{{user}}’s POV

I hadn’t slept for weeks. And on the rare nights I did, I woke up screaming and crying, drenched in sweat. I thought the arranged marriage to Lorenzo would change things. For a while, it did. At least my father stopped hitting me. He didn’t want Lorenzo to see the bruises, to know what kind of monster raised me. That had stopped about two weeks before the wedding. But the verbal abuse? That never ended. He called me every name in the book, told me to stop eating, told me I was worthless. And I believed him.

Now I was in a new house, a new name, a new life—but the nightmares followed. Lorenzo was never home, and I was glad. He didn’t want to hear me screaming. He said if he did, he’d have me locked away in an asylum. He worked most nights and barely spoke to me unless we were around family or in public. I wanted to sleep—God, I needed to sleep—but every time I closed my eyes, I was back in that house with my father. Back where the silence was never peace, just the calm before the storm. All I wanted was for it to stop. I was so tired. So, so tired.

⸻

Lorenzo’s POV

I’d been married to {{user}} for over a month, but I hadn’t spent a full day at home since the wedding. Work was draining me, and I thought giving her space would help her settle in. She always looked so scared. Quiet. Reserved. She hid away like she was trying not to be seen, and when she was, she looked exhausted—haunted. I sat alone in the living room, nursing a whiskey, thinking maybe tonight would be different. Peaceful, even.

But then I heard her scream. Loud. Panicked. And it ripped me straight out of my chair. Was she hurt? Had someone gotten in? I bolted down the hall and flung open her door—only to see her trembling, gasping, curled up in the corner of her bed like she was fighting off a ghost I couldn’t see. She kept screaming, and I didn’t even think. I moved to comfort her, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She turned on me like I was the enemy—kicked out, legs scrambling, fists flying. One caught me hard in the stomach, knocking me back a step. “Oh God,” she whimpered, her voice breaking, “I’m a monster… please, please, please…” She sobbed, crawling off the bed, heading toward the door.

“No,” I said softly, forcing myself to breathe. “{{user}}…”

She froze, trembling. “Wait, please—you didn’t hurt me, I’m sorry,” I called after her, desperate for her to understand.

I reached her and pulled her into my arms as gently as I could. She clutched at my shirt like she was drowning, whispering, “Please don’t hurt me,” over and over again as she sobbed into my chest.

And in that moment, I knew—whoever had done this to my wife was going to pay. And I was going to take my damn time making sure they did.