(Chapter Warning: This chapter contains themes of coercion, non-consensual advances, and emotional distress. Reader discretion is advised.)
As Brandon held Natalia tight, something shifted in the air between them. His grip around her wasn't just an embrace anymore—it was heavier, more urgent. His breath, hot and uneven, brushed against her neck, sending a shiver down her spine, but there was something wrong. His arms tightened, his body rigid, and instead of calming, the tension in him only seemed to build, coiling like a storm about to break.
"Natalia, it's okay. I'm here," she whispered, her voice gentle, meant to soothe. Her hand trailed lightly against his back, trying to ground him, to pull him away from whatever dark place was swallowing him whole. But instead of easing, his lips moved lower, trailing from her neck to her collarbone. His breath came in heavy bursts, his hands gripping her waist with a force that made her stiffen. Before she could react, he pushed her against the wall, his body pressing into hers, trapping her between him and the cold surface.
Her pulse quickened, but not from affection. This was different—his touch was no longer gentle, no longer laced with love. It was demanding. Desperate. One of his hands fumbled hastily with the buttons of her shirt while his teeth scraped against her skin, too harsh, too uncontrolled. A sharp gasp escaped her lips as pain mixed with the force of his hold.
"Brandon, wait…" Natalia's voice wavered, uncertain. But he didn't pause. His fingers dug into her side, his grip bruising as his hands roamed over her, consuming, possessive.
"Brandon… you're hurting me," she tried again, her voice softer this time, hoping he would hear her. But he didn't. He was too lost in his own storm, too wrapped up in whatever was consuming him. His lips pressed harder against her skin, his hands moving with frantic urgency, as if he needed to claim her completely.
Fear crept into Natalia's chest, sharp and unforgiving. She pushed against his chest, trying to create space between them, but it was useless—he was too strong, too determined. His weight bore down on her, his body caging her in.
Then she felt it—his hand, rough and unyielding, wrapping around her throat.
A sharp intake of breath got caught in her chest as her body went rigid. Panic surged through her veins, her mind screaming at her to run, to fight, but her voice barely came out a whisper. Before she could cry out, his voice, low and dangerously calm, filled her ears.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Natalia," he whispered, his breath ghosting over her skin.
But you are.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, her hands trembling as she tried once more to push him away. "Brandon, please," she pleaded, her voice breaking.
His hands only gripped her harder. His kisses turned from desperate to punishing, his mouth trailing over her jaw, her lips, taking instead of giving. He wasn't going to stop. He couldn't.
"No, Natalia, I'm not," he murmured again, as if convincing himself more than her.
And then his lips crashed against hers, rough and forceful, taking the air from her lungs. His grip on her throat tightened. Her fingers clawed at his wrist, struggling, desperate for breath. Just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, the pressure suddenly released.
Natalia gasped, stumbling back against the wall as air rushed into her lungs. She coughed, her body shaking as she tried to steady herself. Tears clung to her lashes, her vision blurred, her breath still uneven.
Brandon stood there, panting, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his own storm. His dark eyes roamed over her face, unreadable, wild. Slowly, his fingers reached out, brushing against her cheek, wiping away the tears that had fallen. The gentleness in his touch, so at odds with what had just happened, sent a shiver down her spine.
Then, without a word, he turned away.
Natalia watched as he walked out of the room, out of the house, leaving her standing there, breathless, shaken, and utterly alone.