Welcome to Hell (by Williane Kassia) novel Chapter 32

Chapter 32

I didn’t know whether I should sit with Fox or follow him.

But the doubt didn’t last long.

“Came, bunny.”

His deep voice echoed like a command disguised as an invitation.

I obeyed, sitting beside him.

A chill ran down my spine, discomfort growing as I felt the weight of the other inmates‘ stares.

Within seconds, one of the cafeteria workers approached and handed a tray to the Reaper.

But he didn’t take it.

He simply pushed it toward me.

‘Eat.”

The order was blunt.

I lowered my eyes to the food.

The warm, appetizing smell hit my nose.

Breakfast looked surprisingly good–freshly toasted bread, perfectly seasoned scrambled eggs, a slice of melting cheese on the plate, and a steaming mug of coffee.

‘You’re not going to eat?” I asked cautiously.

He leaned on the table with one elbow, smirking.

I want to watch you eat. I need to keep my bunny well–fed. I don’t want you losing weight.”

His voice was gentle, but his gaze held the same suffocating possessiveness as always.

I looked away and began to eat. The bread was soft and buttery, blending perfectly with the hot texture of the eggs. The coffee was strong and comforting, warming my tired body.

But as I chewed, a sting made me flinch. The pain in the corner of my mouth–a rempant from last night–reminded me of everything.

I ignored it and kept going.

My eyes wandered around the cafeteria and, for a moment, found Fox.

He was watching me from a distance, concern clear on his face.

His gaze scanned every inch of me, searching for signs of distress. To reassure him, I gave a small nod, trying to show that I was okay.

But the relief didn’t last long.

The shiver on my nape came first. Then, his fingers slowly slid across my skin, each movement branding me with silent ownership. His touch wasn’t gentle.

Not casual.

Chapter 32

It was a warning.

His hand wrapped around my neck, long fingers pressing against my skin. It didn’t hurt, but the force was there–controlled, intentional,

“Darling…”

His voice slid against my ear, soft and venomous.

‘Don’t look at another man like that. Even if it’s Fox.”

I swallowed hard.

His tone was low, almost tender–but laced with something far darker.

Something dangerous.

The grip tightened.

An invisible collar.

“And I don’t want to lose control over something like that.”

I grabbed the coffee mug, drinking quickly, forcing the food down my throat.

The grip didn’t ease.

“Y–Yes…”

My voice cracked–barely a whisper.

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