe she just wanted to drink herself to death.

Carefully, she hid them under her dress and ran out of Damien’s room.

When she reached the small room she lived in, she locked the door behind her and sank down onto the floor. Without hesitation, she uncorked the first bottle and swallowed a large mouthful.

The harsh burn made her wince, her face twisting—but she didn’t stop. She gulped again and again, nearly choking as the liquid burned its way down her throat.

By the time the first bottle was empty, her hands were shaking.

She opened the second.

Halfway through it, the world tilted.

The room spun violently.

Sofia blinked hard, trying to clear her vision, but everything felt slow and heavy. The bottle was still in her hand. Half-empty. Her fingers were numb.

She pushed herself up unsteadily.

Her legs barely held her weight, but she forced them to move. Step by step, she walked toward the window.

The night air brushed her face as she opened it.

She climbed up and sat on the ledge, the bottle hanging loosely from her fingers. Her legs dangled freely in the air.

Five floors down.

One fall.

That was all it would take to end her life.

She let out a weak laugh and took another drink.

"So easy," she murmured. "Just one step."

Her body felt tired. Her heart felt empty.

Maybe this was better.

Below her, a maid carrying laundry looked up by chance.

Her eyes widened.

"Help!" the maid screamed. "Someone help!"

The alarm spread fast.

Voices rose.

Footsteps thundered.

Down the hall, Damien was giving instructions to a guard when he heard the shouting.

His heart dropped.

"What’s going on?" he demanded.

"She’s at the window!" someone yelled. "Sofia!"

Damien didn’t think.

He ran.

When he reached the courtyard and looked up, his blood turned cold.

Sofia.

Sitting on the ledge.

Drinking.

Swinging her legs like it meant nothing.

"Sofia!" he shouted. "Get down!"

She turned her head slowly and smiled at him.

A sad, broken smile.

"You’re too late," she said softly.

She shifted her weight.

Just slightly.

Damien’s chest tightened with fear.

"No!" he yelled, already running toward the stairs. "Don’t move!"

She laughed again and crouched like she was about to jump.

That was when Damien lost it.

He took the stairs two at a time, burst down the hallway, and slammed into her door.

It was locked.

"Open this door!" he roared.

No answer.

He stepped back and kicked it open with all his strength.

The door flew off its hinges.

Sofia turned slowly to face him, the bottle still in her hand.

"Come closer," she said weakly. "And I jump."

Damien froze.

"What do you think you are doing?" Damien’s voice cracked, vibrating with a mix of fear and panic.

Sofia let out a bitter, jagged chuckle. She turned her head slowly, her eyes swimming with a depth of pain that made his stomach turn.

"What does it look like I’m doing, Damien?"

"Stop it," he urged, his tone shifting into a desperate, frustrated growl. "Sofia, come down from there. Now."

"And why should I do that?" she scoffed, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. "Dying is the only way I will finally be at rest."

Damien shook his head, his palms slick with sweat and his heart thudding against his ribs like a trapped animal. He was paralyzed, caught in a surge of anxiety he didn’t understand.

"I killed your precious Lola," she said, her voice dropping to a haunting whisper. "I’m the monster. So why don’t I just die? That’s the best solution for everyone, isn’t it?"

"No!" Damien shouted, the word torn from his throat.

A victorious, broken smile spread across her face, and he realized with a jolt of horror that she was serious.

"You’ve lost, Damien. You’ve lost your game," she whispered, turning her gaze back to the empty abyss below. "Watch this..."

Before she could shift her weight into the air, Damien lunged.

He moved with predatory speed, his arms wrapping around her waist just as her feet left the stone ledge. They collided with a force that knocked the wind out of both of them, crashing back onto the hard floor of the small room in a whirlwind of limbs and silk.

He held her with a crushing grip, his heart pounding in sync with hers. He refused to let go, terrified that if he loosened his hold by even an inch, she would vanish.

"Let me go!" Sofia screamed, her voice raw as it echoed off the narrow walls. "Let me end this!"

But he couldn’t.

The mere thought of her body broken on the pavement below sent a physical ache through his chest. Sofia thrashed against him, her movements desperate and frantic.

"Please, Damien," she sobbed, tears finally spilling over. "Just let me go."

Frustrated and acting on pure, panicked instinct, Damien flipped her over, pinning her back against the floor. He caught her wrists—the skin still red from the silk ties earlier—and pinned them above her head.

"I won’t let you die! Do you hear me?" he roared, staring directly into her tear-filled eyes. "You have no right to die, Sofia. You are mine. I am the only one who has the right to decide your fate. No one else takes your life—not even you!"

"Just let me die," she pleaded, her body sagging beneath him. "What do you gain by keeping me? You hate me. Just kill me and end it."

"I won’t!"

"I want to die! I can’t live like this!" she shrieked, struggling again.

Driven by a volatile mix of fury and a desire he couldn’t suppress, Damien leaned down and slammed his lips against hers.

Sofia fought him at first, her head twisting away, but he was relentless, forcing his way into the kiss until her resistance crumbled.

It was a kiss born of chaos—rough, passionate, and desperate.

He poured every ounce of his confusion and fear into it. As he felt her relax, he shifted his weight, his hand moving to her body, seeking the heat he had tried so hard to pretend he didn’t crave.

The air in the room turned thick.

Every touch was a contradiction. He was her captor, yet he was the one being held captive by the way she moaned against his mouth. He focused entirely on her, his fingers tracing her skin, grounding her to the world of the living through a haze of pleasure and pain.

When she finally reached her breaking point, her body arching and a loud moan escaping her lips, Damien pulled back just enough to look at her.

They stared at each other, breathing hard.

In Sofia’s eyes, Damien saw a haunting mirror of his own confusion and unwanted desire.

He wanted to kiss her again, to lose himself in her until the guilt faded—but the sound of the door creaking further open snapped them out of it.

A maid stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock.

"Goodness... apologies, Alpha," she stammered before backing out and running as quickly as she could.

Damien let out a low grunt and pulled away, standing up and smoothing his clothes.

The silence between them was heavy. Suffocating.

He looked down at Sofia, who remained on the floor, her expression blank and hollow.

"This should not repeat itself," he warned, his voice regaining its cold, authoritative edge.

Sofia didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at him.

Damien ran a hand through his hair, his mind a storm of conflicting thoughts. He was supposed to hate her—yet the thought of her death had nearly destroyed him.

"Come with me," he ordered, pulling her to her feet.