My Boyfriend Spent Four Years Dragging Me into the Abyss
Hannah Air · Completed · 5.2k Words
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Introduction
I used to be the cherished daughter of the Harlow family. I had everything I could ever want.
Then I fell in love with Bryce Wilder and threw it all away.
In our first year together, he taught me how to smoke, drink, and fight. By the second, I'd been expelled from school and cut ties with my family. In the third, I was sexually assaulted. Bryce was the only one who stayed by my side, making me believe that even if I'd lost everything else, at least I still had his love.
Then came our fourth year.
Photos of my assault were leaked online, and the internet tore me apart.
I went to Bryce in tears, begging him to help me get justice. Instead, I overheard him laughing about what had happened to me with his friends. They were even planning to watch the video of my assault for entertainment.
And standing right beside him was Amara Blythe, the girl who had always been jealous of me.
I thought that was the worst betrayal I could ever face.
I was wrong.
Then I fell in love with Bryce Wilder and threw it all away.
In our first year together, he taught me how to smoke, drink, and fight. By the second, I'd been expelled from school and cut ties with my family. In the third, I was sexually assaulted. Bryce was the only one who stayed by my side, making me believe that even if I'd lost everything else, at least I still had his love.
Then came our fourth year.
Photos of my assault were leaked online, and the internet tore me apart.
I went to Bryce in tears, begging him to help me get justice. Instead, I overheard him laughing about what had happened to me with his friends. They were even planning to watch the video of my assault for entertainment.
And standing right beside him was Amara Blythe, the girl who had always been jealous of me.
I thought that was the worst betrayal I could ever face.
I was wrong.
Chapter 1
Once upon a time, I was the golden girl, the treasured daughter of the Harlow family, adored and untouchable. I had everything.
Until I fell in love with Bryce Wilder.
Year One with him? I learned how to drink, smoke, and throw punches like I had nothing left to lose.
Year Two? I got kicked out of school and cut ties with my family.
Year Three? I was assaulted… and he still stayed by my side. Or so I thought.
Now, in Year Four, the unthinkable happened photos of the assault leaked online.
They spread like wildfire.
My eyes were red and swollen from crying, my hands trembling as I went searching for Bryce—desperate for comfort, for answers, for him.
Instead, I found betrayal.
In the dim VIP lounge of a private bar, I heard them—Bryce’s friends, those smug, trust fund bastards in tailored suits and Rolex watches—laughing like hyenas.
“Bro, she had a body like that back then?”
“That mini skirt, those tight tops... Who wouldn’t want to take a swing at that?”
“Bryce, what’s next? Drop the video?”
They burst into laughter.
Bryce’s voice was calm. Too calm.
“We already leaked the photos. A video’s just the next step.”
“Damn, you really are the king!”
“The ice queen, huh? Now she’s everyone’s whore.”
Another wave of laughter. My blood turned to ice.
I heard Bryce sneer. That cracked something inside me.
Then I heard a thud.
“Wanna check it out first, boys?” he said lazily, tossing a phone onto the table like it meant nothing.
They rolled up their sleeves like it was fight night. I could hear the anticipation in their movements, sharp, excited breaths, muttered filth.
No. I kicked the door open.
The laughter froze. Heads turned.
“S-Sis-in-law?” one of them stuttered.
Their eyes flicked to Bryce.
He didn’t say a word.
That was permission enough.
They whistled. One after another.
High-pitched. Mocking. Ugly.
I could feel their stares crawling over me like maggots—slimy, invasive, disgusting.
Someone kicked me from behind. I stumbled.
Bryce stepped aside like I was trash.
I crashed into the floor.
“Well damn,” someone cackled, “she’s already on her knees. Kinky.”
“That’s our girl!”
The room erupted in laughter. Wild. Vulgar.
Bryce looked down at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
“Nyla Harlow,” he said coldly. “You’re fucking disgusting.”
I ignored the pain screaming in my knees and threw myself at the guy holding the phone.
He just smirked, held it higher like a game of keep-away, then shoved me down with ease.
I hit the filthy carpet, stained with God-knows-what. The air reeked of whiskey, smoke, and sweat. I pushed up. Got knocked down again.
