CHAPTER 65
**WINTER**
I can't just stand here, paralyzed by fear. I have to do something, anything... "Look, I..." My voice trembles, the words catching in my throat as a sob threatens to break free.
"Shut the fuck up!" His voice cuts through the air, harsh and violent, filled with deep, seething anger that sends a shockwave through me. It reverberates inside me like a second heartbeat, leaving me frozen in place.
Why can't I move?
Why don't I fight back?
"W-who are you? W-what do you want?" I stutter, my voice barely more than a whisper. My mind is racing, trying to place the voice, but it’s shrouded in darkness, just like the room around me.
His response is nothing but a low, menacing chuckle. "You don’t know?" The question is more of a sneer, dripping with contempt.
I shake my head, trying to focus, but my mind is a blur. My thoughts are so hazy from fear that I can't think straight—I’m just blank, completely lost in the terror of the moment.
“I... I don’t,” I stammer again, my voice trembling as I search desperately for some clue, some understanding of what’s happening. But there’s nothing—just darkness and his cruel grip tightening around my throat.
His laugh is cold and devoid of any humor.
“You really don’t have a clue, do you?” he taunts, leaning in closer until I can feel his breath on my skin.
"Pathetic."
Panic claws at my insides, but I can’t bring myself to say anything more. All I can do is shake my head again, hoping against hope that this nightmare will end.
His hand shifts, sliding up to circle my throat. He tightens his grip, just enough to make my breath hitch, as if testing how much pressure it would take to silence me completely.
The sensation is terrifying, making it impossible to focus on anything else. My mind races-Is he going to strangle me? Hurt me? The warmth of his touch is a cruel contrast to the cold terror seizing my body, and I flinch as his nose grazes my cheek. He inhales deeply, as though he's taking in my scent, and the intimacy of the gesture makes my skin crawl.
His grip tightens, cutting off my air, and instinctively, I raise my hands, clawing at his wrist in a desperate attempt to free myself. But it's useless- he swats my hands away like they're nothing more than an inconvenience, his fingers digging harder into my throat. The message is clear: he's in control, and there's nothing I can do to change that.
Defeated, I let my hands fall limply to my sides, my lungs screaming for oxygen as I struggled not to fight back, knowing it would only make things worse.
After what feels like an eternity, his grip loosens, and I suck in a ragged breath, my chest heaving against his solid frame with each desperate gulp of air. The small mercy of being able to breathe again does little to ease the terror coursing through me, but I'm too afraid to move, too afraid to provoke him further.
The seconds drag on, each one stretching into eternity as I stand there, trembling with fear. My throat aches from the pressure of his grip, and my knees threaten to buckle beneath me, but somehow, I force myself to stay upright. The darkness presses in around us, suffocating, as he finally breaks the silence.
"You're such a good actress," he says, his voice unsettlingly calm now, as if he's regained control. "I've been watching you since you got here, acting all sweet and innocent... Ah. Fuck! Why do you smell so sweet?"
The sharp scent of alcohol wafts over me, mingling with his words, making my stomach churn. Somewhere through the fog of fear clouding my mind, I realize his voice sounds familiar. There's something about it that tugs at the edges of my memory, like a thread waiting to be pulled, but I can't quite grasp it. I can't connect a face to this menacing tone.
Desperate for answers, I manage to croak out a single word, "i don't know what....." But before I can finish, his hand tightens around my throat, cutting me off with brutal efficiency.
"I said, shut the fuck up!" he snarls, his breath hot and foul against my face. The words vibrate with anger, each one laced with a venom that makes my skin crawl. He shoves me hard against the wall, and my head slams into it with a sickening thud. Pain explodes behind my eyes, and for a moment, everything goes blurry, the room spinning around me.
"That's always been your problem," he continues, his voice dripping with contempt.
"You couldn't shut up. You couldn't keep your nose out of other people's business. If you'd just kept quiet and stopped spreading lies, we wouldn't be here right now. I wouldn't have to make you pay for what you did to my family. You're a liar, Snowflake. I fucking liar"
Snowflake?
Hearing my nickname felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped over me, sending a shock straight through my core. The man standing before me was Zion
-the drunk and unstable version of him, and he’d just scared the living daylights out of me.
It was clear he wasn’t in his right mind. Panic clawed at my chest, but I knew I had to handle him carefully. One wrong move, and who knows what he’d do next.
"Z-Zion?" I whisper, my voice barely audible, but the name feels like acid on my tongue.
"Bingo."
Even in the pitch-black room, I can feel the smirk stretching across his face, a twisted satisfaction radiating off him. It's like he's revelling in my fear, savouring every second of my terror. My breathing becomes erratic, shallow gasps that do nothing to calm the rising panic inside me. Why is he here? Why now, when he's drunk and unpredictable? Would he hurt me?
"“Zion, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re drunk, and I’m exhausted. Why don’t you go to your room, sleep it off.....and and..”" my voice trembling.
I'm grasping at straws, trying to appeal to whatever shred of reason might be left in him. But the moment the words leave my mouth, I know it's a mistake. His hand snaps to my chin, gripping it with a force that sends a jolt of pain through my jaw. A pitiful whimper escapes me as he squeezes tighter, his fingers digging into my skin.
"Don't tell me what to fucking do," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "I warned you to leave, but you just couldn’t listen, could you?” he said with a dark chuckle. “Instead, you chose to defy me, to stay right where you are. Now, look at you. You walked right into the lion’s den, and you’re the lamb un my slaughterhouse .”
Fear crashes over me like a tidal wave, paralyzing every muscle in my body. I try to twist away, to break free from his hold, but his grip is like iron, unyielding. The more I struggle, the tighter his hold becomes, and I realize with a sickening certainty that fighting back will only make things worse. I'm trapped, powerless, and the fear that he might hurt me worse-clampdown on me like a vice
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