A Name Best Forgotten
Their rugged breathing was all you could hear in the room. Lachlan laid on his side, he was still hard. He pulled Isla so her back was on his chest, he draped her leg over his hip and entered her in one swift motion. Again, Isla felt the pain, she knew this time it was pure punishment and hatred radiating off of him. He bit her neck, her back, he slapped her butt leaving it raw and red. Isla tried holding back her tears but they silently fell.
Lachlan kept pounding into her, the feeling of having control over her was overwhelming. A part of him knew he was losing control but he couldn't stop himself. It felt too good, he brought his hand to her front and began rubbing her clit. He wanted to feel her release, he wanted her to know that he owned her, no one else. His other hand squeezed her breast leaving a bruise. He heard her whimper, he felt something wet land on his arm. In his blind haze he didn't realize she had been crying, which only made him madder.
He pulled out and slammed back into her over and over again. Isla whimpered, the pain was uncomfortable, nothing made sense to her. This wasn't the man who had made love to her just two days ago on her wedding night. Her tears now fell like a waterfall, at the sound of her pained whimpers and her repeated pleads for him to stop. Lachlan pushed her aside. Isla quickly sat up on the bed and wrapped the bedsheet around herself. She was filled with anger, gone was the love and connection she once felt towards the man standing before her.
“Is this your way of proving how much of a man you are?” Isla’s voice cut through the heavy silence, dipped in venom. Her eyes brimmed with tears, but her tone was ice.
Lachlan didn’t meet her gaze. He ran a hand through his hair, his chest still heaving. “You didn’t stop me.”
Her mouth fell open. “Are you serious? That’s your defense?”
He finally turned toward her, his expression unreadable. “I saw you with him. Laughing. Whispering. What was I supposed to think?”
“That I’m your wife, not your property!” she snapped. “Or are you only capable of thinking with your fists and—other parts of you?”
Lachlan’s jaw clenched. “Don’t play the innocent. You were practically inviting him with those eyes of yours.”
Her body recoiled as if he’d slapped her already. “You're disgusting.”
“You think you’re so pure?” Lachlan barked. “You melted the second I touched you.”
“You’re not made for this life wife. You can’t even handle one night without falling apart.” He spoke coldly, his eyes showing no emotion.
She stared at him in disbelief.
“At least someone like Mairi wouldn’t have flinched.”
Silence.
Then came the sharp crack of her hand against his cheek.
Lachlan didn’t move. He took the slap and stared at her.
“Get out,” she said through gritted teeth.
Lachlan finally looked at her—and froze. The heat drained from his face when he saw her expression. Her red-rimmed eyes. The way her fingers clutched the edge of the sheet like armor.
“Isla…” he whispered.
But she didn’t move. Just stared at him with such fury, such heartbreak.
"I said Get. Out." she said through gritted teeth.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t apologize.
He turned and left, slamming the door behind him.
---
Isla sat frozen for a moment, then slowly dragged the bedsheet around her trembling body. She got up, her legs weak beneath her, and called for Fenella.
The maid arrived quickly, her face shifting to concern when she saw the state Isla was in.
“A bath,” Isla said hoarsely. “Please.”
Fenella nodded and got to work.
When the bath was drawn, Isla stepped in and sank beneath the surface, scrubbing her skin harder than she needed to. She wanted to erase everything—his touch, his kiss, his essence.
Fenella knelt beside the tub, gently placing folded towels nearby. Her eyes lingered on the bruises forming on Isla’s arms and thighs. She didn’t ask questions.
“I’ll fetch Vaelen,” she said quietly. “He’ll prepare a salve.”
Isla didn’t respond. She just stared blankly ahead.
When Fenella returned, she hesitated at the door.
“Who’s Mairi?” Isla asked suddenly.
Fenella’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Forget that name, Princess. For your own peace, forget it—for now.”
Then she left Isla alone.
Isla stared into the water, her reflection fractured by ripples. She thought back to everything she’d learned—everything she’d felt. The rumors about Lachlan being cold, ruthless, unfeeling.
They weren’t rumors.
Today, he had proven them true.
Whatever bond they had… whatever fate had planned… it didn’t matter anymore.
Maybe book Isla had seen this part of him, too. Maybe that was why the Blood Vow never happened.
Maybe she refused.
Maybe Isla should, too.
Her chest tightened.
Was this her fate? To die here—abused, unloved, and forgotten?
She hadn’t realized she was crying until Fenella came back in, wrapped her in a blanket, and gently rocked her.
Isla didn’t resist.
She let herself be held.
Because she had nothing left to hold onto.
Not even him.
---
When Fenella helped Isla into a clean nightdress and sat her down at the edge of the bed, the maid whispered, “Princess… I can make up a spare room for you. If you’d prefer.”
Isla gave a small nod, numb. “Yes. Please.”
The guest chamber was colder, smaller. But it was hers—quiet and untouched. Isla stood in the center for a long moment before collapsing onto the edge of the bed. Her fingers clutched the edge of the druid book she had brought with her.
She opened it, scanning the words. Her eyes stopped on the passage about the Blood Vow. The promises it claimed. The eternal bond it offered.
She slammed it shut.
Lies.
She got under the covers and curled into herself, but sleep didn’t come.
Just the sound of wind against the windows.
And a slow, aching sense that nothing would ever be the same again.