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dollgxtz · 23 days ago

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His Watchful Eye Pt.11

Word Count: 24.4k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, broken bones, bloodshed, fighting, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, Xavier appears, tw vomiting, nausea, spanking

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey, @webmvie, @housesortinghat, @fading-twinkle, @shoruio, @gojos1ut, @solomonlover, @cheesenjam, @elegantnightblaze, @mavphorias, @babylavendersblog, @burntoutfrogacademic, @sinstae, @certainduckanchor, @ladyackermanisdead, @sh4nn, @milkandstarlight, @lilyadora, @depressedwhore, @nyumin, @kiwookse, @anisha24-blog1, @weepingluminarytale

AN: This is on A03! I am SO SO sorry for how long this chapter took. I got super busy with school and Halloween stuff! I hope this long chapter makes up for it. I am Incredibly grateful for all the comments and support you guys leave me, it always warms my heart to see you guys theorizing stuff in the comments and asks! Tysm and enjoy! <33

“Allow me to properly introduce myself this time.” Sylus’s smile was a slow, predatory curl, his words coming out deliberately, each syllable meant to dig beneath Xavier’s skin like shards of glass. “The name's Sylus, as you may know. Head of Onychinus and…” He paused, his gaze locking onto Xavier’s with a smug satisfaction, an unsettling glint of something deeply personal. “The father of the child in your ex-lover’s belly.”

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10 Pt.12

The night sky in the N109 Zone was as dark as always, a dense, inky blackness that seemed to press in from every corner of the room, never letting up, never hinting at dawn. There was no morning light to greet you, only the cold shadows that defined this strange world. You stirred, half-wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, and felt the steady, unfamiliar rhythm of someone’s breathing beneath you.

Slowly, the realization dawned—you were lying against Sylus. How you had come to falling asleep on him, you weren't sure but your head was on his shoulder, his arm draped around you possessively, his breathing soft and even. Fighting the urge to push him away, you shifted slightly, noticing an odd dampness against your cheek. Your mind jolted to full awareness as you realized you had drooled on him in your sleep. A flush of embarrassment crept up your neck, and you went to pull away, but his arm only tightened, holding you closer.

Before you could think of a way to subtly create some distance, you felt him stir. He shifted, his face turning down to look at you, his lips twitching into a gentle, amused smile. He caught sight of the small patch of drool on his shirt, and a soft chuckle escaped him, the sound so warm and gentle that it disarmed you.

“Drooled on me, did you?” he murmured, his voice low, laced with a softness that was almost tender. He didn’t pull back, didn’t seem annoyed or disgusted. Instead, his gaze lingered on you, his eyes holding an unexpected fondness, a warmth that made your heart pound in a way you hadn’t planned on.

You swallowed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, to snap back at him the way you might have in any other situation. Instead, you managed a shy, embarrassed chuckle, casting your eyes down and willing your blush to fade. It wasn’t part of the act, but somehow it fit.

Follow the plan. Pretend. Play the part.

His hand moved to your cheek, his thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth where a stray trace of drool lingered. He didn’t seem in any rush, his touch featherlight, his eyes focused intently on your lips as if the gesture was intimate and personal.

“There,” he whispered, his voice taking on a softer, almost reverent tone. He continued to brush his thumb over your cheek, his fingers moving slowly, his gaze not leaving yours. “All better.”

Something in his expression made your pulse quicken, a warmth rising in his eyes that was difficult to look away from. His thumb moved along your cheek, brushing down your jawline, and for a brief moment, you thought he might lean in closer. His gaze was so intense, so wrapped up in you that the darkness around him almost softened, making his presence the only real thing in the room.

You had to remember your role, the act you were putting on. The plan. It was the one thing keeping you tethered, reminding you to stay grounded. You met his gaze, let your eyes soften in response, and gave him a small, tentative smile. The expression seemed to thrill him, his hand lingering against your face as though he couldn’t bear to pull away.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it, the words spoken as if he truly cared about the answer.

The question brought a fresh wave of anxiety that you fought to bury. You hadn’t slept well at all. You’d tossed and turned, haunted by nightmares, each one darker than the last. This time, it had been Xavier’s face haunting you, a vision of him twisted in pain as Sylus aimed a gun at him and pulled the trigger without hesitation, without mercy.

Just like Reese.

You shuddered, trying to dispel the image, to push it far from your mind. But Sylus’s eyes were on you, his gaze unwavering, expectant.

“Yeah,” you lied, keeping your voice soft, steady. “I slept fine.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly but seemed pleased with your answer, his lips curving into a warm smile as his thumb traced the edge of your jaw one last time before pulling away. His eyes held a hint of satisfaction as he leaned back, running his fingers through your hair briefly before letting his hand fall away.

“Good,” he murmured. “Your nightmares seemed to be getting worse. I've been worried.”

The words were gentle, genuine, and though every part of you wanted to recoil, to pull away from the kind words, you forced yourself to stay in character. You could feel his fingers brush over your arm as he adjusted the covers around you, his gaze sweeping over you with an intensity that left you breathless.

But the image of Xavier's body, bloodied, limp and losing warmth at your feet lingered, the nightmare vivid, the fear creeping in like an unwelcome guest. Your body shivered involuntarily, and Sylus’s eyes narrowed, his expression shifting from warmth to concern.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he scanned your face.

You nodded your head, willing your mind to settle, to push aside the lingering panic from the nightmare. “A little,” you admitted, hoping it would satisfy his curiosity without prompting more questions.

He nodded, his hand brushing your arm again as he stood, glancing toward the thermostat on the wall. “I’ll turn up the heat,” he said, giving you one last reassuring look before moving to adjust the temperature. “No reason for my kitten to be cold.”

As he moved across the room, you allowed yourself to exhale, grateful for the momentary solitude.

He straightened, nodding with approval at the warmer setting, then turned back to you with a final, lingering look. “I’ve got some things to take care of this morning. I’ll be back soon.” His eyes traced over you, as if memorizing the way you looked, and with a slight smile, he slipped out of the room, leaving you in a heavy silence.

You watched him leave, letting go of the breath you didn't realize you were holding once he was out of your sight.

The silence settled in again, thick and suffocating, the shadows creeping back in to fill the space he’d left behind. You let yourself sink into the quiet, gathering your thoughts, steadying your mind. The sound of your ankle chain clinking against the bedframe brought you back to the harsh reality you were living in, the weight of it all pressing down on you like an anchor.

Still, the routine was there to keep you grounded. It was the one thing that hadn’t changed, the one thing you had control over. Make the bed, shower, brush your teeth—small rituals that gave you a sense of order, of stability, in the midst of chaos.

You moved with methodical purpose, your footsteps heavy, the chain rattling softly with each step. As the water cascaded over you in the shower, you closed your eyes, letting the warmth soothe your skin, if only for a brief moment. You scrubbed away the residue of the night, of the nightmares, of Sylus’s touch. But the feeling lingered, a shadow that clung to you no matter how hard you tried to shake it.

Dressing quickly, you moved back into the room and glanced at the mirror, lifting the hem of your dress as you examined your stomach in the faint light. It was still flat, still untouched by any sign of life. You let out a soft, shaky breath, feeling an odd mixture of relief and frustration. Seven weeks—of course, it was too early to show anything. But part of you clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, there was nothing in there. That it was all some twisted illusion, a nightmare you would eventually wake from.

But as your fingers brushed over the smooth skin, the cold truth seeped into you like ice. This was real. The nausea, the exhaustion, the subtle signs your body was changing. There was no escaping it, no running from it. You were trapped, bound not just by the chain at your ankle, but by the life growing inside you—a life you hadn’t chosen.

You dropped your dress back into place, feeling a bitter lump rise in your throat as you turned away from the mirror. The reflection, the reminders, the confinement of this life—it was all more than you could bear. But the fight wasn’t over. Not yet.

Follow the plan. Pretend. Play the part.

As you moved back toward the bed, your mind hardened with resolve.

You decided to turn to the dresser, your hands instinctively moving over the various clothes folded inside, each piece carefully arranged. A sea of unfamiliar textures, all expensive, soft fabrics that draped around you like a second skin. Not a single item from your past life was here; they were all gifts from Sylus, carefully chosen and arranged as if each outfit could somehow rewrite your story.

As you methodically folded and rearranged each garment, you began to chant silently to yourself. You’re not a captive. You’re not a victim. You’re his fiancée. The words echoed in your mind, a mantra meant to ground you, to remind you of your new role. This wasn’t some hellish confinement—it was an engagement. A proposal. Be his loving fiancée, you told yourself. Separate yourself from who you used to be. Play the part.

Your fingers brushed against the ring on your left hand, the black gems catching the dim light in the room and throwing small glimmers across the wall. The weight of it felt foreign, and yet… part of you welcomed it, felt anchored by its presence. You turned your hand slowly, watching the light play off the stone, as if it held the power to transform you into someone new.

This is my life now. The thought settled over you, heavy and cold. You couldn’t keep existing as who you’d been before, not here, not under his watchful eye. You had to separate yourself, to slip into this role. To survive. To pretend. The ring’s weight grounded you, tethering you to this new identity. The person you’d once been felt like a fading memory, a life left behind in another world.

The clothes in your hands felt heavy, each piece like a part of someone else’s life. You smoothed the silk between your fingers, focusing on the feel, the texture, letting yourself slip into a strange sense of detachment. This isn’t happening, a voice whispered at the back of your mind, but you pushed it down, deep into the pit of your stomach. There was no room for doubt now. You couldn’t let it surface, not when Sylus was watching your every move, waiting for cracks in the illusion you were creating.

The edges of your past life blurred, the memories growing fuzzy. Your apartment, Xavier, the freedom—they felt distant, like someone else’s story. And the more you organized, the more you repeated the silent mantra in your head, the more your past self seemed to slip further away.

You were his fiancée. His bride-to-be. The mother of his child. This was your life now, defined by the lavishness, the isolation, and the shadows of the N109 Zone.

Your thoughts were still scattered when the door creaked back open, pulling you sharply from your daze. Sylus entered, the quiet satisfaction on his face making your pulse spike. He moved closer, his gaze sweeping over you, taking in the change of clothes and the small attempts you’d made to organize your surroundings.

"Honey," he murmured, his voice a practiced warmth that made your skin crawl. "You look beautiful."

The word hung in the air like a heavy weight. Your stomach twisted, a surge of revulsion and defiance bubbling just beneath the surface, but you forced yourself to smile. He can't see through me, you told yourself. Stay calm. Play the part.

“Thank you, Sylus,” you replied softly, keeping your voice even, your eyes lifted to meet his. His gaze searched yours, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you thought he might see the turmoil you were hiding. But his expression only softened as he stepped closer.

The space between you evaporated as he closed the distance, his eyes warm with that disturbingly tender look he often gave you now, as though he could wrap his affection around you like a chain. His hand reached for your cheek, and his lips pressed against yours, soft but with an unmistakable possession. It took every ounce of control to keep yourself from recoiling. His hands moved downward, gliding over the fabric of your dress, then settled on your stomach, his fingers brushing lightly as though he were touching something sacred.

As Sylus’s hand settled on your stomach, your body went rigid, your mind screaming in silent protest. His fingers traced a gentle line along your abdomen, a mockery of tenderness that only amplified the revulsion pooling within you. The warmth of his touch seeped through the thin fabric of your dress, making your skin crawl as though a hundred ants were writhing just beneath the surface. You fought the impulse to pull away, to slap his hand from you. Instead, you forced yourself to endure it, to remain still, to keep the carefully constructed facade from crumbling.

You could almost feel the weight of his intentions pressing down on you with that simple, invasive gesture. His hand, possessive and unyielding, lingered a second too long on the spot that symbolized everything he had taken from you—your freedom, your choices, and now, even your body. The bile rose in your throat, and you had to force it back down, willing yourself to relax against the repulsion twisting inside you.

Sylus’s voice broke the silence, soft and coaxing, almost gentle. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked, his fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of your dress. “Any…changes?”

Your mind flickered back to every nauseous morning, the endless ache that had settled into your bones, the feeling of something foreign growing inside you, unwanted and relentless. But you kept your face passive, breathing shallowly to keep yourself steady, forcing down the loathing that his touch sparked in you.

"Yes,” you replied, your voice barely more than a murmur. “I’m feeling…less sick than usual." You added a faint smile, desperate to keep your revulsion buried beneath it.

His mouth curved into a pleased grin, and he rubbed your stomach with the tenderness that you’d have found sweet—if it wasn’t coming from him. Every brush of his fingers was another reminder of the lengths he’d gone to to keep you here, trapped in this twisted vision of love and control. The more his hand lingered, the more it felt like an iron clamp holding you in place, reminding you of everything he thought he’d secured. His eyes softened, as though he was truly moved by the connection he thought you shared. But beneath that false warmth lay an ownership so complete it turned your stomach.

Sylus’s eyes searched your face, his hand still tracing gentle circles on your stomach. “Good,” he said, voice low, “I was beginning to think the little one would keep giving you a hard time.” He chuckled softly, the sound dark and possessive as he continued to watch you.

You felt the laugh bubbling up in your throat, hollow and strained. It wasn’t funny; nothing about this was funny. But you had to give him something, anything to keep the facade from breaking. The laugh came out small and brittle, but he seemed satisfied enough. The smile lingered on his lips, pleased, like a cat that’s finally trapped its prey.

