Chosen By The Cursed Alpha King (Emilia) novel Chapter 98

As we stumbled toward the house, it was evident that Damien was barely holding himself together. His arm draped heavily over my shoulder, each step he took felt like a monumental effort, his body trembling with the weight of exhaustion. Blood trickled down his side, a stark reminder of his injuries, and with every breath he drew, it sounded as if he was inhaling fire.

“Just a little more,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper as I guided him through the door. I could feel my own hands quivering, a reflection of the turmoil raging inside me. Everything felt fragile, as if the very air around us might shatter at any moment.

He didn’t respond, nor did he meet my gaze. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes focused on something far beyond my reach, while his chest heaved with rapid, uneven breaths that made my heart race with fear.

Once we reached his room, he collapsed onto the bed like a marionette with its strings cut, the silence between us heavy and suffocating. Panic surged through me, and I dashed to the bathroom, frantically gathering a towel, a bowl of water—anything that might help. My heart pounded in my chest, a relentless drumbeat of anxiety.

When I returned, I found him sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the floor as if it held the answers to his suffering. The sheets beneath him were stained, dark patches of crimson that seemed to seep into the fabric, mirroring the turmoil within him.

“Let me help you clean up,” I said softly, kneeling in front of him, my voice trembling with the weight of my emotions.

Before I could even reach out, his hand shot forward, snatching the towel from my grasp with a fierce intensity.

“I’ll do it,” he replied flatly, his tone deceptively calm, but that calmness was far more unsettling than any display of anger.

I froze, the air thick with unspoken words. “Damien, please, you’re hurt—”

His gaze remained averted. “I said I’ll do it.”

Those words struck me harder than I anticipated, like a physical blow that left me reeling.

I bit down on my lip, tears threatening to spill over. I sat there, lost and unsure, my heart twisting in agony as I watched him scrub at his wounds with a roughness that spoke of more than just physical pain—he was trying to cleanse himself of something deeper, something that clawed at his very soul.

“Damien,” I whispered, my hand instinctively reaching out toward him.

He halted, his grip on the towel tightening as if it were his only anchor. His head bowed, and for a brief moment, he simply breathed—slow, shaky breaths that filled the silence with a haunting vulnerability.

When he finally lifted his gaze to meet mine, I was met with an expression I had never witnessed before—an overwhelming depth of pain that pierced through me like a dagger.

“You don’t know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t know how I’m dying on the inside.”

“Damien—”

His voice cracked, each word laced with anguish. “Thinking about how you moaned his name.”

My heart plummeted, the air around us thickening with the weight of his accusation.

He stared at me, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, the golden flecks dimming like a flame flickering in the wind. “Now you have his mark on your neck,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Do you know how that feels, Emilia? To see the woman I love—my mate—with another man’s scent burned into her skin?”

Tears blurred my vision, and I struggled to form a response. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t—”

His laughter was bitter, a sharp sound that cut through the air. “You didn’t mean to?” He shook his head slowly, his expression hardening as he turned away. “First, he had all my parents’ attention. Then he took the throne.”

Suddenly, he stood up, running his hands through his hair in a frantic gesture, his voice rising with raw emotion, a mix of anger and grief that echoed through the room. “And now he’s taken you. He marked my mate!”

The force of his words hit me like a physical blow, each syllable a dagger to my heart.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice barely a breath. “I’m so sorry, Damien.”

He turned to me, and in his gaze, I saw a storm of emotions—hurt, betrayal, fury—all swirling together in a tempest that threatened to consume him. “What else is he going to take next, Emilia?” His voice cracked, the pain evident. “My f*****g life?”

A sob escaped my lips, and I covered my mouth to stifle the sound. “Damien, please—”

“I can’t,” he whispered, shaking his head as if the very thought was unbearable. “I can’t look at you right now.”

“Please,” I begged again, my voice breaking under the weight of my sorrow. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

I wiped my tears and forced myself to walk away, my legs shaky beneath me. The sound of things breaking followed me down the hallway, a haunting echo of the chaos left behind.

Once I reached my room, I shut the door with a soft click and pressed my back against it, trembling from head to toe.

The silence here was even worse.

I slid down to the floor, burying my face in my hands as despair washed over me. “What have I done?” I whispered to myself, the words barely audible.

The mark on my neck throbbed, a cruel reminder of my betrayal. His mark. Maximus’s mark.

And Damien had seen it.

The image of his face—the heartbreak, the betrayal, the fury—haunted me, replaying in my mind like a never-ending nightmare.

My tears wouldn’t stop. They flowed down my cheeks, hot and endless, until I felt like I was drowning in my own despair. I wanted to scream, to take it all back, to mend the rift that had formed between us.

But how could I fix something so irrevocably broken?

How could I make Damien forget the sight of me marked by another man?

The echo of his voice lingered in my mind—“Now you have his mark on your neck.”

I pressed my hand to the spot, wishing I could erase it, wishing it would vanish into thin air.

“I’ll fix this,” I whispered through my tears, my voice trembling with determination. “I’ll find a way to fix this.”

Yet, even as I made that promise to myself, doubt gnawed at my heart. Would I ever be able to heal the wounds I had inflicted?