I Became The Bride Of My Ruin

Violette (Faith)

Death, what does it feel like? Is it supposed to be painful, or is it just the kind of absolute stillness you never get to feel in life? Realising this is your final moment, your final breath, the final blink of your eyes... is it supposed to be scary?

If the answer is yes, then why didn’t I feel it? Why weren’t my hands trembling? Why didn’t cold sweat soak through my clothes? I felt no fear, realising this was the last moment of my life.

My forehead went numb against the cold bite of the gun’s muzzle. I slowly licked my dry lips and took a long, steady breath. I tried—I really tried—to summon a face. Someone who would cry for me, someone who would feel a single second of loss. Or even someone who would laugh, raise a glass, and say, “Thank God she’s finally gone.”

But there was nothing. I couldn’t remember a single name. Not a single face flashed in the darkness of my mind.

Something warm stung the back of my eyes, but I forced myself to stay focused. I tried to think of anyone I would regret leaving behind, anyone I would actually miss once I was gone.

Again, a total blank. No names, no faces. And still, my hands remained perfectly steady as I held the gun tight against my skull. No sweat, no frantic screaming from my heart to stop this madness.

There was only the sound of my own voice, echoing off the empty walls as I began to count.

“Three.”

I pressed the barrel harder against my skin. My finger hooked around the trigger, bending slightly.

“Two.”

Good Lord, I wanted to feel a panicked spike in my chest. I wanted my hands to refuse to cooperate or my legs to give out. But there was nothing. Just total, heavy numbness.

And finally... “One.”

Click.

Empty.

Again.

The hollow snap of the firing pin echoed loudly through the quiet room, leaving nothing but silence in its wake. The pain hadn’t come today, either. Not even a little bit. Lord, do I really have to live one more day?

My legs finally shook, finally gave out. I slid down the wall, my strength evaporating. The hot, stinging tears finally spilt over my cheeks. Cold sweat instantly soaked my back, and my heart began to pound so violently it felt like a grenade detonating behind my ribs.

The sheer horror of it crashed over me: I had to live in this world for one more day. One more day in this absolute hell of my husband’s gilded cage, where the sun never rises and the night ends with painful screams and the smell of blood.

I looked down at my hands. The gun caught between them was shaking uncontrollably. The black steel felt freezing against my sweat-slicked palms. And then.

I threw my head back and laughed, a harsh, empty, hollow sound. My fate had betrayed me one more time.

Every single day, I put a single bullet into the chamber and prayed for it to end everything. And every single time, the gun gave me nothing but a click. Silence stretched into the room, only broken by my broken sobs. I sniffed, biting my lower lip.

A sharp, heavy knock made me flinch. I wiped my face, smoothed back my long brown hair, and tucked the gun behind my back just as the door was thrown open from the outside.

“What the hell took you so long to open the door?” A female bodyguard walked in with a garment bag. I shook my head.

With a grunt, she slammed the bag into my chest.

“Mr. Maverick will be here in half an hour,” she announced, her sharp voice cold and completely detached. “Put the outfit on, and wait for him exactly where you’re supposed to.”

Once the guard left, I stared at the package, forcing myself to find the courage to open it and slip into it.

The outfit was a black, completely sheer dress. It didn’t hide a single inch of my skin. Flushing with shame, I wrapped my arms tightly over my breasts and used the volume of my thick hair, which fell past my hips, to cover my exposed back. I kept my chin tucked to my chest, walking straight to the empty hallway until I reached and pushed open the heavy door of his training room.

The playroom.

My legs gave out, and I slid down onto my knees. The tile floor felt unforgivably hard and freezing against my bare skin. It was the same room I had been forced to sit in the corner and watch my husband do unspeakable things to other women in the name of my training sessions. I had been forced to watch them weep and scream while he laughed, thoroughly enjoying his absolute dominance over them. I had seen those women leave this room completely broken, never able to overcome the trauma inflicted on them.

And today my training was over. I am finally eighteen, and now, it’s my turn to be in their position.

In the dark corners of my mind, a voice screamed: Run, Faith! This opportunity is your only chance. Run anywhere, hide, do something, protect yourself!.

But a part of me refused to hear the voice; my body was a traitor that didn’t listen to my heart or brain. It was too numb to comply. I kept staring at my curled fingers on my lap.

A loud crash echoed from the main entrance, and my head snapped toward the door.

There he was. Fifty-three years old, built like a wall of solid brick, with a deep scar slicing across his brutal face. My husband, Ricco Maverick. The man who trained me to be his submissive.

But something was wrong. He was limping heavily on unsteady legs, his clothes torn and soaked in fresh blood. He was clutching a gaping wound on his shoulder, blood oozing through his fingers.

