Coban's POV

It wasn’t just a dream… It was more than that…

Every detail was perfect, from the stench of cigars and whisky to the darkened walls of our old home’s study, the room where my father would host most of his meetings.

The voices came first. Muffled at the edges, sharp in the center.

“Don’t dare fucking embarrass me like that again… Do you understand how fucking stupid you look, barging in here like a needy child? You are a fucking man now, Coban, so why don’t you fucking act like it?!”

My father’s voice. I knew that tone before I even opened my eyes. Sharp, jagged, poisoned. The one that could cut through bone without ever needing a blade.

I was back there again. A freshly turned sixteen year old.

Standing in the doorway of his office where the smoke of cigars always hung low, where men in expensive suits sat around the table like gods deciding who would live and who would die.

I hadn’t even said anything that day. I’d just stepped too far inside the threshold, just close enough that their heads had turned, the discussion stalled, my father’s control slipping by a thread.

He hated that more than anything.

“Get the fuck out!” he barked.

But I froze. And freezing was enough to seal it for me.

“Are you deaf?!” He reiterated, standing from his position in warning. “I’ll deal with you later!” He spat, and that was exactly what he did…

When the study had cleared of men, he called for me to return.

The slap came first. Hard. Jarring. Snapping my head to the side.

The humiliation burned hotter than the sting as I stood defenseless and scared against the father who, at the time, was double my size.

Then he stood back, unbuckling the thick leather belt from around his waist with slow precision, dragging it free with that hiss I still heard regularly in my nightmares.

“No son of mine will make me look like a fucking fool! You are a man now, Coban, don’t humiliate me by acting like an ignorant child!” He snapped, before the belt cracked down across my back, the strike forcing me to my knees.

A second blow came across the back of my head. White stars exploded in my vision. Another lashed across my shoulders, hot fire splitting skin, iron filling my mouth where I bit my tongue to keep from crying out because I knew crying would only make things worse…

He didn’t stop… Strike after strike.

That humiliation… that pain… that weakness against him… it carved into me so deep that it never left.

And here it was again, reminding me of why I hated him so much.

I could feel the leather tearing into my flesh like it was yesterday. Could smell the tang of blood dripping down my neck, the burn of shame in my throat as he called me weak, useless, a disgrace to his name.

My fists clenched in my sheets, but it wasn’t the sheets I felt; it was the rough rug under my palms, soaked in spit and sweat, and his boots in my peripheral as he circled me like I wasn’t his blood but an enemy that needed breaking down for answers.

And then hands. On me. Grabbing me.

Shaking me. Before I finally snapped.

In the dream, in the memory, it was him. His hands trying to shove me down, keep me broken. My fury roared to life like gasoline on a flame.

I wasn’t that boy anymore. I wouldn’t be weak again.

I flipped hard, pinning him beneath me. My palm closed around his throat, fingers tightening with years of rage pouring out all at once.

Finally. Fucking finally.

I had him where I wanted him. My father. The monster. The bastard who had carved me hollow my whole damn life and remained the puppeteer.

He was now under me, and this time he wasn’t sneering, wasn’t towering over me—he was mine to destroy.

I pressed harder, teeth gritted, my chest heaving with something between fury and relief. His face reddened, his mouth opening in a strangled gasp.

Too easy. After all these years, too damn easy.

His legs kicked out and his arms began to slap me for release but I held on…

Before I felt it… something was wrong…

A scrape? Scratching at my arms desperately?

Nails? Long nails clawing at my arms?

Digging into my skin?

My father didn’t have long nails… he wouldn’t fucking claw me.

He’d strike. He’d spit. He’d sneer.

He’d never…

My vision faltered. Blurred.

The haze began to thin, the edges of the memory dissolving.

And beneath me… it wasn’t him. It wasn’t him at all.

It was Margot! My Bella!

Her face!

Her lips parted in a silent plea. Her eyes wide, wet, filled with terror. Her skin flushing purple under my grip as she choked beneath me.

My entire body froze, horror detonating inside my skull.

No. No. No.

My hand dropped away like her throat had burned me. I staggered back, air tearing from my lungs as the truth slammed into me.

I hadn’t been killing him.

I had been killing her.

Margot… The girl who had been shoved into my cage. The girl who still looked at me with fear every day and often something else that I didn’t deserve.

The girl who made a deal to help get me out of here….

She rolled onto her side, coughing, retching, dragging air into her body in jagged gasps. Her tears streaked in the low light, her body trembling as she clutched her throat with white knuckles.

My chest heaved, the sweat pouring off me now ice cold. My hands shook, staring down at them like they belonged to a stranger.

“Fuck!” The word ripped from me raw, sharp.

“Fuck! Fuck!” I roared again, slamming my fist into the wall so hard the sting shot up to my shoulder. Pain grounded me, but not enough.

I hit it again. Until the skin split across my knuckles and blood smeared the stone.

I couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at the bruises already forming beneath my fingertips on her neck. Couldn’t look at the fear I’d put there.

Goddamn it!

I’d sworn I’d never be him. Sworn I’d never lay hands on someone weaker just to feel stronger. Sworn I’d kill before I let myself become the man who raised me.

And here I was.

Becoming him…

Margot’s broken sobs filled the silence, and when I finally forced myself to look, her eyes were on me. Shaking. Wide. But not just terrified—confused.

Searching.

I staggered back, dragging a hand down my sweat-damp face, guilt choking me now worse than any belt ever had.

“I didn’t—” My voice broke, raw and useless. “I wasn’t… I thought you were—”

But the words wouldn’t come. No explanation would be enough to explain why I’d hurt her like that and for nothing too?

It was useless. I’d fucked up.

I had nothing to give…

Because how the hell could I undo what I’d just done?