Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 107

The glass shattered violently, and a jagged shard sliced across Perry’s skin, drawing a thin line of red.

A heavy silence fell after the crash, lingering only for a brief moment before he spoke in a calm, measured tone. “Stay in bed. Don’t move.”

His face remained unreadable as he reached for a fresh glass, filling it with water before approaching me again.

Without hesitation, I snatched the glass from his hands and hurled it across the room.

This time, the glass collided with the wall, exploding into countless pieces. I fixed him with a glare so fierce it could have burned through steel, letting him see the full extent of my loathing.

He deserved every ounce of my hatred, yet there was something different in his eyes—a flicker of something softer, something that seemed like longing.

“You don’t want water? Fine,” he said quietly. “Marcela’s on her way. I’ll wait until she gets here.”

He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, keeping a careful distance. He didn’t dare touch me, though I noticed the subtle twitch of his hands, as if he longed to pull me close.

When I suddenly pushed myself up and lunged at him, raking my nails across his face, he didn’t resist. He simply let me.

Blood bloomed from the scratches, but he said nothing, watching me with that maddening gentleness that made my anger burn even hotter. “If hurting me helps, then do it. Use me however you want, Phoebe. Poison me—I’d drink it gladly.”

The fool was utterly lost. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt me. When he found out about my betrayal—the poison I’d slipped to him—he punished me, but in some twisted way, he punished himself even more.

And with the death of our baby, the guilt he carried was heavier than any punishment he could inflict.

I wrapped my fingers tightly around his throat, desperate to squeeze the life from him. He sat there quietly, accepting whatever I chose to do.

But my body betrayed me. Days spent unconscious had left me weak. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t finish him off.

Just then, Marcela burst through the door, her face pale with horror as she yanked me away from him.

“My king, are you hurt?” Marcela’s voice trembled with concern.

“Check her condition. Keep her in bed until this mess is cleaned up,” he said with maddening calmness, wiping the blood from his face as the wounds began to close on their own. Then he stood.

He had wanted me awake, but he also knew I’d react exactly like this once I came to.

Still, my violent response was exactly what he had expected.

As he turned to leave, I lunged forward, grabbing him back. I wasn’t done—I needed him dead.

I no longer cared about punishment; I wanted him to suffer just as he had made our child suffer.

I wanted him destroyed, just like he had destroyed our baby.

“My lady, stop!” Marcela cried, panic in her voice as she tried to hold me back, but I was already clawing at his face again, landing a weak strike.

The blow barely registered—my strength was too depleted to cause real damage—but I lost my balance and nearly toppled off the bed. Only his quick reflexes prevented me from falling onto the floor littered with sharp glass shards.

Had I fallen, those fragments would have torn me apart.

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