ABSOLUTE INSANITY: A forbidden bond-Chapter 227: panic

Chapter 227

KATYA POV

— continued —

For half a second, my brain refused to process what I was seeing. The space between my closet and the bathroom—solid wall, familiar wall—moved.

A door that had never existed until now. It slid aside without a sound, so smooth , revealing a shirtless and unmasked Romeo.

The world narrowed to a sharp ringing in my ears, the phone slipping slightly in my grip as my fingers went numb.

"Mr Salvator?!" The words tore out of me, too loud. Michael’s voice was still faintly audible from the phone, confused and distant. "Katya? What’s going on?"

I barely heard him.

My gaze was locked on Romeo, frozen somewhere between panic and disbelief. My eyes dragged themselves over the hard lines of his chest before snapping back up to his face, heat rushing to my cheeks at the realization.

I looked away immediately. "What—" My voice shook. I hated that it did. "What are you doing in my room?"

Click.

The whole room light died. Gone. The world collapsed into black.

My lungs locked.

Air refused to move in or out, like my body had forgotten how breathing worked. The darkness was thick, crushing, swallowing the room whole.

What—what—what—

I couldn’t see. My brain screamed at my eyes to adjust, to find anything, but there was nothing. My window curtain was pulled shut, no moonlight could come through. No crack beneath the door. No glow from the hallway.

Nothing. Panic exploded.

This is it.

This is how he does it.

The thought slammed into me so hard my knees almost buckled.

Just like how he killed his cousin, but this time in the dark?

Cold terror surged through me. My pulse thundered so loudly it drowned everything else out. I couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t hear breathing. Couldn’t hear movement.

That was worse.

He’d said little sister.

The memory surfaced uninvited—his calm voice, his steady gaze, the way the words had sounded less like a warning and more like a decision already made.

Was this the threat?

Was this what he meant?

My breathing shattered into short, panicked gasps. My hands shook violently as I staggered backward, then sideways, completely disoriented.

The room no longer made sense. Walls felt too far. Furniture too close.

He turned off the lights so I wouldn’t see it coming.

So I wouldn’t know where to run.

A broken sound tore out of my throat, half-sob, half-plea.

No—no—no—

My foot caught on something unseen. I pitched forward with a sharp cry, barely managing to stay upright.

Michael.

The thought flickered weakly, then vanished beneath the rising tide of fear. I spun, heart racing, breath burning my lungs, my head filling with memories I couldn’t stop.

My back hit something solid—wood. A wall. A door. I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I pressed myself against it, curling inward, trying to make myself smaller.

Invisible.

Tears spilled hot and fast as my breathing completely unraveled. My vision swam uselessly in the dark.

Please—please—

I didn’t know who I was begging anymore.

The sharp trill of my phone rang out. I flinched violently, a cry ripping from my chest. The screen’s small glow cut through the darkness, briefly illuminating the bed across the room.

Light.

My body moved without permission, pure instinct taking over. My legs were too fast it snagged on something and the world tilted.

I fell. My head hit the floor with a sickening crack. Pain exploded behind my eyes, white and blinding.

The impact knocked the breath clean out of me as stars burst across my vision. At the same time the room lights snapped back on.

Too bright. Too sudden.

My stomach twisted violently, nausea rising as my chest burned. I couldn’t tell where the walls were anymore. The room felt endless, like I was sinking inside it.

My mind didn’t come back with it. The walls blurred, edges warping as if the room itself was breathing.

My ears rang violently, a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else. My head throbbing with immersed pain from the floor.

The room swam, warmth slid down my temple. I lifted a trembling hand, fingers coming away slick.

Blood.

My body began to shake uncontrollably. The mansion disappeared totally. The silk sheets. The chandelier. The quiet luxury.

I was small again.

The air felt thick, heavy with something sour and familiar. My chest locked painfully as memories surged forward without warning—hands too rough, a voice too loud, fear pressing down until there was nowhere left to run.

Don’t cry.

