Once, my paranoid love

Pom awoke early, the sun just beginning to cast its warm glow across the garden outside. With the intention of taking a peaceful morning walk among the flowers and foliage, she made her way to the garden, hoping to start her day in tranquility.

However, as she approached the garden, her gaze shifted to Elena, and a sense of unease washed over her.Content rights by NôvelDr//ama.Org.

Pom’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief as her gaze fell upon Elena. Elena stood there before her, completely naked, her back marred with crimson and black stains that appeared to be the result of some form of punishment.

The sight before her was utterly bewildering, and Pom couldn’t fathom what had transpired during the early hours of the morning. Elena’s presence in this state after locking herself away raised a multitude of questions that clamored for answers.

Pom called out, “Madam,” with concern in her voice, but Elena remained unresponsive. It was as if she didn’t hear the familiar address. Instead, Elena continued on her path, seemingly unaware of her surroundings, until she reached her room.

Without a word, Elena entered her room, shutting the door behind her with a resounding click. The suddenness of it all left Pom perplexed, standing alone in the garden, wondering what had brought about this change in her mistress.

After locking the door behind me, I took a few hesitant steps back into my room. It was a space that held both memories of passion and moments of vulnerability. As I surveyed the room, a wistful smile played at the corners of my lips.

“That boy only knew how to torture me,” I mused, the memory of our shared experiences flooding my mind. It was a bittersweet thought, one that left me with a mixture of longing and contentment.

But my room bore the marks of our recent encounter, and I knew I couldn’t leave it in disarray. With a sigh, I muttered to myself, “No, I have to clean up my room again.”

I set to work, tidying up the bed-sheets and sweeping the floor, removing any remnants of our passionate embrace. Each movement was deliberate, a way to erase the physical traces of our intimacy even as the memories lingered.

Once the room was restored to some semblance of order, I made my way to the bathroom. My skin bore the marks of our desire, with bite marks and black bruises serving as a testament to the intensity of our love-making.

As I stood before the mirror, I couldn’t help but touch each mark and bruise, tracing their contours with a mixture of pain and pleasure. They were a reminder of the passion we had shared and of the way our bodies had ignited in each other’s presence.

Turning on the shower, I stepped under the warm water, allowing it to wash over me and soothe my body. I sat down on the shower floor, lost in thought, as the water cascaded around me. It was a moment of reflection, a time to contemplate the complex emotions that had arisen from our encounter.

As I let the water wash away the physical evidence of our passion, I knew that the emotional scars would linger. The marks on my skin would fade, but the memories of him-would it fade from my heart?

After spending an hour showering, I finally emerged from the bathroom and took a seat in front of the ornate mirror. My fingers gently traced the delicate skin of my cheek, where the scars of the past had left their mark. Today was a momentous day-it was my wedding day.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror and smiled softly. “Today is the day of my wedding,” I thought with a sense of anticipation. “So, I think I’ll put on some makeup.” The thought brought a glimmer of excitement to my eyes.

Carefully, I began the process of applying makeup, expertly concealing the scars that had been a constant reminder of Paul. With each brushstroke, I felt a sense of transformation, as if I were shedding the weight of my nightmares and embracing a new beginning. But I was not sure if it would be a new beginning or not.

As I completed my makeup, I gazed in the mirror with a sense of satisfaction. “Now I look beautiful,” I whispered to myself, savoring the feeling of self-assuredness that had eluded me for so long.

But just as I was lost in my reflection and the newfound confidence it brought, an unexpected knock on the door shattered the tranquility of the moment. I froze, my heart pounding with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

“Who could that be?” I wondered aloud, my thoughts racing as I rose from my seat and approached the door.

“Yes, coming,” I replied, my curiosity piqued by the unexpected knock on my door. As I turned the handle and swung the door open, I was greeted by Pom, who had brought breakfast for me.

I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. It was still early, and I wondered if she had thought I might be weary and hungry because of the previous night. Her concern touched me deeply.

Pom placed the tray on the table, her expression one of genuine worry. “Are you all okay, madam?” she asked, her voice filled with genuine concern for my well-being.

I couldn’t help but smile at her caring nature. “What’s all this for?” I inquired with a grin, appreciating her thoughtfulness. “What’s the reason behind this? What would happen to me?”

But Pom’s concern ran deeper than I had anticipated. She peered down at me and said, “Let me put antiseptic on your back, madam.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she made the offer, and I was deeply moved by her compassion.

“Everything is okay right now. It’s only a simple, shallow wound,” I reassured Pom with a cheerful comment, trying to lighten the mood as she tended to the minor injuries on my back.

Pom’s voice trembled as she called out, “Madam.”

She gently responded, “I’m sorry… I understand.”

In that moment, we shared an unspoken understanding-a bond forged by the trials and tribulations of our shared experiences. The wounds ran deeper than the ones on my skin, and Pom’s tears were a testament to the depth of empathy and compassion she held within her heart.

“We’re all on the same page, Pom,” I affirmed, wanting to ease her distress. “Just act as though we don’t know anything.”

Pom, however, continued to cry, her tears falling unchecked. I reached out to her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Pom, please stop crying,” I implored, my own emotions stirred by the genuine care and concern she had shown me.

“Will you bring me along? Ma’am, I’m not going to work here,” Pom explained, her voice tinged with determination as she stood before me.

I was taken aback by her unexpected request. “Why? Won’t your second madam scold you?” I inquired, concerned about the potential consequences of her decision.

Pom’s response, however, filled me with a profound sense of gratitude and touched my heart. “To me, it makes no difference,” she replied, her eyes unwavering as she met my gaze. “Because of you, I’ve worked here. I promise I won’t allow anyone to hurt you this time.”

Her words hung in the air, a testament to the strength of the bond that had formed between us. It was a bond born out of shared experiences, a bond that transcended the roles we had been assigned in life. Pom’s unwavering loyalty and commitment moved me deeply.

I couldn’t help but smile-a genuine and heartfelt expression of gratitude. “Don’t worry,” I assured her. “No one will ever abuse me again, and I’ll tell my father about you.”

But our conversation was interrupted by an unexpected knock on the door, a sound that sent a jolt of surprise through me. My door hadn’t been locked, and I hadn’t anticipated any visitors at that moment.

“Elena,” my dad’s voice called out, his presence filling the room with a sense of both relief and trepidation.

I turned my gaze to my father, and my heart filled with a mixture of emotions as I greeted him, “Good morning, Dad.”

“Baby,” my dad replied, approaching me with a soft and affectionate smile. His presence was like a comforting embrace, a reminder that I was not alone.

I couldn’t help but notice that he was holding a packet in his hand, and my curiosity was piqued. With gentle tenderness, my dad extended the package toward me, saying, “This dress is for you, dear.”

I took the packet from my father’s hands with eager anticipation and carefully cut it open. As I unveiled its contents, my eyes widened in astonishment and delight. Inside was a breathtaking bridal gown, a vision of lace and silk that exuded elegance and beauty.

“It’s really gorgeous, Daddy,” I exclaimed, my fingers tracing the intricate details of the gown. “You have given me a present after so many years.”