His gaze shifted again, a contemplative look darkening his features. He paused, his eyes tracing every detail of your face, as though he were trying to read the depths of your soul. You felt your heart race, panic prickling at the edges of your composure. Does he know? you wondered, your pulse pounding in your ears. Can he see through me?

He hesitated, then dropped his hand from your stomach. His face softened, his mouth curving into a gentle smile as he reached for your hand, squeezing it with a quiet affection that sent another shiver of disgust through you. “Breakfast is ready downstairs,” he said, voice calm but tinged with a subtle intensity. “Since we had a deal, you’ll be joining me in the dining room today.”

The words sparked a flame of excitement within you that you kept buried beneath a carefully neutral expression. Finally, you thought. A chance to finally get out of this room again. Even if he was going to be with you, watching your every move, this was a chance to observe, to take in the surroundings, to map out the layout of this cage he’d built around you. You let a soft, demure smile touch your lips as you nodded.

“That sounds…nice,” you replied, voice steady as your pulse thrummed with suppressed excitement. Keep it together, you told yourself. Don’t let him see.

Sylus watched you carefully, his gaze searching for any flicker of resistance. He was no fool; he was careful, calculating, and you knew he could see beneath surface pleasantries. But as your gaze met his, you felt a spark of pride—you were holding steady. This, at least, he couldn’t touch.

But the moment seemed to stretch, and Sylus’s expression darkened slightly, his smile fading as a more serious look settled on his face.

"A warning, honey," he said, his tone quiet but unmistakably firm, his eyes locking onto yours with a weight that made you feel as if you were being trapped all over again. "I’ve thought of every possible way you could try to escape. Every single one.” His voice softened, his hand lifting to your cheek, gently brushing his thumb over your skin, and you fought the instinct to flinch. “I don’t want to have to punish you,” he continued, his tone almost tender. “But if you try anything...I will. Do you understand?”

You swallowed hard, keeping your gaze fixed on his, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing the flicker of fear in your eyes. “I understand,” you murmured, voice steady. But beneath the calm mask, your mind raced. I won’t let him break me, you thought fiercely. My mind is mine. He can’t take that.

Sylus’s expression softened as he withdrew his hand, a satisfied smile gracing his lips.

"Good."

The word "good" lingered in the air like a quiet promise, or maybe a warning. He leaned down, messing with the lock on your chain until it came undone, freeing your ankle. Sylus's hand pressed lightly against the small of your back, firm and confident as he led you toward the door. The steady warmth of his touch, which you’d have found comforting under other circumstances, now only made your stomach churn.

The sound of his footsteps behind you was unsettlingly steady, each one a reminder of how trapped you were, how every movement, every word was all part of this intricate play you’d agreed to perform. You had committed yourself to this role, to pretending—pretending to love him, to see him as something he wasn’t. And if you wanted even a sliver of freedom, you’d have to keep up the act.

The air shifted as he opened the door, cool and light, with that strange stillness that seemed to hang over every corner of this place. No natural light met your eyes—no break in the oppressive shadows that filled the hall. Each step took you further from that familiar confinement, and yet the act of leaving the room didn’t bring you relief; instead, it was as if the walls expanded around you, reminding you of just how vast and endless your prison was.

He guided you forward, his presence close, hovering like an ever-watchful shadow. Memories of the last time you’d been out here assaulted your mind: the desperate rush for freedom, your footsteps barely whispering over the floor as you tried to escape. You pushed the memories down, trying to smother them beneath layers of numbness. Reese’s basement. The cold that clung to your bones, the darkness that swallowed every sound, every hope. You couldn’t let those thoughts resurface. Not now. Not when every inch of this house reminded you of that night you thought you had gotten away.

It took every ounce of control to walk calmly in front of him, to mask the dread twisting in your stomach. Sylus’s hand slipped from your back as you descended the stairs, his watchful gaze never leaving you. You focused on each step, your footfalls muted on the soft carpet, a stark contrast to the hammering of your heart. He had you under his thumb, and you could feel it with every step, every fleeting glance he cast your way, his eyes alight with that mix of possessive pride and some twisted form of care.

Finally, you reached the dining room. The warm scent of breakfast hung in the air, an almost comforting blend of cheese, ham, and eggs, with a subtle sweetness that promised something more. The table was laid out meticulously, each dish arranged as if part of a tableau. Fluffy omelettes filled with gooey cheese, chunks of ham, and flecks of green and red from the peppers and onions, each cut carefully to release a tantalizing aroma.

Golden-brown slices of French toast sat in stacks, sprinkled with powdered sugar that caught the light, giving them an almost ethereal glow. Next to them lay strips of crispy bacon, their smoky scent filling the room, mingling with the warmth of melted butter and syrup in a way that made your stomach growl in betrayal.

Sylus pulled out a chair for you, his hand lingering on the back of it, waiting until you were seated before he moved to his own place across from you. His plate mirrored yours, arranged with the same care, but you could feel his gaze as he watched you intently, like he was savoring every second of this shared meal. You picked up your fork, your hands steady despite the turmoil within. You had to keep up the illusion, the facade. You’d come this far. You couldn’t slip now.

He took a bite, his eyes softening as he watched you, as if breakfast were some quiet declaration of his devotion. “I’m having one of the rooms upstairs renovated for the baby,” he said, his voice gentle, almost tentative, as if he were letting you into a sacred secret. “I can show it to you after breakfast if you’d like.”

The words cut through you like ice, though you forced your face into a careful, neutral expression, nodding as if this prospect thrilled you. You didn’t want to go up there, to see what he was creating, to make real the future he’d carved out without your consent. You took another bite of the omelette, chewing mechanically, swallowing hard against the nausea that rose within you. But he didn’t seem to notice the pause, too wrapped up in his own excitement.

“When we know the gender,” he continued, his voice brimming with a carefully concealed thrill, “you’ll have full control over what you want in the room. Anything you envision, I’ll make it happen.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at you, his enthusiasm painfully genuine.

“Really?” The word left your lips in a soft, curious tone you didn’t entirely expect. He seemed so willing, so eager to give you something, to let you play a part in this vision he had for the future. Despite yourself, the generosity of it surprised you, the way he seemed so desperate to mold this life for you both, to make it something he thought you’d want.

Sylus nodded, the warmth in his gaze deepening. “Absolutely,” he replied, his voice soft, a hint of pride there, as though he were offering you something precious. “Even if the room’s finished and you decide you want to change everything, it’s no trouble. I’ll have Luke and Kieran redo it as many times as you want. Even repaint it a thousand times if that’s what it takes to make you happy.”

You smiled softly, more out of reflex than genuine feeling, your fingers absently toying with the expensive ring he’d placed on your finger. The weight of it felt almost mocking, a reminder of everything he was trying to wrap you in, of how deeply he had embedded himself in every part of your life. Why did he go to such lengths? Why did he care so much about pleasing you, about making you happy, when he was the reason you were here, trapped in this gilded prison? You felt an unexpected tightness in your chest, a pang of confusion and bitterness mingling in a way that left you feeling hollow.

Forcing yourself to maintain the act, you let out a light laugh, trying to keep the tone playful.

If it’s a girl,” you said, your voice sounding strangely detached even to your own ears, “maybe we could make it look like…a dreamscape? Something soft. Like she’s living in a cloud, floating above it all.” The words slipped out, and for a moment, a pang of sadness struck you, imagining a child who would never know freedom, who would grow up within the walls of a world he’d forged.

The words felt foreign, like someone else was speaking them, yet you pushed on, ignoring the way your heart twisted. “If it’s a boy, maybe something different, like decorating it to look like the night sky? All you ever see for boys are trucks and dinosaurs. Pretty boring,” you added, forcing a chuckle.

Sylus chuckled softly in return, nodding thoughtfully, seemingly thrilled by this glimpse into your thoughts. “I agree. Whatever you come up with, Im sure the baby will love it.”

The way he looked at you, with that bright, unguarded hopefulness, was surreal—like he wasn’t the same man who had dragged you into this nightmare. His smile, his promises…they twisted in your mind, clashing against the memories of everything he had done. And yet here he was, eagerly offering you choices as if any of this could somehow become normal, as if anything he did could erase the horrors that clung to you like a second skin.

You forced yourself to nod, to play along, swallowing down the bitterness that rose like bile in your throat. “Yeah...hopefully” you murmured, glancing back at the ring he’d put on your finger. It gleamed in the dim dining room light, mocking you, a reminder of the prison you now wore on your very body. No matter how softly he spoke, how kindly he smiled, you knew this wasn't just a proposal of love—it was also a declaration of ownership.

He had said it was yours, everything he had—all his resources, his entire life. You could have it, he’d promised, if only you stayed beside him. But the cost was unspoken, hanging heavily between you. It was everything else you’d lost in the exchange. Your freedom. Your past. And worst of all, your future. Your dreams. The life you’d dreamed of was gone, scattered like ashes, and here he was offering you a new one, handpicked, designed…controlled by him.

Your fingers brushed against the delicate fabric of your dress, your skin crawling as you felt his eyes follow the motion. Every time his gaze lingered, it was like he was trying to peel away the layers of your thoughts, to see beyond your outward calm. He wanted you to love this world he’d constructed, to surrender to it, to him.

Sylus’s voice broke the silence, his tone warm and conversational, as though you were any other couple discussing future plans over breakfast. “I want you to be happy, honey,” he said, his eyes watching you intently. “Whatever it takes.”

The words grated against you. Happy? Did he truly believe happiness could be built on chains, on rape, on fear? But you bit down on your retort, aware of the deal you’d struck with yourself: stay quiet, play along. Pretend to be content until you found an opening to escape.

You steeled yourself, picking up a piece of omelette and forcing a bite. The savory flavor filled your mouth, rich with cheese and herbs, a stark contrast to the bitterness churning in your chest. You could hardly focus on the taste, though, as every forkful felt more like a performance than a meal.

Your mind drifted to the night he’d placed that ring on your finger, and the memory clawed at you, reminding you of how helpless you’d felt. He’d knelt before you, spoken to you with tenderness you’d once dreamed of, but it was all wrong. His words were cages, his promises laced with possessiveness along with devotion. And here you were, entertaining his fantasies, playing the role he expected, all the while simmering with resentment beneath the surface.

The silence stretched between you as you chewed, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you, as if savoring each hint of compliance, every signal that you were softening to his world. The notion made your stomach turn, and you fought to keep your expression neutral, pushing down the revulsion that bubbled up every time he glanced at you with that unsettling fondness.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, the words tasting bitter as they left your mouth.

He must have sensed your discomfort because his hand found yours across the table, his fingers curling around your own in a gentle but firm grip. The touch sent an uncomfortable shiver up your spine, but you managed to stay still, breathing deeply as he spoke again.

"You're welcome".

Sylus watched you closely, seemingly oblivious to the defiance simmering in your mind, misinterpreting your polite responses as something more. He leaned back, finally releasing your hand, and you had to stifle the sigh of relief that wanted to escape.

He lifted his coffee, taking a slow sip as he studied you over the rim, that same possessive look glinting in his eyes. You could see his satisfaction, his self-assured belief that he was winning you over, that with enough time, you’d come to want this life he was forcing upon you.

But beneath that calm exterior, a storm was raging, one that no amount of soft words or promises could quell. You kept your composure, maintained the charade, all while feeling the weight of that ring on your finger like a shackle, a reminder of the life he’d stolen from you.

“You done? You're not eating anymore,” he finally said, his voice low and approving as he set his coffee down. The satisfaction in his tone was unmistakable, a quiet certainty that made your stomach twist with anger.

"Oh! Yeah...I'm full. Thank you for the meal".

Without another word, he stood and walked around the table, extending a hand to help you up. You forced yourself to take it, hating the way his fingers felt warm and solid around yours, grounding you in a reality you wished you could shatter. He pulled you gently to your feet, his hand lingering just a little too long as he smiled down at you.

“Let’s go see the nursery,” he murmured, a strange tenderness in his tone as though he genuinely believed he was offering you something precious.

You swallowed hard, pushing down the nausea that rose at the thought of following him deeper into this life he wanted to build. Your hands trembled slightly, but you clenched them into fists, forcing yourself to breathe as you steeled yourself for whatever came next.

This was all a performance, a lie spun so carefully that even he couldn’t see through it. You had to remind yourself of that. Every step you took was one step closer to escape, to reclaiming the life he’d stolen. And though he might not see it, every forced smile, every quiet nod, was a weapon in your silent rebellion.

Sylus led you back up the winding staircase, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back. His touch was light, yet constant—a reminder that he was in control, guiding you through the unfamiliar and shadowy corners of this place. Your stomach twisted with a blend of dread and unease, but beneath that was a flicker of anticipation. You were finally leaving the bedroom again, stepping outside its confining walls, mapping out more of the house. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were gaining a sense of your surroundings, every detail cataloged for future use.

When you reached the top of the stairs, Sylus paused in front of a wide, partially open doorway. “This is it,” he murmured, his voice carrying a note of quiet pride as he pulled the door open for you.

The room was expansive—much larger than you’d expected. As Sylus guided you inside, your eyes widened, taking in the sheer scale of the space. Dust motes floated lazily through the beams of light from the tall, arched windows at the back of the room, casting soft, silvery patterns across the unfinished wooden floor. Even in its early stages of renovation, there was a grandeur to the room, with its high ceilings and intricate moldings, making it feel more like a sanctuary than a nursery.

