Welcome to Hell (by Williane Kassia) novel Chapter 192

Chapter 192

Magnus Hale

I fix my gaze on the wall, trying to pin my thoughts to it, to suffocate

what is bubbling inside. Rage pulses like red–hot iron in my veins. I

feel like slamming my head against the stone, tearing this sensation

out of me–anything to silence this hatred that grows more intense

with every passing second.

I entered this game thinking I could punish that bastard, thinking I

would have control. I believed, for one idiotic moment, that I would

make him pay for thinking he can do whatever he wants with me. But

in the middle of it all, I lost my grip.

Pleasure seeped in like poison, flowing until it dominated everything.

And by the time I realized it, I was yielding.

Worse: I was enjoying it.

Dammit.

The hatred I have for myself now is suffocating. It is as if every breath

were an insult. I wanted to punish him, but I was the one who

betrayed myself. My own body, a traitor, opened the doors. The

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Welcome to Hell

Chapter 192

Magnus Hale

I fix my gaze on the wall, trying to pin my thoughts to it, to suffocate

what is bubbling inside. Rage pulses like red–hot iron in my veins. I

feel like slamming my head against the stone, tearing this sensation

out of me–anything to silence this hatred that grows more intense

with every passing second.

I entered this game thinking I could punish that bastard, thinking I

would have control. I believed, for one idiotic moment, that I would

make him pay for thinking he can do whatever he wants with me. But

in the middle of it all, I lost my grip.

Pleasure seeped in like poison, flowing until it dominated everything.

And by the time I realized it, I was yielding.

Worse: I was enjoying it.

Dammit.

The hatred I have for myself now is suffocating. It is as if every breath were an insult. I wanted to punish him, but I was the one who betrayed myself. My own body, a traitor, opened the doors. The

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Chapter 192

sensations that should have shamed him ended up breaking me,

leaving me vulnerable and imploding my reason.

Hell.

It was good.

Fucking good.

That is the worst part: admitting it was good. His touch, the intensity,

the madness in his gaze–all of it stuck to me like a curse. I saw in

that psychopath’s eyes how much he was loving every second, feeding

off my collapse.

And, to my shame, I felt it too. The sensation of his throat wrapping

around my member was insupportably good, warm, and soft, as if he

wanted to trap me there forever.

Aberration.

Monster.

And yet… I liked it too.

What a disaster.

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How could I think it would be a punishment if my own body betrayed

me this way?

How could I believe I would remain immune, that my rage would be

enough to contain it all?

I clench my fists, pressing my nails into my skin. Every memory of

that moment suffocates me.

I want to rip it out of my head, spit it out, and erase it, but I can’t.

And that makes me even more furious.

A shiver runs up my neck. I hear a low sound that grows: a groan, raw

and intimate. I close my eyes tight as I realize what is happening.

That bastard is masturbating while watching me.

“Magnus…” the groan comes out loud and hoarse.

Shame burns me from the inside.

How can he do this without even blushing?

I forgot: shame doesn’t exist in that monster’s vocabulary.

His breathing accelerates; the sounds become more intense, panting.

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I hear the final groan, short and convulsive, and immediately after,

his breathing becomes a rapid flurry–a clear sign he reached his

climax.

This bastard had the audacity to satisfy himself while watching me.

The urge to get up and smear blood across his face is almost palpable;

my hands shake with rage.

But I cannot give in.

Feigning obedience is the only piece I have left on the board.

I am exhausted from being trapped in this cell and this shitty game. I

want to get out of here, feel the air outside these walls, see what

happened out there, and face Darius and get answers, even knowing I

might regret it.

I have already endured too much humiliation: carried like an animal

through the hallway, exposed to the stares and comments of the

other prisoners.

Rage simmers, but reason imposes silence.

I swallow the hatred, clenching my fists until my knuckles turn white.

I will fake this damn obedience until the right moment–a calculated

pretense, a mask that disarms.

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When he lowers his guard, I will end it all: I will reclaim the control

and the power they took from me.

I imagine beating him until tears run down his face and his voice fails

him in pleas for forgiveness for everything he put me through. Seeing

surprise and despair deform his face would be the retribution for my

suffering.

I will humiliate him in the same way I was humiliated, reduce his

vanity to dust, and make him beg for mercy. This image feeds my rage

and firms the promise: when he least expects it, it will be his turn to

pay.

He might find it amusing, touching me, kissing me, wanting me. Even

if the flesh betrays me again, I am convinced my heart will not fail

1. me. The flesh is weak; I may yield, succumb to the sensation, but the

heart is stone, and nothing pierces it.

Adrian will remain etched in the depths of my chest as my rival, and

he must die.

A dry sound cuts through the air, a throat clearing, and he speaks

with that soft voice that makes me sick.

“Sweetheart.”

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I turn my face and stare at Adrian, dressed and wearing that idiotic

smile that turns my stomach.

“Since you’ve been a good boy and even gave me a beautiful reward,”

he announces, his smile widening, “I’ll let you out of the cell for a

bit.”

The world jolts. I spring to the edge of the bed, ignoring the sting

burning in my buttocks, and look at his expression with suspicion.

“Seriously? What’s the game?” I ask, distrustful.

He laughs, as if my suspicion amuses him.

“There’s no game,” he says lightly. “Like I told you: you behaved, and

you even gave me a very nice reward. Now it’s my turn to reward you.

We’ll have breakfast together. If you behave at the table, I’ll leave you

alone for a few minutes.”

“Minutes?“” I repeat, sarcasm clinging to the word.

“Minutes,” he confirms, stepping closer. “I can’t stay away from you

for very long.”

He leans in, closing the distance between us. The urge to turn my head and spit in that calculated smile is overwhelming, but I restrain

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Chapter 192

myself. Instead, I receive a kiss on the forehead–a gesture that

catches me off guard; for a second, I thought it would be on my

mouth.

“I love you,” he says softly, insistently. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

He laces his fingers with mine as if it were the most natural thing in

the world. The urge to squeeze his hand until the bones deform is

almost physical, but I resist. I need this way out. I don’t want to be

locked in that cell again.

He pulls the keys from his pocket, turns the lock, and opens the bars.

The clean air of the corridor rushes over me. The ache of being

outside these bars tightens my chest–I hadn’t realized how much I

missed this.

We walk down the corridor. Some guards look away; others try to hide

a smile, as if they’re watching a private show. The rage boiling inside

me could explode right there, crushing skulls, but I keep my

composure.

The cafeteria will be worse. Darius already warned me that the story

spread everywhere–everyone knows. That’s why I have to keep my

composure at all costs. My image collapsed in the blink of an eye, and

rebuilding it will be hard, but regaining trust is now an obligation,

piece by piece.

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Inside, I assemble the plan: gather information, map allies and

possible enemies, and turn these stolen minutes into a real

advantage.

When we reach the cafeteria, I feel the stares land on us, all of them

aimed at me. Adrian walks with ease, as if this were routine, and pulls

me toward my old table.

I sit down reluctantly. The empire I built fell apart in a heartbeat.