Don’t make him angry.

Say you’re sorry.

Footsteps approached. A shadow loomed. A hand reached for me.

I flinched hard, scrambling backward, my heels dragging against the floor as I tried to put distance between me and the ghost of my father. I didn’t stop until my back slammed into the solid wood of the bedpost.

The impact jarred my head, sending a fresh wave of hot pain through my temple where the blood was still trickling.

I curled into a ball, my knees tucked to my chest, my eyes clamped shut so tight that stars danced behind my eyelids.

The air in the room was thick with the scent of copper and the sharp, jagged edges of a memory that wasn’t supposed to be here.

"Please—please don’t touch me," I sobbed. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t—I won’t do it again. Please don’t hurt me." My whole body shook as I begged, bleeding, terrified, drowning in a past that felt just as real as the floor beneath me.

"Katya." I flinched violently. It wasn’t my father’s voice.

That realization came slowly, sluggish and wrong. My father’s voice was thin, reeking of cheap gin and bitterness.

This voice was deep—a low, resonant vibration that seemed to rumble through the floorboards.

It was harsh, demanding, and carried the weight of a man who ruled with iron. But it was still a man’s voice.

"Katya," it said again. Firmer. "Hey. Look at me."

I shook my head, eyes still clenched shut, breath tearing in and out of my chest like I was drowning.

If I opened them, I’d see him. I’d see the belt, or the hand, or the darkness. I kept begging, the words spilling out in a mindless chant of a broken child.

"I’m sorry... I’m sorry... please..." The air shifted. Suddenly, the heat was right in front of me. I felt calloused fingers—strong and unyielding—wrap around my jaw.

It didn’t squeeze to hurt, but held me with a terrifying grip that made movement impossible.

I was still shaking, my breath coming in short, hitching gasps. I was waiting for the blow. I was waiting for the pain to finish me off..

Instead, he tilted my face upward, forcing my head back against the bedpost. My eyes stayed clamped shut, tears leaking out from the corners as I shook, waiting for the pain I knew was coming.

"Katya." The voice was right there now. Close. Steady. Sharp. "Hey. Look at me."

I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. My mouth kept moving, the words tumbling out broken and desperate. "I’m sorry... I’m sorry... please..."

The grip on my jaw tightened just a fraction. Something solid pressed against my forehead.

Not a blow. Not a grab meant to hurt. Just pressure—grounding, anchoring—forcing my head to stay still, forcing me to stay here.

"Breathe," The voice said, low and commanding, each word measured. "No one’s hurting you."

My breath stuttered violently.

The world wavered.

I could feel him—his skin, the faint heat of his body, the steady presence inches from my face.

My father had never been this solid. Never this controlled. "Open your eyes," he ordered quietly and my eyes flew open.

The world rushed back in—the high ceilings, the silk sheets, the glow of the bulbs. And right there, inches from my face, were the stormy gray eyes of Romeo Salvatore.

He wasn’t hitting me. The shock of it was like a bucket of ice water poured over a fever. The past vanished.

The cellar, the belt, the shadow of my father—it all dissolved, replaced by the overwhelming, suffocating presence of the man in front of me.

His forehead was still pressed to mine, his hand still holding my jaw, thumb brushing against my skin where blood from my temple had smeared warm and sticky.

He was now having his mask on. "Good?" he murmured when he saw recognition flicker through my gaze.

His eyes weren’t filled with the madness of my past; they were filled with a dark, sharp intensity that demanded I stay right here, in the present, with him.

My body was still shaking, my chest still burning, but the past finally loosened its grip.

††

Ok ok, I want to use this medium to say thank y’all again for the support and gift, I really do appreciate the support, if it wasn’t for y’all comments, Golden tickets, power stone and gift I don’t really think this book would have come this far.

So thank y’all for it, I really love y’all and yeah, thanks my loves.

What do you think about this Chapter and the next that’s about to come. Would this make them closer or nah and poor Michael, Katya forget about him being on the line till it got disconnected.