The room itself was an absolute mess. Tools were strewn about haphazardly, piles of wooden planks leaned against one wall, and white tarps covered parts of the floor. There were cans of paint, ladders, and half-installed shelves along the perimeter. Despite the chaos, you could see the skeleton of what it might become—the walk-in closet on one side, spacious and already fitted with a few shelves, the beginnings of a built-in bookshelf near the window. It was unsettlingly beautiful, and that paradox didn’t sit right with you. This room was meant for a child, your child—a child you didn’t ask for, in a life you hadn’t chosen.

You were so absorbed in your thoughts that you almost didn’t notice the two figures hunched over the unfinished flooring, tools in hand, their faces obscured by bird masks. Luke and Kieran. You hadn’t seen them in a while, and their sudden appearance felt like a slap, pulling you sharply back into this warped reality. Still, there was something almost comforting about their presence. Of everyone in this place, they were the least threatening. They were more like overgrown children themselves, mischievous and playful.

As soon as they saw you and Sylus, they sprang to their feet in unison, like they’d been caught playing instead of working. Luke’s hammer slipped from his hand, clattering loudly against the floor with an echo that bounced off the bare walls. Kieran smacked him on the back of the head immediately, the gesture both reprimanding and oddly familiar—brotherly, almost.

“Hi, boss! Miss!” Luke called out, rubbing the back of his head where Kieran had smacked him. “Nice to see you! Feeling any better?” His voice carried a genuine enthusiasm, bright and disarming despite the mask hiding his face.

You gave a small, awkward smile, not quite sure how to respond but feeling the warmth of their attention, which was strangely comforting in its simplicity. “I’m fine, thank you,” you replied, almost laughing as Luke’s excitement seemed to bounce off Kieran, whose head snapped up at your words.

Kieran, keeping a respectful distance yet clearly intrigued, tilted his head with what you guessed was curiosity. “Is it twins, boss?” he asked, and even without seeing his face, you could almost sense the spark of excitement in his voice.

Luke perked up immediately at his brother’s question, nodding as he moved a bit closer, looking directly at your stomach. “Yeah, is it twins?” he echoed, their eagerness radiating from them both, despite the masks that hid any expression.

Feeling shy, a wave of discomfort washed over you. The weight of their stares made you feel oddly exposed, like you were on display. But before you could respond, Sylus’s hand came to rest on your back again, a possessive but somehow protective gesture, and he answered for you, his tone playful.

“No, not twins. Not a pair the two of you could influence, thankfully” he replied, amusement clear in his voice as he added the playful jab.

Both brothers let out exaggerated groans, as if they were genuinely disappointed. The sound was so exaggerated and childish that you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, and to your surprise, it felt genuine. For a fleeting moment, it was almost like things were normal, like you weren’t trapped in this house, under Sylus’s watch.

“Ahh, fine,” Luke muttered, shaking his head dramatically. “Just thought a pair would’ve made things more interesting, that’s all.”

Kieran nodded in mock solemnity, hands on his hips. “Could’ve been our legacy, boss,” he said with exaggerated disappointment, and both he and Luke sighed as if heartbroken.

Luke’s shoulders slumped, and he mumbled to Kieran, “Guess we’ll just have to settle for one, huh?”

Kieran gave him a little nudge. “At least we get to help with the room. Think of all the stuff we can build!”

The two of them started chatting animatedly about work they would have to do for the nursery, tossing out suggestions with an eagerness that would’ve been contagious if not for the circumstances. You couldn’t deny the odd charm they added to this otherwise stifling existence. Despite everything, they had this strange innocence about them, a playful energy that, in any other setting, might’ve been endearing.

Sylus watched them for a moment, his arm resting casually around your waist as if he were proudly presenting you to his subordinates. You felt the weight of his hand settle there, possessive but gentle, a silent claim that you couldn’t quite ignore. His thumb stroked your side in a way that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, though you kept your composure, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much his touch affected you.

Here was a man planning a life—a whole future—that included you and this child, no matter how much you resisted.

“Now that we’re certain it’s just one,” Sylus said, turning his attention back to you, “I thought you might like to see the progress. Soon, this will be more than just an empty room.” He gestured around at the chaos, at the splattered paint cans and ladders and unfinished shelves, a proud look crossing his face.

You nodded, unable to bring yourself to respond with anything more than silent agreement, though internally, your emotions churned. This was a room that was becoming a nursery, a place that would hold things meant for a child you didn’t ask for. A child you were being forced to carry.

“If you think it's too big” Sylus continued, his voice softening, “Just say the word. I could have the nursery downsized or moved to a smaller room.” His words were tender, warm, as though he truly meant every single promise.

"No! I think its perfect. Its enough space for a growing child. I have lots of ideas" you replied, feigning surprise at the suggestion. Sylus gave you another genuine smile and your chest tightened.

There was a softness in his eyes, a genuine fondness that almost made you feel guilty for the act you were putting on. But as his words hung in the air, you felt the reality of it sink in. This wasn’t a game. This wasn’t something that would end soon. This was the world you were in now, and as much as you hated it, you couldn’t afford to let him see even a hint of rebellion.

The twins chimed in with their own ideas, talking over each other in a way that reminded you of a pair of mischievous kids, throwing out suggestions that ranged from the whimsical to the absurd. At one point, Luke suggested painting the entire ceiling with glow-in-the-dark stars, which Kieran immediately amended to “only if they change colors,” sparking a debate that had them practically bickering.

You watched them, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside you. They were both so engrossed in the planning, so wrapped up in their excitement, that you could almost forget where you were. For a moment, it felt like you were just another person, planning for a future, surrounded by people who cared.

But it was a fleeting feeling. The truth lingered beneath the surface, cold and unforgiving. These weren’t your friends; they were part of this gilded cage Sylus had built around you. And as much as they made you laugh, as much as their antics brought a brief respite, you couldn’t let yourself get attached. You couldn’t afford to see them as anything more than accomplices in your captivity.

The low buzz of Sylus’s phone cut through your thoughts, interrupting the quiet moment you'd both fallen into. His fingers stilled against your hand, and you noticed a flicker of something cross his face as he read the message on his screen—a brief tightening of his mouth, a frown, there and gone. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had unsettled him, but before you could ask, he looked up, schooling his expression into that familiar, unreadable calm.

“There’s something I need to take care of,” he said, his voice steady, though there was a subtle edge you couldn’t place. He straightened up, eyes flicking to Luke and Kieran, who quickly gathered themselves at his call, setting their tools aside and moving to his side with quick, attentive steps.

Without another word, Sylus gently led you from the room, his hand resting at the small of your back. His usual warmth was there, but his fingers pressed a little firmer than usual, guiding you down the stairs and back to the main living room. The unease stirred in your chest, curiosity mingling with that odd, persistent sense of dread. But his silence felt impenetrable, a wall you couldn’t break through.

Reaching the living room, he gestured toward the couch with a soft smile. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable,” he said, picking up the remote and explaining its functions, the buttons, the layout—all with practiced ease, his voice gentle, calm, as though nothing had shifted. You watched him, taking in the way he moved, the fleeting seriousness that now hid behind his careful smile. He handed you the remote, his hand brushing yours, a slight warmth in his gaze.

“Here, all set. Feel free to watch anything you like.” His words felt like an invitation and a dismissal all at once, something that set your teeth on edge.

You sank into the couch, the remote cold in your hand, your gaze flicking from the television back to him. Just as you opened your mouth to speak, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a lingering kiss. His lips were warm, lingering longer than expected, and you couldn’t help the shiver that traveled down your spine, your thoughts suddenly fogged by the intensity in his gaze as he pulled back to look into your eyes.

“I won’t be long,” he said quietly, his voice carrying an odd, reassuring note. “Remember, I'm still watching.”

As if on cue, Mephisto let out a shrilled caw, flapping his wings in a nearby corner.

Then, without waiting for you to respond, he straightened up, casting one last glance at you as he called for Luke and Kieran to follow him. The twins nodded, their voices oddly subdued as they bid you a quick goodbye, and with a swift motion from Sylus, the three of them slipped through a door you hadn’t even noticed before. The quiet click of it closing echoed in the room, leaving you with an odd sense of displacement, alone and without answers.

It felt strange, like you’d been locked inside a perfectly curated world, each detail, each movement, meticulously crafted. You glanced around the room, feeling the walls press in as your curiosity turned to a simmering frustration. What had just happened? And why hadn’t they taken the front door?

With a sigh, you turned your focus to the television, clutching the remote a little tighter than necessary. Flipping through the channels, you hoped for a glimpse into the outside world—a news report, even an old program to provide a hint of normalcy. But as you scrolled through the channels, static greeted you more often than not, a white noise of silence and empty screens. The frustration grew with each click. Had he blocked access somehow? Manipulated the channels? It was unsettling, feeling your freedom so carefully managed even here, even with something as simple as television.

Finally, your thumb stopped on a cooking competition show, the contestants anxiously awaiting the judges’ final verdict. The bright lights, bustling noise, and vibrant colors flooded the screen, a stark contrast to the oppressive quiet of the room. The clatter of utensils, the frenzied footsteps of chefs, and the animated voices of the hosts blended together in a steady stream of noise. You tried to lose yourself in it, telling yourself it was enough to distract you from the silence Sylus left behind, the nagging thoughts clawing at the back of your mind.

Yet, as the show went on, it grew harder to focus. The contestants’ faces, their desperate, proud smiles as they awaited judgment—each detail seemed to blur, fading into the background as your eyes grew heavier, the tension slowly easing from your body. The exhaustion crept over you like a blanket, softening the edges of the room, the voices on the screen dimming to a low murmur.

You hadn't slept well last night and it seemed like it was catching up to you, fast.

Your head sank back into the plush cushion of the couch, your body sinking into its warmth, finally feeling the weight of your own fatigue pulling you under. Each sound from the television, once sharp and distinct, now blurred into a gentle hum, a lullaby of noise lulling you closer to the edge of sleep. It was as though the clattering, the chatter—all of it had softened, becoming a distant echo as your eyes closed.

The air was still as Xavier moved toward Dr. Merrill’s car in the early morning light, his steps soundless on the damp pavement. The doctor waited by the car, visibly tense, his gaze flickering nervously around the quiet street. Xavier didn’t say much as he approached; the plan had already been set, and neither of them had room for hesitation now.

Xavier hadn't slept at all. His heart and thoughts of rescuing you keeping him up all night. Still, he was ready for anything.

“You remember the plan?” Xavier asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Dr. Merrill gave a stiff nod, his hands gripping the car keys tightly. “Yes. Just…get in. I’ll drive straight there.”

Xavier held his gaze for a long moment, his eyes cold and unwavering, before slipping silently into the trunk. He positioned himself among the dark, cramped confines, angling his sword at his side and securing the gun in its ankle holster. Before Dr. Merrill closed the trunk, their eyes met—a silent warning that if anything went wrong, Xavier wouldn’t hesitate to act.

The trunk lid shut, plunging him into darkness. Xavier shifted, trying to settle into the limited space, listening as the car’s engine rumbled to life. His muscles tensed reflexively as the doctor pulled away from the curb, the vibrations of the car and the faint hum of the radio filling the silence. He could hear Merrill’s steady breathing from the driver’s seat, and with each passing mile, Xavier tried to keep his own thoughts in check.

It was a distant drive to wherever Sylus was keeping you, and with every turn, Xavier’s mind cycled through the possibilities. What if this was a trap? What if Merrill had been in on this from the start, feeding him scraps of information to lead him into Sylus’s hands? Doubts gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, urging him to act, to abandon the plan and confront Merrill directly. But he kept himself still, breathing through the doubts, reminding himself why he had taken this risk in the first place.

Every mile brought him closer to you. He wouldn’t let fear, suspicion, or second-guessing make him lose focus now.

He shifted in the cramped trunk, adjusting his sword to avoid the bruising angle against his ribs. Even if Dr. Merrill turned on him, he had the advantage. The doctor was no match, not with the weapons Xavier had brought along. He ran his fingers over the hilt of his sword, feeling the familiar weight and comfort of the steel. If the doctor so much as hinted at a betrayal, Xavier was prepared to finish this himself.

The drive felt like an eternity, the muffled sounds of the car and the gentle, rhythmic hum of the engine blending into a single, unrelenting pulse that synced with Xavier’s heart. Confined in the dark, his thoughts drifted, stirring up worries he’d tried to suppress. What kind of shape would you be in when he found you? His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword as images flickered through his mind: bruises, broken bones, or worse. But no, Dr. Merrill had said you seemed "relatively fine." He clung to those words, though doubt lingered. Would the doctor really lie about something that critical?

Xavier exhaled slowly, trying to loosen the tension in his chest. The longer he lay still, the harder it was to remain calm. Just as he felt himself relax, the car made a sharp turn, jolting him back to attention, his senses on high alert. Then, with a final shudder, the car slowed and came to a complete stop.

He heard muffled voices, then Dr. Merrill’s sharp tone breaking through: “Yes, just let me get my equipment.” A moment later, the trunk creaked open, and the doctor’s shadow loomed over him, his hands moving around, gathering items. Amidst the clutter of tools, he paused, whispering down to Xavier, “Come out in about ten minutes.” Without another word, Dr. Merrill shut the trunk.

