Chapter 550: Chapter-550
[Please read it with your own cautions for this Chapter bears scenes of rape and torture that may shake the heart of some readers]
Prime Minister stared at the silver needle in his hand, the moonlight glinting off its deadly, tapered tip. But the memory of Heena’s arrogant, defiant eyes on the jade terrace flashed in his mind, and the quiet, precise cruelty of the needle suddenly felt entirely insufficient.
He needed something heavier. He needed to hear something break.
He casually tossed the silver needle onto the velvet cushion.
Without a single word of warning, he pulled his arm back and drove a brutal, closed fist directly into her stomach.
The third wife’s eyes flew wide open. The air was violently forced from her lungs in a sharp, agonizing gasp. Her knees instantly buckled under the sudden, massive force, and she collapsed heavily onto the polished wooden planks of the pavilion. The heavy jade bangles on her wrists slammed against the floor with a hollow *clack*.
"The Vanguard Madam," the Prime Minister hissed, stepping forward and driving the heavy toe of his boot directly into her ribs. "She thinks she can mock me! She thinks her military blood makes her superior to the civil court!"
The third wife curled into a tight ball, her small hands immediately flying up to protect her chest and stomach.
She desperately grabbed the loose, white silk sleeve of her inner robe, shoving it into her mouth. She bit down with everything she had, grinding her teeth against the fabric, trying to trap the pain inside her throat just as she always did.
But this time, he was hitting too hard. He was too angry.
Another heavy kick landed squarely against her lower back, perfectly targeting the inflamed, overlapping whip scars from the previous weeks.
A sharp, blinding wave of agony tore through her nervous system, shattering her mental walls.
She tried to hold it in, but a low, guttural groan of pure, unadulterated pain ripped its way up her throat. It vibrated through the silk stuffed in her mouth—a choked, broken sound that echoed pitifully over the quiet ripples of the koi pond.
"Mmph... *ugh*..."
Tears streamed uncontrollably from the corners of her tightly shut eyes, her entire tiny frame trembling violently with each strike. She bit down harder on the silk, her jaw shaking, but the sheer physical trauma was too much for her fragile body to suppress.
When his boot struck her ribs again, a sharp, ragged whine tore from her lips. The silk slipped slightly from between her teeth, and a ragged, agonizing moan filled the pavilion. It wasn’t a loud, theatrical scream; it was the raw, helpless sound of a dying animal unable to escape a trap.
"*Ah... no... ugh...*"
She curled tighter into a ball, her knuckles turning white as she clutched her knees, her breath coming in rapid, painful, whimpering gasps. Every time she tried to swallow the sounds, the sheer agony in her bruised bones forced another choked, tear-soaked groan from her chest.
Hearing those broken, pathetic sounds of suffering, the Prime Minister paused.
The ugly, twisted rage on his handsome face smoothed out, replaced by a dark, terrifyingly satisfied smile. This was exactly what he wanted. He didn’t want the perfect, mute doll anymore; he wanted to feel the absolute, god-like power of breaking someone until they couldn’t even control their own voice.
He reached down, grabbing a handful of her dark hair at the base of her neck, and yanked her head back.
"There it is," the Prime Minister whispered, his breathing heavy as he looked down at her tear-stained, agonized face. "There is that sweet voice."
Her chest heaved as she let out another involuntary, painful whimper, her throat burning as she tried to pull away from his grip.
"Cry for your husband," he demanded softly, his eyes flashing with a sadistic hunger. He raised his hand and delivered a vicious, open-handed strike to her exposed shoulder blade, hitting the delicate bone with a sickening crack.
A sharp, wet cry of pure agony tore from her throat, immediately followed by a series of low, devastated sobs. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. The gilded cage of her own body had finally broken, leaving her sobbing and groaning on the cold wooden floor, providing the monster exactly the horrific music he had been waiting for.
The tears were already falling from her eyes as she stared into the empty void of the room. This was a truth no one knew. No one would ever understand.
She still remembered being a cheerful, ordinary girl—laughing easily, full of small, ordinary dreams—before she was married to this monster. After that night, no one had ever truly touched her again. She had shouted until her throat bled. She had screamed until her voice broke. No one listened then. No one would listen now.
People said she was dressed in jewels. That she lived beautifully. That she had a handsome, loving, caring husband.
Loving. Caring.
What kind of loving husband, on their very first night together, had described in calm, almost affectionate detail how he had killed his two previous wives? How he had watched the light leave their eyes while he was still inside them?
She trembled hard.
His hand closed over her chest like a vice, rough fingers finding her bare nipple and pinching until white-hot pain shot through her. A broken, high moan tore from her throat—half pain, half something she hated herself for. He ripped away the last scraps of clothing and threw them aside. His eyes moved slowly over her naked body, lingering on the soft curves, the trembling thighs, the already-swollen peaks of her breasts.
"God," he murmured, voice low and almost tender, "how beautiful you still are."
For one heartbeat her face seemed to blur—Heena’s features sliding over her own, two women becoming one. A slow, familiar smile curved his mouth. The same smile he had worn the night she first told him she was carrying his child. The same smile that had stayed on his face while he beat her until the blood came and the small life inside her was gone. He had not wanted her body changed. A doll was not allowed to distort.
She shook her head frantically, pleading without words.
No. Please. No—
He only turned her with brutal strength, forced her onto her hands and knees, and spread her thighs wide open. The soft sound of his trousers opening was louder than her ragged breathing. He settled behind her, the thick, heavy heat of him pressing against her entrance—still too small, still unready after all these years—and then he pushed.
The pain tore through her like fire. A raw, animal scream ripped from her throat as he forced his way in, stretching her until blood slicked his length. She groaned, long and broken, the sound vibrating through her chest as he buried himself deeper.
"Nngh—ahh—please—!"
He did not stop. He never stopped. Each brutal thrust drove deeper, claiming, punishing, owning. His hand reached under her, found a nipple, and twisted hard enough to make her body jolt. A sharp, helpless moan spilled out of her, mixed with a sob.
"Ahh—! Hnnh—stop—it hurts—!"
His face was bright with pleasure.
This was why he kept her.
This was why he would never let her go.
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