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57. A Week Of Hell

Roman

I’ve stared at these damned walls for seven days, every second ticking away like a hammer against my skull. Seven days since she was taken, and the room still smells like her—like wildflowers and morning dew. It’s a scent that once gave me peace, but now it’s a cruel mockery, a bitter reminder of what I’ve lost, what I’ve failed to protect.

My hands clench into fists, and I hear the crackling of paper under my grip. I’ve lost count of how many reports I’ve crumpled or shredded in my frustration.

I can’t escape the tormenting thoughts that coil inside my head like venomous snakes, hissing accusations, and insidious doubts. What if she’s being tortured right now? What if she’s screaming for me and I’m not there to save her? How can I call myself an Alpha, a protector, when I can’t even keep her safe?

I’m drowning in an ocean of self-loathing. I’m supposed to be the Alpha, the protector, the stronghold. But now? Every ticking second on the clock is a sharp blade of guilt, slicing a
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Comments (1)
goodnovel comment avatar
Karina Vazquez
How is she back without a rescue? What is Vasily’s game plan here or was it someone else?
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