In the darkness, Xavier forced himself to remain still, every muscle tense as he counted each second, honing the quiet fury building inside him. At the ten-minute mark, he reached for the emergency release, cracking the trunk just enough to scan his surroundings. The place was shrouded in darkness, usual for the N109 Zone, and before him loomed a massive mansion, dark and imposing, with towering iron gates casting long shadows. This was no hideaway; this was a practically a fortress. He clenched his jaw, dismissing the thoughts. Sylus had hidden you here—locked you away, with him just barely out of reach.

Dismissing his thoughts, Xavier dropped silently to the ground, his sword gripped tightly in one hand. Moving with practiced silence, he circled the property, observing every window and doorway. Obviously, he couldn’t risk the front door. There had to be another way.

As he scanned the wall for any sign of a side window or gap, Dr. Merrill emerged from the shadows beside him, startling him for a split second. Xavier fought back the urge to question him outright but kept his expression hardened.

“She’s here. They’ve left her alone for the time being,” Dr. Merrill murmured, voice tight with urgency. “She’s on the other side of the property. There’s a horse track there—she’s sitting by herself now. I told them I needed to come back for more equipment, so we don’t have much time. Follow me quietly.”

Xavier’s mind reeled for a moment. Outside? He frowned, surprised that they’d leave you anywhere outside the mansion. The information felt…off. But he couldn’t risk any delay. Dr. Merrill led him around the property, ducking through hedges and skirting the perimeter of the house, his steps quiet but hurried. The mansion loomed overhead, casting long, eerie shadows, as Xavier kept his mind clear, focusing only on getting to you. Still, something nagged at him—the doctor’s demeanor was too rigid, his movements practiced, as though he were acting out a scene rather than guiding him honestly.

As they neared the supposed horse track, Xavier’s pulse quickened, thoughts racing with anticipation. Every step brought him closer to you—closer to whatever state Sylus had left you in. His mind filled with images of you, weary and frightened, waiting somewhere alone in the darkness, perhaps hopeful that he would come for you. He clutched his sword tighter, readying himself for whatever he might find. He owed you strength, no matter what lay ahead.

They moved around the corner of the mansion, and in the distance, a wide, open space unfolded. The outline of a fence and worn dirt paths marked the track, a sprawling arena shrouded in shadow. His eyes scanned the area, seeking any sign of movement, but it was eerily empty. The realization unsettled him; where were you?

“Where is she?” he whispered, his voice laced with tension as he threw a sharp glance at Dr. Merrill.

“Further up ahead,” Merrill replied, his tone low, almost evasive, as he kept his gaze forward, but something in the doctor's demeanor felt off—too rigid, too practiced. Xavier’s instincts prickled, every sense on high alert.

He took a tentative step forward, but the quiet of the night shattered in an instant.

“Nice of you to join us, Xavier.”

A voice, smooth and laced with cold amusement, rang out from the shadows. Xavier spun around, his eyes landing on two figures stepping out from the darkness: two men, their bird masks glinting faintly in the dim light. Both men held guns, casual but poised, as if they had been expecting him all along.

“Surprised?” One's voice was mocking, his masked face tilting as he looked Xavier up and down. “You didn’t think we’d just leave her here alone, did you?”

Xavier’s jaw tightened, rage flaring in his chest. He shifted his grip on his sword, his eyes narrowing as he assessed his options. His mind raced through the possibility of overpowering them quickly, finding you, and escaping. But the odds were grim, even for him.

“You’re a fool, Merrill,” Xavier hissed, not turning his head but sensing the doctor’s panicked figure shrinking beside him. “I should've known better.”

Merrill stammered, his voice trembling as he took a step back. "They knew, they knew before you even got into the trunk. I had no choice.”

The twins exchanged an amused glance, chuckling low under their breath. “No choice indeed,” one man muttered.

Xavier raised his sword, his gaze locked onto the twins, his body taut, prepared for a fight. But something about their stance, their nonchalance, told him they weren’t here to engage. Not yet, anyway. They were taunting him, toying with him.

“I hope you enjoyed your ride,” The one on the left continued, cocking his head. “We’ve been waiting for someone to entertain us. And it seems we’ve found the perfect guest.”

The simmering rage within Xavier boiled over, his grip white-knuckled on the hilt of his sword as he took a deliberate step forward, the adrenaline heightening his senses. But before he could make another move, the one on the right raised his hand, his tone shifting from playful to deadly serious.

“You can put up a fight, or you can come quietly. Sylus said he wants you alive, so we won’t kill you…yet.”

Xavier’s heart pounded, his mind calculating his next move. He had come so close, so close to finding you, only to be ensnared in Sylus’s web of cruelty once more. His hatred for the man twisted like a knife in his chest, fueling his determination. He met the twins’ gaze, his eyes cold and unyielding.

“I’ll see her. I’ll get to her, whether you’re in my way or not,” he growled, his voice filled with a steely resolve.

The twins merely chuckled, shifting into ready stances as they prepared to intercept any attempt he might make to break past them.

“Keep dreaming, hunter,” one of them taunted, his eyes gleaming from behind the mask.

As the twins pulled their weapons, Xavier tightened his grip on his sword, his instincts kicking in at the sight of gleaming barrels trained on him. They fired rapidly, bullets cutting through the night with sharp precision, but he was ready. With practiced speed, he swung his blade, deflecting the bullets in quick succession, each metallic impact reverberating through the air. His movements were fluid, instinctual, each deflection measured and fierce.

Then, with a snap of his fingers, a surge of energy pulsed from the sword, casting a searing light that brightened the shadows around him. His sword blazed with ethereal energy, and he raised it, pointing it toward the twins. With a swift, calculated swipe, he unleashed a burst of radiant light toward them. They dodged nimbly, their movements so swift and synchronized that he lost track of them for a heartbeat.

A shift in the air behind him was his only warning. Instinct took over as he spun, his blade flashing, narrowly missing one of the twins who had managed to slip within striking distance.

“Woah there,” the twin chuckled, quickly sidestepping the blade with a humorous laugh. “I kinda need my arm.” Without missing a beat, he whipped out two pistols, firing off rounds with swiftness, his aim precise and relentless. Each shot was timed perfectly with his brother’s, their rhythm fast and lethal.

Xavier moved, his body a blur as he deflected the bullets, the clang of metal resounding like a discordant symphony. His sword, blazing with light, was like an extension of himself, weaving through the hailstorm of bullets. His concentration was ironclad, his every muscle coiled and ready for the next strike. He raised his sword again, releasing another blinding arc of light toward them, its brilliance cutting through the darkness. Yet the twins seemed to dance through it effortlessly, their steps quick and unpredictable, bodies weaving in and out of the shadows with uncanny agility.

His evol blazed brighter, each pulse of it illuminating the yard in stark flashes. He lunged forward, catching one of the twins off-guard, his blade singing through the air as he aimed for his shoulder. The twin dodged but stumbled slightly, and in that brief opening, Xavier surged forward.

Without hesitation, Xavier seized the moment, spinning around and lunging forward. He knocked the pistol out of the man's hand, his foot connecting hard with the man’s chest as he shoved him to the ground. In a swift movement, Xavier was over him, pinning him down, his sword poised above the twin’s head.

The other twin froze momentarily, his gun raised, but Xavier’s eyes were locked on his target, the edge of his blade catching the dim light.

“Not so cocky now, are you?” Xavier growled, pressing his weight down on the twin’s chest, his sword ready to end it. He could feel the man’s heartbeat racing beneath him, the edge of fear flickering behind the mask.

But before he could strike, the world around him seemed to twist and tighten. A chilling sensation wrapped around his entire body, freezing him in place. His vision dimmed, his breaths coming out in shallow gasps as the freezing grip closed around him, leaching away his strength and numbing his muscles.

The air around him thickened, the dark chill creeping into his bones as his vision began to blur. His thoughts grew foggy, slipping from his control, and he struggled to hold on, to stay conscious as he fought the paralyzing force. And then, through the haze, he saw a figure step into view.

A slow, mocking clap echoed in front of him. Then a chilling laugh.

Sylus.

He appeared calm, his expression betraying a hint of boredom as he took in Xavier’s struggling form with a smirk. “Nice show,” Sylus drawled, his voice smooth yet laced with an undertone of menace. “But I’m afraid I’ve grown bored.” He took a step closer, his red eyes gleaming in the dim light as he sized Xavier up with an air of practiced disdain.

He looked predatory. Like a demon that had just stepped out of the shadows.

“The father of the child in your ex-lover’s belly.”

For a split second, Xavier’s mind went blank, his thoughts freezing under the sheer weight of those words. Then, in an instant, they detonated within him, a rush of shock, anger, and raw disbelief surging through his veins like venom. His pulse pounded, erratic and wild, the realization cutting deep. It couldn’t be. No. This was impossible. Sylus had to be lying, manipulating him, preying on the one fear he had buried too deep to acknowledge.

The blood roared in Xavier’s ears as the accusation sank in. His jaw clenched, his fists balled, nails digging into his palms so hard he could feel his own pulse there. “Liar,” he ground out, his voice rough, a desperate denial choked by a flicker of dread that tightened around his chest. But even as he spoke the word, his conviction wavered. Sylus’s smug expression, that insidious confidence, gnawed at the edges of his certainty. What if he wasn’t lying?

The red mist surrounding them thickened, pressing down on Xavier like a relentless tide, choking the air from his lungs as if Sylus controlled not just his body but the very air he breathed. “You f-fucking liar,” he gasped, his voice hoarse, trembling under the strain of holding onto his sanity. He couldn’t let this man get to him, couldn’t show weakness.

But Sylus’s smirk only widened, his gaze gleaming with a sickening pleasure that twisted Xavier’s stomach. He leaned in, close enough that Xavier could feel his breath, his tone mocking, dripping with satisfaction. “You doubt me?” he taunted, arching a brow, his eyes boring into Xavier’s as though peeling away every layer of defense, exposing every raw nerve. “You want to see her, don’t you?” The way he said it, the way he tilted his head with that taunting gleam, made every nerve in Xavier’s body scream in protest, but he stayed silent, refusing to give Sylus the satisfaction.

But Sylus saw through him, every flicker of pain, every glint of desperation in his eyes feeding the twisted satisfaction etched on his face. “Of course you do,” he murmured, voice soft yet cruel, the words twisting like a knife. “There’s a price though,” he added, his voice dropping into a sinister whisper. “And since you don’t have any money here…”

Before Xavier could react, a sharp, brutal punch crashed into his face, snapping his head back with a crack that echoed in his ears. The pain exploded, blinding and immediate, radiating through his skull and searing down his neck. Blood flooded his mouth, the coppery taste harsh on his tongue as he spat onto the ground, his breathing harsh, labored.

He felt his skull throb and his nose throb in pain, cursing in his head that it was definitely broken.

The anger simmered in him, stronger than the pain, a blazing, unyielding fire. Through the pain, he forced out a taunt, his words venomous, defiant. “You…hit like a bitch,” he spat, his voice a harsh rasp, but even as he spoke, he felt the bruises blooming across his cheek, the throb of his split lip. Inside, he clung to the anger, the fury that felt like the last shred of his sanity.

Sylus’s dark chuckle sliced through his defiance, his smile widening into something dark, almost gleeful. Without warning, he unleashed another barrage of punches, each one landing harder than the last, each one aimed with a precision that bordered on the sadistic. His fists pounded into Xavier’s ribs, his gut, his jaw, each impact an agony that burned through him, breaking him down one relentless blow at a time.

Xavier choked out a groan, fighting to stay conscious, to hold on to the remnants of his strength. He couldn’t let go. He couldn’t let Sylus win. But the pain was overwhelming, his vision blurring as his head swam. His body screamed in protest, but he forced himself to breathe, to keep his mind focused on you.

His body buckled under the continued assault, every nerve alight with agony, his vision blurring as he fought the pain. He couldn’t fall, couldn’t give in, but his strength was slipping with every hit, every sharp crack of bone and blinding flash of pain. Blood trickled from his nose, his lip, pooling in his mouth, staining his teeth with every ragged breath he forced out.

As if bored by the spectacle, Sylus finally stepped back, releasing the red mist that had held him captive. Xavier’s body crumpled to the ground, his limbs heavy, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he fought to regain control. The cold ground pressed against his cheek, rough and biting, but it grounded him, gave him something real to focus on. His fingers brushed against something solid, cold, familiar.

His sword.

A spark of hope flared within him, a small, fragile flame in the darkness. If he could just reach it, just close his fingers around the hilt, he might still have a chance. His hand stretched, trembling, desperate, but just as he felt the cold metal beneath his fingertips, Sylus’s hand clamped onto his shoulder, dragging him back with brutal force. Sylus then proceeded to step on his sword, shattering it into several big pieces with the weight of his foot.

Xavier struggled, his body weakened but his spirit unyielding, his fingers clawing at the ground as Sylus hauled him toward the mansion’s grand entrance.

Sylus dragged Xavier to the front door, fingers twisted tightly into the back of his hair, forcing him forward with ruthless force. Xavier stumbled, disoriented, pain flaring with every step. Just as he tried to regain some semblance of footing, Sylus wrenched him sideways, shoving his face against the cold, polished glass of the side window. Blood smeared across the pane, leaving dark streaks on what had once been pristine.

“You wanted to see her, didn’t you?” Sylus sneered, voice dripping with mockery. “Well…here she is. Get a good look.”

