𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

Yandere! Sugar Daddy : Bye, Bye, Bye – Part 6

Word Count: 882 words

The room was drenched in a heavy silence, the kind that crept into your lungs and settled like smoke, suffocating and thick. Only the faint, uneven sound of her breathing punctuated the stillness, her body limp and pale against the disheveled sheets. She had finally passed out, her defiance spent, her resistance broken—at least for now.

He sat at the edge of the bed, his chest heaving, his hands trembling as they rested on his knees. His gaze lingered on her, the rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair splayed across the pillow like a halo of defiance even in sleep.

And God, he hated her for it.

His fingers twitched with the urge to touch her again, to trace the bruises blooming along her neck and wrists, each one a mark of him, a testament to the claim he’d staked on her. His. She was his. He had made sure of it tonight.

But the jealousy still burned, an inferno roaring in his chest, its embers stoked by the memory of her lips on another man’s, her body moving toward someone else. It was maddening. He had never thought himself the jealous type—how could he be, when he had always been the one in control, the one who held the power?

And yet here he was, consumed by it.

ce a low rasp in the quiet room, “these are mine. You’re mine.”

She didn’t stir, her body too exhausted to react. It was the first time he’d seen her like this—vulnerable, unguarded. Even in sleep, she usually held herself with that same cold, untouchable composure, her features smooth and unreadable. But now? Now she was raw, stripped bare of all her defenses, and it made something primal twist in his chest.

He leaned over her, his breath brushing against her skin as he pressed his lips to her shoulder, to the hollow of her throat, to the bruises blooming like dark flowers along her collarbone. He kissed her like a man possessed, like he could erase every touch that wasn’t his, every memory of anyone else who dared to claim her attention.

The thought of her with other men still lingered, a poison coursing through his veins. He could see their hands on her, their mouths pressing against her skin, and it drove him to the brink of madness. He wanted to rip them apart, to wipe every trace of their existence from her life.

No one else had the right.

No one else could understand her the way he did, the way she infuriated and fascinated him in equal measure. She was a storm, wild and untamed, and he was the only one who could weather her.

He pulled back, his hand sliding up to cup her face. Her lips were slightly parted, her breaths shallow and steady, and he felt his pulse quicken at the sight of her. She was beautiful, even now, even with the marks of his rage etched into her skin.

“You think you can run,” he muttered, his voice low and venomous. “You think you can slip away and leave me behind. But you’re wrong.”

His thumb brushed over her lips, a soft, almost tender gesture that belied the storm raging inside him. He hated her for making him feel like this, for stripping him of his control, for turning him into something he didn’t recognize.

But he also loved her. Obsessively, desperately, in a way that felt more like a sickness than an emotion.

He pressed his forehead against hers, his breath shallow and ragged. “You’ll never belong to anyone else. Do you understand that?”

The silence of the room swallowed his words, but he didn’t need an answer. He knew. He had made sure of it.

As he sat back, his gaze lingered on her, on the marks he’d left, on the way her body seemed to mold itself to the bed, to him. He reached for the edge of the blanket, pulling it up to cover her, as if the gesture could erase the violence of the night.

She was his.

And he would destroy anyone—even her—before he let that change.