Tamed by the Beast:His little Doll

Mira Ashford – POV

I'm so tired. I stare blankly ahead, watching the streets while my head is flooded with thoughts. I let out a slow sigh, as if the weight of the world is pressing on my chest, and I try to gather the pieces of my scattered mind. Honestly, I don't even know when things started falling apart like this. No one loves me. No one wraps their arms around me when I fall apart... except for one person, and even that, I'm not sure of.

Meaning... I'm not sure if he truly loves me.

I'm lost and alone. All I want... is for someone to find me. To rescue me from the loneliness that clings to my soul. To pull me out of this abyss that floods me every time I hear a single word thrown my way.

The strange thing is... I do have a family. Yes, a father named Ashford, two brothers, and one sister. All older than me. I'm the youngest of them all.

I'm Mira Ashford. The youngest of four.

The daughter of a man who never once said, "I'm proud of you."

The sister they all wish had never been born.

Siblings are supposed to be the shield you lean on when life knocks you down. But mine? They're the very reason I break-every single day. There's not a day I haven't suffered.

And the curse?

That I still search for love in this family, even though I know... it doesn't live here.

That's why I say I'm tired. Exhausted. God... my head feels heavy! Damn these thoughts that devour my soul, draining me dry, making me hate my very existence. Damn me... I must be cursed.

I snapped out of my thoughts when I flinched lightly at Max's voice. He was driving beside me, and I hadn't been present at all. God... I'd been staring at the streets and completely zoned out.

Max's voice came loud-almost shouting-but laced with concern and reproach:

"What's wrong, Mira? I've been talking to you for a while, and all I see is you leaning your head on the window, staring ahead, ignoring me!"

My voice felt heavy as I replied in a broken, almost whispering tone, as if the thoughts inside were tearing me apart:

"I'm just really tired."

Tired? That's such a pathetic word. It doesn't begin to explain what's inside me. I'm shattered. Collapsing. Damaged. I'm surviving only because someone thinks I'm still breathing.

Max took me to the beach, like he always does when I break down. We're still in the early stages of our relationship, but he's the only one who's not afraid of my chaos.

Still, deep down, a question repeats:

Will he stay... when he sees who I really am?

I tried to pull myself together when he said gently:

"How about we go out tomorrow? A quiet lunch, maybe?"

I nodded, then whispered,

"Thank you for caring."

He replied with quiet confidence,

"I'm always here, Mira."

Such a beautiful lie. Everyone says that-until they aren't.

I kept staring at the streets. The car windows trembled from Max's speed, but my mind... was elsewhere. I was thinking of one thing only:

If I disappeared right now... would anyone notice?

By the time I got home, the sun had vanished. The front door creaked open like the gate to hell. Their silence screamed in my ears.

Jessica's voice cut through the air-sharp, domineering, her eyes like venom:

"Where have you been until now?"

I replied coldly, masking my anxiety with effort. My voice slightly trembling:

"None of your business."

She scoffed, mocking and arrogant:

"What did you just say, you little bitch?! Speak properly! Every time you hear a word, you grab the doorknob and storm out!"

I answered with a cold voice, heavy with suppressed pain, my breath short:

"Take care of yourself, Jessica, and leave me alone. I really don't have time for you."

She got nastier, harsher:

"Watch your mouth, you filthy sl-"

I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to keep control, turned around slowly, my eyes boiling with years of repressed tears:

"Stop it, Jessica. Just... stop."

She laughed in disgust.

"Why? Afraid of the truth?

You're the reason our mother died!"

Her words lashed me like a whip. My heart stopped. The room began to spin.

"Enough!!!"

I slapped her.

Yes. I slapped her.

My face burned from the slap of truth, but she deserved it.

She staggered back, screaming. Everyone went silent.

Carlos... silent.

Lucas... looking away.

My father? Sitting, sipping his coffee, as if nothing happened.

I turned toward her, my eyes shining with tears spilling freely down my cheeks. I couldn't hold them back anymore.

I hate that label.

Because of their twisted thoughts...

They believe I caused our mother's death.

Oh God, help me... thinking about it kills me.

They think it was my fault. That I was the reason.

I spoke through trembling breaths, struggling to hold back the sobs:

"Don't you dare say that ever again!"