Xavier’s heart hammered as he strained to focus. Through his blurred, bloody vision, he saw you lying on the couch inside, curled in a delicate sleep. A pang tore through him; you were thinner than he remembered, and yet somehow you still looked serene, your chest rising and falling in the gentle rhythm of dreams. The sight of you so close made his heart ache with a potent mixture of relief and despair.

You didn't look pregnant. Relief flooded through his head as he shoved that thought away. Sylus must be fucking with him. He had to be.

He tried to call out to you, his voice barely a gurgle as blood filled his mouth, choking the words. A weak, strangled sound escaped him, nothing more than a pained gasp. He coughed, tasting blood, helplessness surging in his chest as he realized just how powerless he was to reach you.

“Don’t bother,” Sylus said coolly, leaning close, his voice a silken taunt. “She can’t hear you. I’ve had the living room soundproofed. She’s completely oblivious to the fun we’re having out here.” With a quick flick of his hand, Sylus shoved Xavier back, sending him sprawling onto the gravel. Pain shot through his ribs, a sharp and searing agony that made him cry out, his breath shallow and ragged.

Sylus advanced, his expression a twisted blend of satisfaction and disdain as he knelt down, pinning Xavier beneath his weight. Xavier’s body screamed in protest, but every attempt to move sent fresh waves of pain through his broken, battered form. Sylus wasted no time removing the pistol Xavier had hidden at his ankle, throwing it across the ground. Xavier's heart dropped as he heard the metal clatter.

Sylus’s grip then tightened, his hand pressing down with deliberate, sadistic force on Xavier’s shoulder, pinning him against the ground with an air of twisted relish.

“You’re lucky,” Sylus drawled, his tone laced with disdain, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I made her a promise, you know. To keep you alive. Otherwise, I would have turned you into mush back in the car. But I have to admit…” His smirk widened as he pressed down harder, grinding his thumb into Xavier’s collarbone with a precision that made Xavier’s breath catch painfully.

“This is much more satisfying.”

Xavier gritted his teeth, the pain forcing white spots into his vision, but he forced himself to stay conscious, his mind locked onto you, on the image of you safe and unhurt. He couldn’t let this monster win.

Without another word, Sylus’s grip slid down to Xavier’s arm, his fingers digging into muscle and bone with an almost surgical awareness. He met Xavier’s glare with a dark smile, then, with one swift, brutal motion, twisted his arm until a sickening snap echoed in the still night air. The sound of breaking bone reverberated through Xavier’s skull, an unbearable shockwave of pain exploding through him as he felt his arm twist at an impossible angle, every nerve screaming in response.

Xavier’s scream tore from his throat, raw and uncontrollable, his body seizing up as the agony overwhelmed him. His pulse thundered, heart slamming in his chest, his breath coming in ragged, broken gasps. But Sylus wasn’t finished. Not yet.

The laughter above him was filled with a twisted satisfaction as Sylus watched him, his eyes glinting with a cruel pleasure. “And since you were bold enough to come here, to trespass into my domain…” Sylus paused, relishing the fear and pain etched across Xavier’s face. “A broken leg should round out the lesson nicely, don’t you think?”

Xavier barely registered the words before another wave of agony hit. Sylus’s iron grip latched onto his leg, fingers wrapping around his thigh like a vice, squeezing with unnatural strength. With a swift, brutal twist, Sylus snapped the bone with an almost casual ease, as though he were breaking a twig.

The jagged edges of shattered bone grated against each other, tearing through muscle, and another scream ripped from Xavier’s throat, louder and more desperate than the last. His vision went white, the pain drowning out every thought, every memory, as his world narrowed to the unbearable agony radiating from his broken limbs.

He gasped, trying to force air into his lungs, his entire body trembling as he fought to remain conscious. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the blood smeared from his broken nose. His thoughts, disjointed and scattered, latched onto you—your face, your laugh, the warmth of your smile. He whispered into the darkness, barely a breath. “Fucking…monster”

As he began to fade, Sylus leaned down, his face mere inches from Xavier’s, his breath hot against his ear. “Live with this, Xavier,” he murmured, his voice dripping with malice. “Every time you think of her, remember this moment. Remember that you were powerless. Remember who she belongs to now.”

With one final, brutal kick to Xavier’s ribs, Sylus straightened, his face contorting into a look of distaste as he glanced back toward the door and the smeared blood marking the pristine glass. He dusted off his hands with an air of cold satisfaction, then turned to the shadows where Luke and Kieran waited, both silent but watching with morbid interest.

“Luke, Kieran,” Sylus called over his shoulder, his voice sharp and commanding. “Clean up this mess,” he gestured to the bloody smears on the window. “The sight of it disgusts me.”

The twins stepped forward without a word, their masked faces hiding any emotion as they moved to obey. Xavier could only watch, helpless and broken, his vision fading in and out as they wiped away the last traces of blood, erasing any sign of the struggle that had taken place.

Sylus turned his attention to Dr. Merrill, who stood nearby, pale and visibly shaking. “Take him back,” he instructed coolly, his eyes narrowing as he gestured dismissively at Xavier’s shattered form. “To the hospital, a ditch—I don’t care, as long as he’s out of my sight.”

Dr. Merrill swallowed hard, nodding quickly as he moved forward, his hands trembling as he leaned down to lift Xavier. As his broken body was hoisted from the ground, Xavier fought to stay awake, his mind a haze of pain and regret, his last, fractured thoughts clinging to the image of you—just out of reach, so close, and yet, impossibly far away.

Dr. Merrill struggled under the weight of Xavier’s limp form, his breaths coming in labored bursts as he adjusted his grip and hefted him into the back seat of the car. Every inch felt like a mile, every step a struggle. Xavier was heavier than he looked, and the doctor’s nerves were frayed, his mind haunted by the brutal scene that had just unfolded. He cast a fleeting glance down at Xavier’s bruised and battered face, his features twisted in unconscious pain, his mouth half-open as blood dribbled from a cut at the corner of his lip. But he said nothing. There was nothing to say, no words that could bridge the chasm of violence and fear that Sylus had just carved into the atmosphere.

With a grunt of effort, Dr. Merrill finally managed to close the door, leaning against it for a moment, his chest heaving. He glanced back toward the mansion, its dark silhouette looming against the bleak sky of the N109 Zone, a fortress of shadows and secrets. He could feel Sylus's presence lingering in the air, even though the man was out of sight. It was as if the leader of Onychinus was still watching him, gauging every movement, every breath.

He shuddered, then hurried to the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut and fumbling to start the engine. The car roared to life, and he sped away from the mansion, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. He dared a quick glance in the rearview mirror, catching sight of Xavier’s crumpled form sprawled across the backseat. Blood soaked through his clothes, staining the fabric, and for a moment, Merrill thought he might have to turn around, to plead for mercy or an alternative plan. But then he shook the thought from his mind, forcing himself to focus on the road ahead.

Minutes slipped by in a haze of darkness, the car’s interior illuminated only by the faint green glow of the dashboard lights. Xavier’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his face twitching with pain even in unconsciousness. His body was a wreck—broken ribs, dislocated joints, and the jagged agony of his shattered leg, all of it radiating through him in relentless waves. He drifted in and out of consciousness, each moment of awareness a fresh wave of suffering. The pain was a living thing, gnawing at the edges of his mind, threatening to drag him under.

At one point, the rumbling vibrations of the car jolted him back to the present, his vision swimming as he tried to piece together where he was. He realized he was in the backseat, lying awkwardly across the cushions, his head pressed against the cool window, a smear of blood staining the glass. His entire body ached with a deep, bone-deep exhaustion, and when he tried to shift, a fresh surge of pain tore through him, making him cry out.

“Don’t move,” Dr. Merrill’s voice cut through the darkness, strained but steady. “Just stay still. We’re almost at the hospital.”

Xavier barely registered the words, his mind trapped in a haze of memories and regrets. Memories flashed before him in fragments—Sylus’s taunting smile, the sound of his bones snapping like dry twigs, the way you looked, lying so peacefully on that couch while he suffered just feet away. He felt a bitter laugh bubble up in his chest, only for it to dissolve into a painful sob as his ribs protested the movement.

The car swayed around a bend, the tires thrumming against the uneven road, and Xavier squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain, the shame, the overwhelming sense of failure that clawed at his heart. He had been so sure, so determined to find you and take you from that place. He’d thought he could overpower Sylus, could take back what had been stolen from him. But instead, he had been reduced to this—broken and helpless, a shadow of the man he used to be.

He swallowed hard, his throat raw and tight, and as the tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, he tried to choke out a question. The words came out garbled, thick with blood and emotion, but he forced them through clenched teeth. “Is…she really…pregnant?” The question burned in his throat, each syllable laced with a desperate hope that it wasn’t true, that Sylus had lied, that this nightmare wasn’t as real as it seemed.

Dr. Merrill’s face was hidden in the shadows, but Xavier caught the tension in his posture, the way his shoulders hunched forward as if he wanted to curl in on himself. He didn’t answer right away, and the silence stretched unbearably, pressing down on Xavier’s battered chest. “You’ve got bigger issues to worry about,” the doctor finally muttered, his tone flat, evasive. “Sylus…he doesn’t give people second chances often. You should be grateful you’re getting one at all.”

The words cut through Xavier, sharp and cold, but he didn’t have the strength to argue. His mind clung to the word grateful, and a bitter laugh scraped from his throat, sending a fresh wave of pain through his broken ribs. Grateful? For what? For being allowed to live just long enough to see how utterly he’d failed?

Xavier knew Sylus wasn't being merciful. Sylus had made it very clear that he now enjoyed seeing Xavier suffer, knowing that you were locked away. Unreachable. Unattainable. Sylus reveled in the fact that he had something Xavier so desperately wanted to the point of throwing himself into danger repeatedly.

The doctor glanced back at him, his expression momentarily softening. “Look, this can stay between us,” he offered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t hold what you did to me against you. I understand...loss. And I’m sorry for yours.”

The words barely registered. Xavier’s thoughts swirled, each one heavier than the last, dragging him down. His life was unraveling before him, and he couldn’t see a way to put the pieces back together. His mind flashed back to your apartment—your apartment.

The one he’d kept for you all these months, paying the rent with every scrap of money he could scrape together, even as his own life crumbled. He’d promised you that place would still be yours, that you’d always have somewhere to come back to. But now, how was he supposed to keep that promise? How was he supposed to protect anything?

He couldn’t work like this. His injuries would keep him sidelined for months, and physical therapy would drain what little savings he had left. Even if he made it through recovery, what then? Would he be able to fight again, to pick up his sword without remembering the way it felt to be broken under Sylus’s heel?

Tears slipped from his eyes, hot and unrelenting, carving paths through the blood and grime that stained his face. He bit back another sob, swallowing down the bitter taste of his own failures. The pain was a dull roar now, a constant reminder of everything he’d lost—you, his soulmate, his purpose. And as the car continued its relentless journey, he felt himself slipping again, his vision narrowing to a dark tunnel with no light at the end.

The last image in his mind was of you, lying on that couch, your face peaceful in sleep, oblivious to the hell that raged outside. He wondered what you were dreaming about. Did you think of him at all? Or had Sylus twisted even your dreams into something he could never reach? As darkness took him again, he whispered a silent apology, hoping that somehow, you’d hear it through the abyss that now separated you both.

It can't be over. He refused to believe that. Sylus could break every bone in his body but as long as you were alive he had a reason to keep trying. To keep breathing.

And then, everything went black, the ache in his chest the only thing anchoring him to the world that had become his prison.

You drifted back to consciousness slowly, the softness of the couch beneath you lulling you into a false sense of comfort. Your limbs felt heavy, and a warm, hazy grogginess clung to your mind, reluctant to let go. The quiet in the room was strangely soothing, like a lullaby still playing softly, coaxing you to stay in the safety of sleep. For a fleeting moment, it was as though you could forget everything—reality, the ever-present fear, the oppressive darkness of the N109 Zone. Just a quiet, dream-filled nap.

But then your eyes began to flutter, and reality crept back in.

The dim lighting was familiar, casting a muted glow across the room that felt too controlled, too perfect. As you blinked your eyes open, adjusting to the low light, you felt the prickle of a presence beside you, heavy and unyielding. You dared a small glance, only to find Sylus sitting there, a coin flipping between his fingers in a lazy rhythm, his eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the room, his expression unreadable.

A surge of tension jolted through you, awakening every nerve. The sleepiness vanished in an instant, replaced by a steady, growing apprehension as you took in his frame, rigid yet somehow calm, a picture of controlled power. The coin flicked up and down, catching the light, its metallic glint mesmerizing yet unsettling. You didn’t dare move, holding your breath as you watched him from beneath lowered lashes, hoping he’d remain oblivious to the fact that you’d woken.

But after a moment, he chuckled, the sound low and taunting, a dark, knowing amusement filling the room.

“I know you’re awake, sweetie,” he said, voice dripping with a kind of sinister charm. “You can open those pretty eyes back up.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized you’d been caught. How had he known? You thought you’d kept still, kept quiet, yet he had sensed you there, awake and aware. He hadn't even looked at you! Hesitantly, you opened your eyes fully, meeting his gaze. His lips curved into a smile, but it was the kind that made the warmth from your nap vanish entirely.

He caught the coin one last time, fingers gripping it firmly as he leaned toward you, his eyes gleaming with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “Enjoy your nap?” he asked, the question deceptively casual.

