◽THE EDGE OF FEAR◽
◽ MARIAN'S POV◽
Marco had gone on another bloody rampage—the kind that always ends with a body being carried out. His brutality was relentless, yet he still haunted my thoughts.
I couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes—the way they stayed fixed on his goals, the way he handled business with such intense focus. It made me understand that Angel wasn’t crazy for loving people who are absolute menaces to society.
I knew I was being irrational, playing with danger. But my obsession with him clung to me like a sickness, distorting my thoughts.
The more he ignored me, the more I craved him. I couldn’t forget the kiss, however brief, the day he took me to his other dungeon he calls house. It felt like a connection, a shift between us. But he never mentioned it again, returning to his cold, distant self.
Exhaustion gnawed at me, like I was aging too fast. BJ, made it worse with his mind-numbing presence, only focused on keeping me from escaping. I regretted everything, wondering why my mouth had worked faster than my brain.
Every day blurred into the next, a cursed loop I couldn’t break.
When I walked into the kitchen to make a sandwich, Marco was already there. I rolled my eyes. To him, I was invisible. Since that day, he had reverted back to the infuriating version of himself.
My belly wasn’t showing much yet, but I constantly felt bloated. I didn’t have the energy to deal with him, so I turned to leave.
“Stop,” he said, his voice cutting through the air, cold and commanding.
I hesitated, annoyed. Why should I listen to someone who never listened to me? I turned back to the bread, spreading jam, peanut butter, pickles, sardines, and M&Ms in defiance.
When I glanced up, he was watching me, eyebrows furrowed, head tilted slightly.
What is wrong with me? Did I just think he looked cute? No, he’s not cute—he’s far from that.
I grabbed a plate, ready to escape to the study, but he stopped me again. "Sit," he ordered.
Reluctantly, I complied, making sure he saw my displeasure.
As I took the first bite, I could see the effort it took him not to look disgusted. Honestly, on a normal day, I’d find this food disgusting too.
His constant gaze made my skin crawl. The silence between us thickened, and all I wanted was to get out of there.
His eyes never left mine, watching, waiting. I rolled my eyes, trying to shake off the tension.
By the time I was halfway through, the sandwich started turning my stomach. I craved something else—ice, peanuts, chocolate. Anything but this.
I left the kitchen, praying he’d lose interest in me. Thankfully, he didn’t follow.
Sometimes, it felt like he wasn’t even living in the house—more like a ghost haunting the place.
I hated it. But at the same time, I loved it. The terror he instilled, the power he wielded over me, left me craving his attention even more.
Am I even normal?
I was terrified, especially with what happened the day after he had taken me out.
I had been excited, thinking maybe we were friends. But the chaos that followed shattered that illusion.
I didn’t know what had happened; all I knew was that everything spiraled out of control, even BJ wasn't around to baby sit me. Taking advantage of everyone being occupied with one thing or the other , I left the second floor, grateful to stretch my legs.
I finally got to watch the movie I’d been wanting to see after what felt like an eternity. The TV upstairs was broken, and no one cared to fix it since Marco never watched it.
But as usual, my luck ran out. Marco arrived early, storming in like a hurricane, dragging a man behind him like a broken doll. The man’s face was swollen, bloodied, his clothes in tatters.
This wasn’t new, but I had never seen the torture up close. They’d always shielded me from it. Marco’s lips curled into a sinister smile when he saw me.
With a brutal yank, he threw the man to the floor in front of me. Fear tightened around my chest like a vise. My pulse quickened, pounding in my ears. I knew what was coming, but knowing didn’t make it any easier.
“Watch,” Marco commanded, his voice low, devoid of any emotion.
The man whimpered, trying weakly to crawl away, but Marco crushed his hand beneath his boot with a sickening crunch. His scream split the air, and I felt it vibrate through my bones. I wanted to look away, but Marco’s eyes locked onto mine, daring me to move. I was trapped—paralyzed by the weight of his stare.
With chilling calm, Marco pulled a small blade from his coat. He dragged it lightly across the man’s arm at first, teasing the flesh. The first few cuts barely broke the skin, but soon the blade dug deeper, long, jagged lines spilling blood across the floor.
The man’s screams turned into desperate wails, but Marco’s focus never wavered. Each slice was deliberate, each cut measured to prolong the agony.
My heart hammered in my chest, bile rising in my throat. I gripped the chair, knuckles white, as if it could anchor me to reality. I was powerless.
“Please…stop,” the man begged through bloodied lips. Marco didn’t flinch. His blade continued its torturous path. The room reeked of blood and fear. I could barely breathe.
Marco’s face was a mask of cold indifference, and it terrified me more than the violence itself. This wasn’t just about the man on the floor. This was about me. Marco wanted me to understand—to see how powerless I was.
I realized then that I wasn’t safe. Not from him. Not ever.
The memory haunted me, a constant reminder of the fear lodged deep inside. What if one day, I did something he truly hated? What if he decided I was too much trouble and drove a knife through me?
I wasn’t important to them. They only kept me here to control my sister and root out the rats in the organization.
Marco had made me witness that horror because I had broken one of his rules: never leave the second floor unless absolutely necessary.
Since then, I tried to avoid him. But the more I stayed away, the more I missed him. It made no sense. I wasn’t supposed to like him.
Yet there I was, craving his attention, rationalizing his small gestures as kindness.
I sighed, twisting and turning in bed, restless. I couldn’t shake the thought of him being in the house.
Eventually, I got up and headed to the library. I needed a distraction, something to keep me occupied—and maybe, just maybe, a glimpse of him.
To my disappointment, he wasn’t in his usual spot, eyes glued to his work. I pouted, walking to the shelf that usually held lighter reads. To my surprise, it was now stocked with romance novels.
I smiled to myself. Maybe this was a romantic gesture. Maybe I wasn’t entirely wrong to want him.
I grabbed a book, happy that it was part of a series. But when I turned to leave, Marco was there, sitting across from the library door with a satisfied expression, waiting for me.
“Thank you,” I mumbled, but he was already gone, the door clicking shut behind him
No, I’m not allowed to like him. Not a man like him.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