My voice cracked, each word tearing from my throat, my hands shaking violently. I looked her in the eyes, tears falling no matter how much I fought them. My voice came out as a whisper, fragmented between gasps and sobs.

Jessica, mockingly, her voice loud and cutting:

"Why? Isn't it true?"

Her tone was sharp, like she wanted her words to pierce through me. Her face was lit with a smug smile that meant nothing but cruelty.

I screamed, my hands gripping the edge of my shirt as if I were holding myself together:

"Enough! Stop talking!"

Life never gave me a choice. It always shoved pain down my throat, forced me to face it without any strength. Since childhood, I've been blamed for a crime I didn't commit-my mother's death.

They never understood... I was just a baby. I was born as she was dying.

Even my father-his silence was a stab deeper than their words.

Carlos? He saw me as a burden. Took on the responsibility unwillingly and hated me for it.

He was the one who took care of Jessica and Lucas. He worked, provided, while I?

I wasn't even allowed to exist in peace.

I wasn't a daughter. I was a reminder. A scar. A curse.

I looked up at him. He stood beside me like a stone. He gripped my shoulder with cruelty, as if pain was his only language. Pressing hard until I almost screamed.

Then he spoke, voice sharp:

"How dare you slap your sister, you filthy girl?!"

I screamed, choking on my pain:

"Because she doesn't know how to measure her words!

I didn't choose for Mom to die! I didn't ask to be born guilty!

Damn it, just understand!"

Before I could finish, he slapped me.

The shock stunned me.

Tears gushed.

His glare was merciless. His voice, a whip.

Jessica smiled wickedly. Lucas watched silently, unmoving.

And my father, as always, just observed.

No one ever stops them.

I'm always... alone.

I screamed again, shoved Carlos away, rushed upstairs, and slammed the door shut. I sank to the floor and broke down crying. Years of silent pain erupted in sobs.

I opened my closet, pulled out a small bag, and began stuffing it with what I needed.

I couldn't take it anymore.

I was done.

There was nothing left tying me to this hell.

Just as I was about to leave-

Lucas walked in.

"Where are you going?" he asked, stunned.

I choked out a response:

"That's none of your business... I'm leaving. I can't take it anymore... your actions have destroyed me."

My lips trembled. I looked at him with tear-filled eyes. I gasped violently, breathing hard.

I saw his brows furrow suddenly as he stared at me. I didn't expect what came next...

He stepped forward quickly-

And before I knew it, his arms were wrapped tightly around me.

He hugged me.

Held me.

His arms were around me as if I weren't the accused, the one he always ignored.

The bag slipped from my hands, and I cried harder.

I clung to him like I was drowning and he was my lifeline.

He wasn't like them... he never hurt me.

But he never protected me either.

I was stunned.

I'd never seen him like this before.

He was always distant, quiet, withdrawn.

But I needed this hug...

I needed someone to hold me... to lift even a fraction of the weight crushing my chest.

I didn't hesitate. The bag dropped from my hands, and I raised my arms and hugged him tightly.

I sobbed harder, crying as if I were emptying years of pain.

I held him tighter, breathing loudly, almost choking, but I didn't want to let go.

It was like I was pouring all my pain into him-without needing words.

He whispered, patting my back awkwardly,

"Enough... you're going to destroy yourself crying. Calm down..."

After a moment, I pulled back and looked at him.

He felt strange-close and unfamiliar all at once.

"I know you didn't hurt me like the others... thank you. But..."

I paused, then whispered,

"... I still have to go."

Lucas, suddenly alarmed, raised his voice:

"Are you serious?

Where will you go?

Are you planning to stay on the streets?

Or are you going to that guy who picks you up from the side of the house?!"

I lowered my head and replied with cold, quiet pain:

"It doesn't matter... no one cares if I'm gone.

I'll figure it out.

Being on the street is better than staying in this house... believe me."

How could a little girl be blamed so early?

Children are supposed to be angels. Pure. Untouched by guilt.

So why was I the devil in their eyes?

Why did they look at me like I didn't belong? Like I was wrong, even before I knew what wrong meant?

Life never gave me a chance to fight back.

It didn't make me strong enough.

Not strong enough to stand tall.

Not strong enough to face them.

I was just a child.

And all I wanted-was to be held, not judged.