You forced yourself to sit up, feigning ease, and nodded, willing your voice to remain steady. “Yeah…it was nice,” you replied carefully. “Guess I needed more sleep.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, his gaze assessing as his fingers moved to the top of your head, smoothing down your hair in a way that felt more possessive than tender. “No need to lie about sleeping well, honey. If you’re having trouble sleeping, I’ll take care of it. Pregnancy can be brutal on sleep. I’ll make sure we find something safe to help.”

His words were soft, coaxing, but they left you feeling more trapped than ever. You gave him a small, polite smile, praying it looked sincere as he lingered, his fingers stilling on your head in a gesture that felt heavy with intent. You stared down at the coin now lying on the table, its shiny surface catching in the dim light. It was a distraction, something to focus on to avoid the depth of his gaze.

Sylus, however, wasn’t easily distracted. He caught your subtle evasion, fingers slipping from your hair to your shoulder, where he squeezed lightly, pulling you closer to him. You fought the urge to shrink away, his warmth pressing against you like a weight, binding you in place.

There was an edge to him right now, a tension beneath his calm exterior, and it was palpable in the stillness. You swallowed, gathering your nerves, and decided to take a risk. If he was tense, maybe showing some concern could deflect his attention from you. Play more into the lie that you were starting to care for him. It was worth a try, even if the thought twisted in your stomach.

“Are you…okay?” you asked, voice soft, almost hesitant. You let a hint of worry lace your tone, hoping he’d believe the concern. “You seem…tense.”

A small, almost forced smile curved his lips, and he tilted his head, considering you. “Just had a pest to take care of,” he said, dismissing the matter as though it were nothing. He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, a gesture that felt possessive rather than comforting, as if to remind you of exactly where you were and who controlled your movements.

The word hung in the air, colder than the dim, heavy silence that followed. A pest. The way he said it made something twist uncomfortably in your stomach. Sylus had a habit of using simple words to mask what were often dark realities, a trick that had haunted you since he’d taken you away. A pest could mean anything, but knowing Sylus, it was likely something—or someone—he had dispatched without a second thought.

"Ah...a pest. Sorry to hear," you murmur, forcing a calm you don’t quite feel. Your stomach tightens with nerves as you say it, your mind racing with dark imaginings of what "pest" could mean in Sylus’s world. More than likely, he’d snuffed someone’s life with the very same hands now touching you with such tenderness. You try to ignore the uneasy chill that creeps up your spine, reminding yourself to stay composed, to keep up the act. This was all a role, after all—anything to stay safe.

Seeking a distraction, you lean over and tap at Sylus's watch, catching sight of the sleek design and polished metal that glints under the faint room light. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but it’s clearly an expensive piece, crafted with meticulous detail. It feels out of place, almost surreal, like every bit of luxury around you.

"What time is it?" you ask, squinting toward the window by the door. The murky darkness beyond is a constant reminder of where you are, a place utterly devoid of sunlight. A twinge of longing rises in your chest. God, what you would give just to see a single sliver of sunlight breaking through.

Sylus glances down at the watch, his face calm. "About 1 p.m. You were out for quite a while." There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Falling asleep watching cooking shows, no less. You like to cook?"

You resist the urge to scoff. He was already familiar with the answer; wasn’t that part of the game here? Sylus had made it clear how obsessively he’d studied every aspect of your life, leaving you feeling as if your own likes and dislikes, your small joys, were now mere facts in some twisted report he kept on you.

"Shouldn’t you already know?" you quip, trying to keep the bitterness from slipping into your tone. "You said yourself you knew everything about me. Probably know how many individual eyelashes I have too," you joke lightly, masking the irritation with a forced smile.

Sylus chuckles, his laughter rich and genuine, as if truly entertained by your comment. "And if I do?" he replies, his voice both playful and unsettling.

You turn to meet his gaze, surprised at the directness of his response. There’s a glint in his eye, a hint of something that sends a shiver through you, even though you do everything to hide it.

"Well then…you’re even more dedicated than I thought," you say, injecting a light, teasing note into your voice and forcing a soft smile. It feels strange, twisting words meant to hint at gratitude when a far sharper, less flattering term is on the tip of your tongue.

Dedicated wasn’t the word. Obsessed, maybe. Possessive, definitely. But that wouldn’t fit the part you had to play. Not if you were going to keep him in the dark about your true thoughts and intentions. You couldn’t afford to slip, not even once. The only chance at freedom you had was through manipulation, and the only way that would work was if you sold every lie as though you believed it with your whole heart.

Playing along—making him believe you wanted to be here, that you were coming around to his twisted idea of a life together—was your only shot. Every smile, every touch had to look real. It was a dance you had to perform perfectly if you wanted him to lower his guard, to let you see enough of this place to understand it. And if you could do that, if you could slowly, carefully, find your way through this labyrinth of a mansion, then maybe you could plan an escape. It was a desperate hope, but it was all you had.

Besides, you’d only seen a fraction of the mansion—enough to know it was enormous, enough to know it was a maze you had to learn. There was no way you could get out of here without knowing every detail, every exit, and he had left you with only fragments to work from.

"Sylus," you begin, voice softer now, as though you’re testing the waters. "I’ve been here awhile, but I’ve only really seen the living room, the dining hall, the nursery, and…well, your room." You force your gaze downward, channeling an innocence you don’t feel, hoping it’s enough to mask the sharp edge of your true intentions. Asking for more access felt like dancing on a knife's edge—one wrong word, and you’d be locked in that room again, losing even the small amount of freedom he’d permitted.

“That’s very true,” he replies, his voice laced with curiosity. He tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just a bit, his gaze a silent demand to continue. "What are you getting at, kitten?"

You take a breath, willing the nerves away, and look toward him with a careful, hopeful expression. Showtime. You reach for his hands, gently taking them in yours, and give a small, almost timid squeeze. His hands are warm, large, and hold yours with an easy authority that you ignore.

"Well…" You give a slight, shy smile. "Since I’m going to be raising a baby here, don’t you think I should know what the rest of the house looks like? We’ll need to babyproof everything, anyway." You let out a soft laugh and force your best smile, even as your heart races.

"Please?"

He says nothing at first, just studies your face, every detail of it, his expression unreadable. His silence stretches, stretching long enough to send a cold trickle of doubt through you, your skin prickling as you try to read him. His hands hold yours steadily, and though his grip isn’t harsh, there’s a firmness there, a controlled strength that keeps you from pulling back.

Then, finally, he squeezes your hands back, and you force yourself not to pull away as his gaze sharpens, amusement flashing through his eyes as he chuckles softly. “I already let you out of the room, and now you want more?” His tone is teasing, but there’s a slight edge to it, enough to remind you of how fragile your position is here, how easily he could shut this down. "Greedy, aren’t you?"

A cold sweat breaks out along your neck, and you feel your heart stutter in panic. Had you asked too soon? Had he caught onto your real intentions? You swallow the fear and press a small, apologetic laugh from your lips, tilting your head in a way you hope looks endearing.

"But," he continues, his face softening just enough to let you breathe again, "it’s hard to say no when you’re looking at me like that." His lips curve into a small, satisfied smile as he nods. “You can be a little greedy since you're pregnant, my love."

A thrill of excitement rushes through you, real and raw, breaking through the cautious pretense you’d kept so carefully crafted. For once, you don’t have to fake the spark of interest in your eyes. It was an unexpected freedom, an unsupervised look at the rest of this mansion—and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of possibility at every new detail.

“Thank you, Sylus.” The words are soft but intentionally genuine, and as you meet his gaze, you keep a veil of sincere gratitude over your excitement. You lean over and give him a small peck on the cheek, much to his surprise. He seems a little taken aback by you gratitude but gives you a gentle smile. He holds your hand firmly as he guides you down the winding hallways, the feel of his fingers entwined with yours as binding as your own resolve to see this through. With every step, you commit to memory the twists and turns of the layout, noting windows, entryways, exits—anything that might be useful.

His voice draws you from your thoughts as he gestures to the first room, pushing open the door with an easy familiarity. “Here’s the pool room,” he says, voice tinged with a hint of pride. The room opens into a spacious area filled with sleek, blue-tiled floors, a pristine pool stretching almost the entire length of the room. The water reflects the soft ambient lighting overhead, casting an inviting shimmer across the walls. The edges are rimmed with elegant stone tiling, and a series of lounge chairs are arranged nearby, as if ready to host a small group.

You try to hide the awe in your eyes as you take in the serene space. “It’s…gorgeous,” you say, turning to him with an appreciative smile. “You must spend a lot of time here?”

He nods, a small, satisfied smile on his face. “I do. It’s peaceful. Good place to clear my head.”

You allow yourself to take a few steps closer to the water’s edge, admiring the tranquility that fills the space. It almost feels like you’re somewhere else entirely, far from the tension that typically fills the house. “I can see that,” you murmur, the sound of the gentle ripples in the water almost mesmerizing.

His hand slips back into yours as he guides you out of the pool room and further down the hall. "Come, there’s more to see.”

The next door swings open into a gym, and the space is fully outfitted: weights, machines, treadmills, and even a boxing ring nestled in the far corner. Your eyes widen, taking in the variety of equipment and the sheer dedication that must have gone into curating the room. The walls are a stark black, the floor a clean, polished tile that gleams under the overhead lights. Every detail speaks of intensity and focus, a place meant for honing skill and strength.

“So, you really don’t skimp on fitness,” you remark, glancing over at him with a raised brow. “The boxing ring and everything?”

He chuckles, pleased by your reaction. “Of course. It’s important to stay in shape, to keep my strength up.” He leads you to the edge of the ring, tapping the ropes lightly. “You box, too?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

He grins, almost mischievously. “Its just a hobby, nothing serious. A way to pass the time.”

You nod, letting your gaze drift around the room, mentally cataloging every angle and piece of equipment. Sylus watches you, his face alight with satisfaction, seeming to enjoy the reaction he’s evoking. “I’m impressed,” you reply, layering your words with genuine-sounding admiration, hoping it masks your true purpose. “Will you teach me sometime, Sy?”

He raises an eyebrow, looking amused, and after a thoughtful pause, nods. “Why not? After our little one arrives, I’ll show you everything I know.”

The mention of the baby jolts through you, your stomach tightening. You had been pushing the thought to the back of your mind, burying it beneath everything else—but it seemed Sylus had no intention of letting you forget. Not for a moment.

"Right…thank you,” you manage to say, hoping he doesn’t sense the slight tremor in your voice. “This place is exquisite.”

He hums in agreement before guiding you toward the exit, back into the hallway. “You’ll see. There’s a lot here. A place for everything.”

He pauses by the next door, a slight glint of amusement in his eyes as he opens it. The room that greets you is completely unexpected—a wide, empty space with mirrored walls, hardwood floors, and… a dance pad. Your surprise must be evident because he chuckles softly, closing the door behind you both.

“A dance pad?” you ask, not quite able to hide the surprise in your voice. “I didn’t peg you for a dancer.”

He gives a low chuckle, crossing his arms as he watches your reaction. “Everyone has their quirks, I suppose.”

Unable to resist, you step onto the smooth floor, glancing down at the pad. It’s a pristine set-up, clearly well-kept, as though someone actually uses it. You glance back at him, eyebrows raised. “So…do you actually use this?” You try to keep the amusement out of your tone, but it slips through, your curiosity genuine.

He shakes his head, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “No, not often. It was more of an impulse purchase than anything. You're free to use it if you like though, kitten.”

Suppressing a laugh, you glance away, imagining him using the dance pad, and it’s almost too much to picture him doing anything other than exuding control. You shake your head lightly, turning back to him. “Well, I’ll have to take your word for it.”

He grins, clearly enjoying your surprise, before he takes your hand and guides you back out into the hallway. As you move further down, your curiosity piqued by every turn and every new door, a question nags at you.

“Where do Luke and Kieran stay?” you ask, trying to keep your tone casual, like a question borne out of simple curiosity.

“They don’t live here,” he replies easily, glancing down at you with a slight smirk. “But they aren’t far. Close enough if they’re needed. They spend quite a bit of time here though.”

You nod, filing the information away. So, they don’t stay here, but they’re close. It’s another detail you could use, another fact that might mean something if an opportunity arose.

The next room Sylus opens is another surprise: a comfortable, cozy space filled with large bookshelves and plush seating, much more inviting than the rest of the mansion’s cold, grandiose design. The contrast is startling, and you can’t help but admire the warm tones of the wood, the elegant lighting that casts soft shadows on the walls.

“This is the library,” he explains, watching your reaction closely. “You’re welcome to use it whenever you want.”

Your gaze lingers on the spines of the books, taking in the range of genres and titles. “It’s beautiful,” you murmur, genuine awe slipping into your voice. It’s the first place that actually feels…relaxing. A place you could lose yourself in for hours, escape within these walls even if only in the pages of a book.

He seems pleased by your reaction, and you make sure to keep the interest visible on your face, your fingers brushing over the backs of the books as you take it all in. The space here feels safe in a way the other rooms didn’t, the chaos of your current reality somehow held at bay in this quiet sanctuary.

But, as always, Sylus’s presence is a constant reminder, and the grip he keeps on your hand pulls you back into reality as he leads you out once more, your newfound sense of calm quickly dissipating.

As you stroll through the shelves, another thought begins to form in your mind. There had to be thousands of books, perhaps this library held one small thing that could genuinely be useful to you: knowledge. Knowledge about this pregnancy, about what exactly your body was going through.

