My mate send me to mental hospital

The pain in my wrist was sharp, like a spike driven through it.

I looked up at Damian, his eyes wild like a cornered beast, and forced a bright, bitter smile. "This is my reckoning? Kathleen's gone, and I'm still standing, aren't I?"

His face darkened.

He lunged, his hand clamping around my throat, squeezing so hard I couldn't breathe.

My face paled, my body betraying me with choked, whimpering gasps.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, unstoppable.

Just when I thought Damian would choke the life out of me, he let go.

I collapsed like a gutted fish, coughing so hard my ribs screamed.

Through the blur of tears, I saw him crouch down, his voice cold as a blade.

"Wolfe territory doesn't tolerate strays who outstay their welcome. I'll make sure you regret ever lifting your head here."

He reached for me again, but his hand froze midair, hesitating.

Then, in a flash, he grabbed my collar and yanked.

The fabric tore with a sharp rip, and his voice exploded.

"What the hell is this!?"

Beneath the fresh red marks from his grip, a deep, black-purple welt coiled around my throat, swollen and threatening.

I swallowed the metallic taste of blood, my trembling hand flying to cover it.

That scar was a gift from the mental hospital, carved into me over years of torment.

They called it "choke therapy."

Day after day, they'd cinch a leather belt around my throat, twist it till my vision blurred, and growl, "Scream it, Emily. You're a filthy lycan filth who taints every inch of Wolfe land with your stench!You will never worth Damien."

For the first two years, I refused to say the last part, even if it killed me.

By the third year, I was numb, reciting it like a broken record: "Emily. is a filthy lycan filth who taints every inch of Wolfe land with your stench!You will never worth Damien"

Damian's hand brushed the scar, and my trembling got worse, my body betraying me.

Tears fell, but I was still smiling, a twisted, broken thing.

"You know how it is other packs," I said, my voice steady despite the shaking. "They're into some wild stuff. Way more thrilling than anything with you."

His eyes blazed with fury.

He grabbed me, dragging me into a lounge and throwing me onto a bed.

I shivered, forcing words out. "You think this is fair to Brielle?"

He laughed, cold and cruel. "You think you're worth her worry? She's carrying my pup. You're just a tool to burn off steam."

The words hit me like a sledgehammer.

I shut my eyes, my heart ripping apart, and stopped fighting.

No lingering touches that felt like devotion, no whispers that might've been kind-only the weight of him, deliberate and hungry, proving he meant every word, moving in a rhythm that blurred pain .

"Is this how they choked you?"

It wasn't until dawn that he pulled away, not sparing me a glance.

"Clean this up," he said, voice like ice.

"Tonight, you're serving drinks."

He slammed the door behind him.

I came to later, my body trembling as I knelt on the floor, picking up the mess of torn fabric and bloodstains.

I crawled to the bathroom, clothes in rags-only the top I'd clawed to keep stayed whole.​

That one piece, I'd fought for tooth and nail. Only made Damian rage harder, his punishment bloodier.​

I peeled off the tattered fabric slow, deliberate. What I'd hidden, guarded with my life? Now laid bare.