Over and over.
Tears streamed down my face. My hair clung to my cheeks, soaked in sweat. My clothes were twisted, my body bruised.
Still, I crawled to Bryce.
Clung to the hem of his trousers.
“Please,” I sobbed, voice cracking. “Tell them to stop. Tell them to delete the video. I’ll do anything… please.”
He didn’t even blink.
Then—an awful sound echoed through the room.
The sound of me crying.
Pleading.
Being violated.
I turned.
It was playing. On the big screen.
My body. My trauma. My hell.
Broadcasted like entertainment.
A woman strolled in—pretty, polished. Familiar, somehow.
She walked straight to Bryce and wrapped herself around his arm like she belonged there.
He smiled. He fucking smiled. Brushed her hair behind her ear like they were the only two in the room.
She tilted her head and gave me a smirk so sharp it could slice skin.
“Oops,” she said sweetly. “I accidentally cast it to the screen.”
The room exploded in laughter. Again.
But this time, I didn’t hear it. I felt it. Like knives. Like drowning.
My shame, my fury, my heartbreak—wrapped around me like chains, dragging me under.
I stumbled toward her, desperation burning in my chest.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please stop it. Delete it. I’m begging you.”
She looked down at me like I was dirt on her heels.
“Oh, relax,” she said, her voice syrupy and cruel. “It’s just for our little party. No one’s posting it online. Right, boys?”
Then she winked. “Besides, sis-in-law’s a little shy.”
More laughter. Louder. Meaner.
The room spun.
My legs gave out.
And the darkness swallowed me whole.
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886 Views · Ongoing · nightbloom06
Mara Kim has never belonged anywhere… until someone decided she did.
Thrown into Isteros Academy—a world of old money, blood money, and cruel social games—she's an outsider by birth and an afterthought by design. Her sister Solyn is the school's untouchable queen and Mara is her favorite target.
Everyone expects Atreus to treat his fiancée’s scholarship sister like everyone else does—as if she doesn’t matter.
Instead, his dorm room sits directly across from hers, close enough that she can see his light go out at night. Some nights, he climbs the old maintenance trellis just to check on her. He teaches her chess. He shows up exactly when something's gone wrong—and never once asks to be thanked for it.
"Don't fall in love with one piece," he warns her, over a board neither of them treats like a game anymore. "It punishes the person who only sees half of it."
Mara doesn't understand why the boy who's supposed to make her life harder keeps quietly making it easier—not until she realizes the anonymous stranger she's been writing to every week already has a name.
His.
He doesn't know he's writing to her, either.
By the time they find out, it's too late to stop what's already happening. Far too dangerous for anyone to find out.
In an empty studio, in the middle of a rainstorm, she asks him: 'Am I the kind of girl who kisses a boy engaged to my sister?'
He doesn't answer.
So she asks: 'What are we?’
He told her not to fall in love with one piece.
She fell anyway.
And he was never far behind.
Thrown into Isteros Academy—a world of old money, blood money, and cruel social games—she's an outsider by birth and an afterthought by design. Her sister Solyn is the school's untouchable queen and Mara is her favorite target.
Everyone expects Atreus to treat his fiancée’s scholarship sister like everyone else does—as if she doesn’t matter.
Instead, his dorm room sits directly across from hers, close enough that she can see his light go out at night. Some nights, he climbs the old maintenance trellis just to check on her. He teaches her chess. He shows up exactly when something's gone wrong—and never once asks to be thanked for it.
"Don't fall in love with one piece," he warns her, over a board neither of them treats like a game anymore. "It punishes the person who only sees half of it."
Mara doesn't understand why the boy who's supposed to make her life harder keeps quietly making it easier—not until she realizes the anonymous stranger she's been writing to every week already has a name.
His.
He doesn't know he's writing to her, either.
By the time they find out, it's too late to stop what's already happening. Far too dangerous for anyone to find out.
In an empty studio, in the middle of a rainstorm, she asks him: 'Am I the kind of girl who kisses a boy engaged to my sister?'
He doesn't answer.
So she asks: 'What are we?’
He told her not to fall in love with one piece.
She fell anyway.
And he was never far behind.