And maybe...what to "avoid".

Your steps slow just a bit, feigning hesitation. “Sylus,” you begin, glancing up at him, letting your tone be soft but curious, “do you have any books about pregnancy in here? I’d like to know more about what’s happening. In my body.”

The request seems to please him, a subtle glint of pride crossing his face as he gives a small nod. “I thought you might ask eventually,” he replies, his voice a mixture of amusement and interest. “Wait here.”

He gestures toward a chair tucked into the alcove near the end of the library, and you settle into it, watching him disappear into the labyrinth of shelves with purposeful strides. Left alone in the stillness, you allow yourself a quick scan of the area, but see nothing of interest, save for the distant rows of books and that familiar, heavy silence. Everything here is so perfectly curated, so precisely arranged, and yet, as much as you try to distract yourself, the tension gnawing at your thoughts feels sharper now.

Time drags on, each minute stretching painfully as you sit in silence, your mind a whirlwind of nerves and planning. Eventually, you hear his approaching footsteps, and soon, Sylus reappears, carrying a neat stack of hardcovers, his lips curved in a slight smile.

“Here we go,” he says, setting the stack down on the table beside you. He steps back, folding his arms as he watches your reaction with that familiar, intense interest. “Everything you could need, or want to know” he adds, pride in his voice.

“Thank you,” you say, trying to sound genuinely grateful as you reach for the first book. You glance down at the cover—The Stages of Pregnancy: A Month-by-Month Guide—and flip it open with a careful hand, as if you’re handling something fragile. “It’ll be good to know what to expect, right?” you add, glancing up at him with what you hope looks like a soft smile.

"Of course,” he replies, his gaze settling on you in that thoughtful way that makes your skin prickle. “I can make accommodations for whatever you need, but understanding it for yourself…well, I imagine that would make this feel easier for you.”

You nod, flipping slowly through the pages, half skimming, half pretending to read. Then, as if by chance, your gaze snags on a paragraph labeled, “Seven Weeks: The Size of a Blueberry.” The words catch in your mind, sticking like unwelcome thorns.

“Oh…here,” you murmur, tracing the line with your finger. “It says here that the baby is the size of a blueberry or a grape right now.” The words feel strange, almost surreal coming out of your mouth, as if they’re someone else’s. You force a calm expression as you look back up at Sylus, noting the gleam of satisfaction and…tenderness? In his eyes. This was real to him, more real than you ever could have anticipated.

“How cute” he murmurs, as though savoring the thought. He moves closer, settling into the chair beside you, a shadow of reverence on his face as he leans just a bit nearer. His hand instinctively reaches toward you, hovering near your shoulder, but he draws it back just as quickly.

“Yes…fascinating,” you murmur, glancing back down at the book, feigning a smile even as your stomach twists with something colder. It was all too real now, this moment—a growing reminder of the life you were both creating and dreading, one as small as a berry yet powerful enough to bind you here.

You keep turning the pages, scanning over every single line for something specific—anything about foods to avoid, medications, activities that might be dangerous, anything that might provide some small escape route. But the bright, pastel pages offer only endless suggestions for a “healthy, positive pregnancy experience.” Each book is filled with joyful phrases and soft illustrations, almost too perfect, like something out of a surreal nightmare. With each turn of the page, frustration bubbles up, mingling with something darker.

You try the next book, then another. There’s no sign of precautions or restrictions, just more idealized depictions of the “bonding” process. As you flip through the final book, a sickening realization settles in: several sections are conspicuously missing. You can see the faint edges where pages were once bound, but they’ve been removed. Ripped out.

Your pulse quickens, anger twisting in your stomach, but you keep your face calm, still as you look at Sylus. His gaze is fixed on you, warm and utterly calm, as though he’s waiting to see how you’ll react. You can feel him studying every move, every expression, savoring this unspoken game of power.

Clearing your throat, you gather your composure and flash a small, questioning smile, doing your best to sound innocently curious. “I’m finding a lot of do’s in these books,” you say softly, each word carefully measured, “but not a lot of don’ts. Are these…outdated?”

His response is immediate, his gaze never wavering. His lips curve into a slight, indulgent smile. “Not at all. I know exactly what you should avoid,” he says smoothly, his voice dripping with authority masked in reassurance. “So there’s no need to worry your little head about it, sweetie.” He’s almost mocking you, a trace of condescension slipping through the veneer of warmth. He sees straight through your question and wants you to know it.

Your fingers tighten around the book, knuckles white as you force your face to remain neutral. Inside, fury claws at you, tearing at every last thread of restraint. He’s so smug, so confident in his control over you, that he doesn’t even pretend otherwise. Of course, he’s thought ten steps ahead, torn out every page that could’ve hinted at ways to “accidentally” sabotage this pregnancy. He’s made sure that you have no means of escape, no options except the ones he allows.

But you swallow your anger, fighting back the venom you want to spit back at him. Instead, you let your expression soften, tilting your head as if his words have comforted you. Your voice comes out sweet, too sweet, the way he wants to hear it. “I trust you, Sylus. Thank you.”

He seems pleased with your response, and as he reaches out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face, you resist the urge to recoil. Inside, a storm is raging, but you keep your mask firmly in place, knowing it’s the only power you have left.

Sylus stops just before the door, a small, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “There’s still one more area to show you,” he says, his tone casual, though there’s a spark of something knowing in his eyes. “Although, you’ve likely seen it already.”

Your heart skips, and you swallow hard. Of course, he’s talking about the horse track. The last place you saw in your frantic escape attempt. Instantly, memories flash before you: scrambling over the fence, the desperate pull in your muscles as you fought for freedom, only to be dragged back into his world. The bitter taste of that night lingers in your mind, and you force yourself to blink it away, to ignore the cold chill that grips you as he opens the door and leads you outside.

When you step into the expansive back area, it’s breathtaking. The open area stretches out endlessly, perfectly groomed, dotted with white flowers swaying gently in the breeze. The massive oak trees create a picturesque frame, and the fence, glinting in the muted moonlight, is unmistakably taller, as if mocking you with its new height. It’s beautiful, undeniably so, a luxurious landscape that, if it weren’t for your current reality, might have seemed like a dream. A taunt.

"How are these plants and trees growing without sunlight Sylus?" you ask, eyeing the flowers.

"They're fake. Plants have a hard time growing here. I ship grass regularly for the horses to graze on along with their other meals" he replies.

How thoughtful of him. At least he seems to care about the horses wellbeing. You can't help but wonder how healthy it is for a horse to go without sunlight exposure though.

Sylus’s voice breaks through your thoughts, calling your attention to the horses lined up in their stalls, majestic creatures with shiny, well-groomed coats. He introduces each of them by name—Eclipse, Fenwick, Zephyr, and Ambrosia. The names are as unique as they are, and he strokes each horse’s neck with a gentleness that surprises you. Despite yourself, you can’t help but marvel at them, nodding as he explains each horse’s quirks with a level of affection that seems almost out of place. “Beautiful horses,” you murmur, hoping the sincerity sounds genuine, though a part of you can’t shake the irony of admiring the very place that had denied you freedom.

Just then, a soft “meow” sounds at your feet, snapping you from your thoughts. You glance down and blink in surprise. There, staring up at you with curious green eyes, is a small, fluffy black cat. And another, slinking out from behind a bale of hay. Then another, and another—until nearly ten cats have surrounded you, their little heads tilting as they examine the new arrival.

“Oh, must be lunchtime.” Sylus’s tone is amused as he steps over to the stall, pulling out a few cans of wet food. He methodically opens them, setting them out as the cats swarm around his feet, purring and meowing in eager anticipation.

“Are these your cats, Sy?” you ask, surprised at the softness in your own voice as you watch him tend to them. You curse yourself the second the nickname slips out. Too familiar. Too comfortable. But Sylus just smiles, scratching a particularly bold tabby behind its ears.

“I wouldn’t say mine, exactly,” he replies, casting a glance down at the cats as they rub against his legs, eager for attention. “One of them showed up hungry one day, jumped the fence somehow, so I fed him. Guess he told his friends and family about the food, and they just…kept coming back.”

You watch him, taken aback by the sight of your captor, the man who so meticulously controls your every movement, giving such easy affection to a stray cat. You can feel your thoughts churning, grasping for some understanding, but it only raises more questions. He chuckles as a few more cats join the others, and he pauses to scratch the head of a scruffy gray one, speaking softly to it in a way that nearly—nearly—makes him seem human.

And though you force yourself to keep the façade, to act gracious and grateful, inside you’re cursing the twisted mix of emotions that this moment stirs up.

You can’t help but find it ironic. Sylus, the man who controls everything—down to the lock on your ankle chain—claims he doesn’t “own” the cats, says they can come and go freely. Yet here you are, under his roof and his rule, with freedom as unreachable as the sun in the N109 Zone.

The words are on the tip of your tongue, the urge to point out the hypocrisy flickering in your mind, but you bite them back. No, this isn’t the time to speak your thoughts. Instead, you kneel down, reaching out to one of the cats, a scrappy little tabby with one bright, curious eye and the other an empty, scarred socket. The cat leans into your hand, purring deeply as you scratch beneath its chin, its coarse fur oddly comforting beneath your fingertips.

“Looks like Cooper likes you,” Sylus observes, his gaze never straying from you.

“Cooper,” you echo, glancing up briefly, your voice softer than you intended. You try to focus on the rough little creature in your hands, letting its simple contentment distract you. If only you could just walk away, like this little one could if he wished.

Sylus watches you, and for a brief moment, there’s a hint of something softer in his eyes, as if he’s reading your thoughts. He kneels down beside you, his hand brushing over Cooper’s head, and you can feel his attention as if it were a weight pressing on you. You force yourself to keep petting the cat, willing yourself to stay calm, to keep up the act, to smile and nod.

If only he knew.

Sylus’s eyes are on you, his gaze smoldering, heavy with admiration that borders on obsession. The intensity in his stare prickles your skin, and heat rises in your cheeks, unbidden and unwelcome. You avert your eyes, hoping to temper the rush of nerves fluttering through you, feeling suddenly small under the weight of his attention.

“Y-yes?” The question comes out shaky, barely a whisper, as you force yourself to meet his gaze, but only briefly. It’s like looking directly at the sun—captivating, but dangerous. You can’t seem to keep the heat from creeping up your neck, burning hotter as his eyes soften, a smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re just… so beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning closer. His words are a gentle caress, brushing against every shield you’ve tried to raise, slipping past them, finding their way in despite your efforts to stay detached. Before you can react, he closes the distance, his mouth pressing softly against yours, the warmth and possessiveness in his kiss dizzying. You feel his hand cradle your face, his fingers brushing against your cheek with a tenderness that feels almost surreal, given the suffocating reality of your situation.

Your heart pounds wildly, and an ache settles low in your chest, a dangerous stirring of emotion you refuse to entertain. You try to focus elsewhere, force yourself to stay vigilant, to keep your mind away from the way his lips move against yours. As if on instinct, your eyes drift over his shoulder, searching for anything to ground you.

Then, you see it—a dark red smear in the dirt, barely visible against the shadows by one of the horse stalls. Your stomach drops, and an icy chill cuts through the haze Sylus has drawn you into. A strange fear seeps into your thoughts, sharpening them, pulling you out of the moment and rooting you back into the grim reality of your circumstances.

“Sylus…” You pull back, voice soft, your words catching slightly. “Did one of the horses…get hurt?” Your eyes linger on the spot of blood, every nerve on edge as you try to mask the growing tension inside you.

Sylus’s gaze follows yours, his expression flickering from surprise to something darker, something almost guarded. The ease in his expression evaporates, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assesses the bloodstain. For a second, you think you see irritation flash across his face before he smooths it over with a small, unreadable smile.

“Hm,” he hums, tilting his head thoughtfully, though the tightness in his posture betrays his calm facade. “I don’t think so. Must be from that pest I mentioned earlier.” His voice is casual, but there’s a coldness behind the words, a dangerous edge that makes you wonder what—or rather who—he might consider a “pest.” He straightens, his expression closing off, but the darkness in his eyes lingers, unspoken but unmistakable.

“I’ll have the twins take care of it,” he adds, his tone light, almost dismissive, though you can sense the faintest trace of something far more sinister hidden beneath it. He turns back to you, and the ease returns to his expression, but now it feels forced, like a carefully practiced mask that he’s used countless times before.

The words settle uneasily in your chest, and you feel a prickle of fear creep down your spine as his thumb traces lazy circles over your knuckles. He’s watching you with an intensity that feels as if it could peel away the layers of your facade if you’re not careful, and you force yourself to keep your expression neutral, to mask the suspicion and dread swirling inside you.

“Alright,” you murmur softly, forcing a smile as your gaze meets his once more, masking the apprehension twisting in your gut. The words feel hollow, but you hope they’re enough to placate him, to make him believe that his secrets are safe, that you’re not questioning every word that slips from his lips.

Yet even as you stand there, his hand enveloping yours in a feigned gesture of reassurance, the sight of the bloodstain is burned into your mind. It serves as a bitter reminder of the truth he’s tried to obscure beneath smiles and whispered promises, and as you feign gratitude, you know you can’t afford to let your guard down. Not now. Not ever.

Sylus stood and stretched after some time, allowing a lazy smile to spread across his face as he took a final look around the open space and the warm, purring cats at your feet. He watched you, savoring the barely concealed disappointment that flickered across your face as he said, “Alright, time for us to get back inside for lunch.”