He stumbled over to me, dropping his heavy frame down to my level, and gripped my cheeks with sheer force.

I tasted blood from my own broken flesh inside my cheeks as he jerked my face up to force me to look at him.

“We’re under attack,” he panted, his breath ragged, uneven, and smelling of copper. “Everyone’s dead. They’re looking for me. I have to go—now. But before I leave... fuck, listen to me. There’s something I need you to know. First, tell me...”

He shot a frantic look over his shoulder, his massive chest heaving as he licked his dry lips. For the first time in my entire life, I witnessed the wrinkled, hardened lines of his face twisted with pure, unadulterated terror.

Ricco Mavric was the man who inflicted fear; he was never supposed to feel it. But right now, his giant frame was visibly trembling. I wondered who could make the monster bleed.

He snapped his gaze back to me, his thick fingers digging so deeply into my jaw that I knew they would leave dark, ugly bruises on my fair skin.

“Who are you?” he demanded, testing me.

I blinked, trying to understand the motive behind the question. I took a careful breath, forcing my jaw to move. I gripped the skin of my thighs to keep my voice from cracking. “Faith Ricco Maverick. Your wife.”

“Good,” he hissed, his eyes darting wildly toward the open hallway before locking back onto me. “Whose property are you?”

“Yours.”

My mind was spinning out of control. Why is he asking me this now? If we’re being attacked, shouldn’t we be running? Shouldn’t he be dragging me to a safe house or fighting back? But his next words froze the blood in my veins.

“Good. Now listen to me very carefully,” he snarled, his hot, desperate breath hitting my face. “I’m getting out—hiding. You protect yourself. If they catch you, you shut your mouth. You don’t know me. You’re mine, Faith. You die before you let them touch you.”

He paused for a second before his grip tightened on my cheeks as he hissed in my face, “You’d protect your virginity at any cost.” He paused for a second before he spoke again. “Die if you have to.”

He took another heavy breath as a gunshot echoed closer now. He looked panicked, but he didn’t stop. “I warn you, you owe me your virginity, Faith. Understand?”

“Understand,” he yelled, and I nodded. Muscle memory.

A deafening volley of gunshots exploded right down the hall, the echoing reports getting closer and louder by the second. They were moving straight toward this room.

“I’m leaving. But I will be back for what’s mine.”

Without another word, he dropped his hand, stood up, and vanished through the hidden escape panel in the wall.

Did it really happen? He really left me alone.

Protect myself?

How?

My husband. The man who had waited for his prized possession for ten years, the man who had been married to me for three years, the man who, a split second ago, was claiming total ownership of my virginity, had abandoned me on the cold tile in the middle of a slaughterhouse.

My brain short-circuited. He left me as live bait in the dead centre of a massacre.

What am I supposed to do? I can’t fight. I can’t survive a single hour in the outside world, even if I try to run. I don’t even know where the exits are. No, no, no, he can’t do this, but he did it.

Get up! My survival instinct screamed. Stand up and move!

But just like every other time real danger trapped me, the connection between my brain and my limbs was completely severed.

My body went totally rigid and numb, flatly refusing to obey. My hands stayed frozen against my thighs, my head bowed toward the ground.

All I could hear were closing gunshots, heavy footsteps, and my loud thudding heart. All I could taste was the metallic taste of blood on my tongue and the bile of betrayal.

Then the sound of heavy footsteps grew closer, louder.

A pair of heavy black tactical boots stepped into my downcast line of sight. They were dripping, heavily splattered blood. Above my head, the sharp click of a rifle sliced through the silence.

Slowly, I lifted my head. I followed the line of his combat boots, up his towering body, all the way to his face. His features were completely obscured by a black mask, leaving only his forehead and dark, tousled hair visible. But his eyes... his eyes were piercing, icy-blue.

They were locked entirely on me, cold and unblinking, as the barrel of his rifle pointed directly between my eyes.

His intense gaze slowly traced my left eye, then my right, before dropping down to my lips. I nervously licked my dry lips, a useless habit.

His eyes blinked once, then deliberately travelled down the length of my body, taking in the completely see-through dress, my bare chest, and my exposed thighs before snapping back up to lock onto my gaze. My skin flushed with shame.

He muttered something low under his breath, the fabric of his mask shifting with the words.

Then, that deep, husky voice cut through the silence.

“If I weren’t on a clock, sweetheart, I would have loved to accept the invitation. But right now, I’m only interested in my prey. So, are you going to use that beautiful mouth to tell me where your master hid, or do I put a hole through your empty head first?”

And with that, I closed my eyes, ready to feel the kiss of the bullet on my forehead and finally say goodbye to this pathetic life.

And then—

BANG.