You hesitated, casting a glance at the cats lounging contentedly near you, one or two curling around your ankles as if to say goodbye. “I’ll miss them,” you murmured, reaching down to scratch the ear of a sleek black one with a torn ear. The small admission tugged at something in Sylus, a reminder that despite the careful guard you kept up, moments like these were still real.

But then his gaze shifted to the faint red stain in the dirt, and his smile slipped, just for a second. Xavier had been as stubborn as he’d expected. Unruly, unpredictable, and unwilling to admit defeat. The faint bruise on Sylus's knuckles was a testament to that. He’d told himself that dealing with Xavier would bring him a sense of closure, and it had—to an extent. Yet, seeing you look at the stain, asking about it, he couldn’t deny a small twinge of irritation. He didn’t want you dwelling on anything to do with Xavier, knowingly or not. That chapter was supposed to be closed, shut tight, and locked away.

Still, he chuckled inwardly. You, and your quiet persistence, had become more fascinating than he’d anticipated. The bloodstain bothered you; he could see it in the way you looked at him, the veiled questions in your eyes. He tried his best reassure you, convince you that it didn’t matter. And yet, there was a small ache in his heart in the way you looked at him, unsure if you could trust his words. For him, your little glances and careful words only reinforced that you were still a work in progress, no matter how much of an act you tried to put on for him.

As you leaned down to pet one of the stray cats, he felt a strange pang. There was something almost serene in how you looked at the cat, how gently your fingers brushed against its fur. He could understand why the cats returned to his estate; they were loyal to the hand that fed them but still roamed freely, unbound. A thought flickered in his mind—a parallel he quickly dismissed.

“What are you thinking?” he found himself asking, and though his voice was calm, he watched you closely, searching for any sign of defiance, any glimpse of the real thoughts he knew you held back.

“Just…that the cats seem happy here,” you replied softly, and while the words were polite, almost indifferent, he could see something sharper, a glint of anger hidden in the depths of your gaze. He had no doubt you’d drawn the comparison to your own situation.

He smirked, feeling a surge of amusement as he leaned in closer, letting his fingers brush against your hand, a possessive gesture. “They come and go, sure,” he murmured, his tone deliberately soft, intimate. “But they always come back, don’t they?”

You didn’t respond, and he could see the faint tension in your shoulders as you continued petting the cat, carefully avoiding his gaze. He let the silence stretch, enjoying the subtle power play, the dance of control between the two of you. The thought lingered—just how long would you keep fighting? How long until you finally accepted the life he was giving you?

He didn’t miss the way your shoulders softened, a subtle release of tension, though whether it was from the promise of food or the chance to put distance between yourself and that bloodstain, he couldn’t say for certain. But he knew. He was perceptive, and though you’d gotten better at masking your expressions, your body still betrayed you.

He’d watched you perfect the art of masking your true thoughts, layer by careful layer. A slight upturn of the lips, a practiced smile. A flicker in your gaze that quickly gave way to feigned admiration. He couldn’t deny that a part of him was impressed, even entertained. He liked seeing you evolve like this—thoughtful, clever, adaptive. But what truly intrigued him was the innocence you projected; he enjoyed it, let himself be pulled into this game. He allowed you to feel the illusion of control, as if you were the one carefully crafting this delicate balance between resistance and affection.

He chuckled to himself, the sound low and almost indulgent. You had no idea the effect you had on him, the strings you pulled without even realizing it. And though he knew he was the one orchestrating every piece of this twisted dynamic, he let you believe otherwise. He let you think you had him fooled, that he couldn’t see through the charming glances, the coy questions, the calculated affection. And yet, despite every barrier he had, he wanted those words, that warmth from you. He wanted them to be real.

If he was honest with himself, there was a part of him that longed to be on the receiving end of genuine care from you. His hand brushed against your shoulder as he guided you back toward the house, and he found himself savoring the brief touch, however fleeting.

But he wouldn’t rush it. He would let you play this little game for a while longer, allow you to think you were the one calling the shots. And when the time came, when he shattered that delicate illusion, it would be on his terms. Until then, he would savor each exchange, each careful glance, each word that fell from your lips, real or not. You had him wrapped around your finger, whether or not you realized the full extent of it.

And the thought? It amused him.

As you entered the dining room, he noticed the subtle way you seemed to take in every detail around you—the long hallways, the faintly lit chandeliers casting warm shadows, the polished floors beneath your feet. He almost smiled to himself, watching you catalog the space, probably even the exit routes. It was cute, in a way, how careful you were being, like you could somehow memorize the layout of his entire home in one meal.

He didn’t mind. Not at all. As long as you didn't try anything.

“Here we are,” he murmured, steering you gently into the dining room, where an array of dishes already awaited. The table was lavishly spread, but not so much that it was unrecognizable—bread, fresh fruit, cold cuts, and cold drinks that filled the air with savory warmth. Sylus guided you to a seat, pulling the chair out with a small, deliberate gesture before sitting down across from you, eyes intent on your every move.

You gazed at the table, your hunger apparently winning out over the frustration he knew lingered somewhere beneath the surface. Sylus watched as you lifted your fork, that carefully composed expression settling back over your face. He allowed himself to relax, picking up his own fork and cutting into his meal, though his gaze flickered over to you with each quiet bite.

A part of him enjoyed this simple act, the mundanity of it—a normal lunch, a meal shared. Yet even in this moment, he couldn’t ignore the ever-present current of tension that ran between you. He knew you were watching, studying. You were trying so hard to give the appearance of calm. He wondered how long it would last.

As you glanced up at him, he offered a casual, almost teasing smile, leaning back in his chair as he set down his fork.

"No cold cuts for you," he said, his tone gentle but firm as he nudged the plate of cold sandwiches out of your reach. "These are grilled chicken sandwiches," he explained, sliding a different plate closer to you. "These are safer for you and our baby."

Sylus watched the subtle flicker of annoyance that flashed across your face when he moved the cold cuts out of reach. It was gone almost instantly, replaced by a polite compliance as you reached for the grilled chicken sandwiches he’d set out for you. You were getting good at masking your expressions, he had to admit. But, as usual, your body told him more than you realized—just a hint of tension in your shoulders, a subtle tightening in your jaw.

Good. You didn’t know it yet, but this tiny rebellion pleased him. He kinda liked when you revealed these small glimpses of resistance, even if they were fleeting. They reminded him of the strength you carried beneath the surface, the fire he found so enticing.

A shame he would have to shatter the illusion sooner or later.

As you picked up a slice of mango, he leaned back, taking in your careful movements, the slight restraint in your eyes. He knew you found his supervision maddening, the constant watch over every bite, every step. But he had promised himself to keep you and the baby safe, and he would see that through.

Satisfied with your obedience, he finally turned to his own plate, his appetite sharpening as he replayed the moment in his mind, savoring the small victory of your compliance. It didn’t matter if you played along reluctantly; it was the control he held over the situation that brought him ease.

Each meal like this, each time you did what he asked—no matter how begrudgingly—deepened his resolve. He’d continue to let you think you had some upper hand, that you were in control of your emotions and your reactions. But he’d always be watching, silently reveling in each little battle. For now, he’d let you play along.

Much time passed after that. Sylus could tell, even before you spoke, that your nausea had returned with a vengeance. The signs were all there: the way you held your stomach, the faint crease in your brow as you tried to mask the discomfort. He’d been through this routine with you countless times by now, keeping close by as you battled each wave. He’d spent so many hours by your side, his hands gently holding back your hair, wiping the stray strands from your face, offering a damp cloth to cool your skin afterward.

He'd tried a bunch of things to help with the sickness. Tea, medicine, even changing your diet a bit. But nothing really helped. Seems the baby was determined to give you a hard time regardless.

It surprised him sometimes, how easily he’d fallen into this role, how even your smallest needs had started to matter to him in ways he couldn’t have imagined. When you refused his help with certain things, like showering, he respected the boundary, though reluctantly. The idea of you in there alone, especially with what he knew about the later stages of pregnancy, troubled him.

He’d read in detail about the instability women often faced in their third trimesters, the sudden falls that could turn into something worse. A chill ran down his spine whenever he thought of you stumbling, unbalanced, and he was resolved to be more insistent on helping you shower when that time came. For now, though, he let you have the small distance you needed.

It was a shame you were feeling so unwell. He'd be lying if he said he didn't desire to touch you, to feel you under him again. To hear those cute, serene sounds you made when he touched you in the right places. Despite this, your health was much more important to him than satisfying any desires for sex. He could be a very patient man in the right circumstances.

Tonight, he could feel something different in the air. Your restlessness, the way you shifted in bed, never quite finding comfort. You were cuddled with the plushies he had gotten you, trying to lull yourself to sleep. You hadn’t even closed your eyes. Instead, you stared at some invisible point beyond the room, as though you were imagining yourself far away from here. He knew you often felt trapped, the unease that clouded over you whenever he locked the ankle chain in place. And yet, he couldn’t ignore the tinge of something fragile when you finally spoke up.

“Sylus…” your voice broke through the silence, almost too soft, yet enough to pull him to attention. You turned your head, glancing toward him, and he noticed the way your eyes flickered with something like hope. “I feel sick. Can I get some fresh air? Near the horse track?”

He studied you for a moment, seeing the fatigue etched into your features. He was tempted to say no, but something in your gaze held him back. There was a heaviness about you lately, a quiet sort of sadness that he couldn’t break through. It was worrying him. He didn't want you to fall back into the lifeless, emotionless state you had once slumped into. Perhaps a bit of fresh air would help. After a pause, he nodded, reaching for the lock to release the chain around your ankle, his hand lingering as he freed you.

“Alright,” he said, his voice gentle, though his eyes were watchful. He kept his gaze on you, feeling that familiar urge to follow you wherever you went. “But I’ll be right there with—”

The sharp buzz of his phone interrupted, the sound breaking the intimacy of the moment. He saw the name flashing on the screen: Dr. Merrill. A pang of irritation shot through him—this wasn’t the time, not now when he was letting you outside, even for a short time.

He hesitated, glancing between you and the phone. The call could be important, but he couldn’t ignore the flash of relief that crossed your face as you caught his nod of permission. You needed this, even if only for a few moments.

“Go on, sweetie,” he murmured, the reluctance clear in his voice. “I’ll join you shortly. Don’t get too close to the fence.”

He watched as you stepped through the doorway, your shoulders relaxing, a bit of lightness returning to your steps as you disappeared down the hall. His eyes lingered on the empty space where you’d been, the silence settling back over him as he finally lifted the phone to his ear, jaw tight. Dr. Merrill would have to choose his words carefully tonight.

“I assume he’s been dealt with already as I instructed. Why call me so late?” Sylus’s voice held a sharp edge, barely masking his irritation. He hadn’t expected to be disturbed tonight, especially with you outside, likely breathing in what you imagined was your first real taste of freedom in weeks.

A nervous cough sounded from the other end before Dr. Merrill spoke, his tone careful. “Apologies, Sylus. I’ve been keeping an eye on Xavier as you requested. He’s still bedridden, but alert, talking, and his vitals are stable. I informed him, as you wanted, that further attempts would only end worse for him. Whether he’ll listen when he’s back on his feet… well, I can’t say for certain.”

Sylus let out a low, affirmative sound, though his impatience was still evident. “Go on.”

The doctor cleared his throat again, as if gathering himself for what he had to say next. “The real reason I’m calling is that I managed to access her hospital files. Her primary doctor had been Dr. Zayne, and…” He hesitated, his voice turning grave. “It turns out she has Protocore Syndrome.”

Sylus’s grip on the phone tightened slightly. He let out a quiet sigh, massaging his forehead with his free hand. “I’m aware. And from what I’ve seen, it hasn’t given her much trouble so far. Is there something I should be concerned about now?”

The hesitation on Dr. Merrill’s end lingered longer this time. “Well… she’s around eleven weeks, nearly twelve. At that point, in most pregnancies, the risk of miscarriage starts to lower. But in her case, given the Protocore condition, I’d advise extending caution at least until eighteen weeks, if not longer. Even after the baby’s safe, her condition may present complications.”

Sylus exhaled, the words simmering, taking root in his mind. “What kind of complications?”

“Truthfully, with Protocore Syndrome, any added strain on her heart could be… detrimental. It’s been stable, sure, but we’re dealing with an unusual pregnancy, considering that your...genetics. We don’t know the full implications on her system. We should assume anything out of the ordinary could place her at higher risk. There’s a chance, Sylus, that this baby could pose a significant threat to her overall health.” Merrill’s tone was a low murmur, each word layered with caution.

Sylus processed the information slowly, his gaze shifting to where he’d last seen you walking out the door, a sudden weight settling in his chest. “And you’re telling me this now because…?”

“I just reviewed the full records. I didn’t realize until now that her heart was this vulnerable. What I’m suggesting is close monitoring—routine checkups, more frequent scans. She needs to avoid large amounts of stress, both physically and emotionally. A small amount should but fine but if things escalate, her heart could reach a breaking point. Without intervention, it could be…catastrophic.”

Sylus’s fingers drummed slowly against his leg as he listened. He’d known you were fragile, but this was something deeper. “I’ll manage it,” he replied curtly, his tone flat, concealing any hint of concern. “I know what she needs, and I’ve kept her far from anything that could jeopardize her health.”

“I understand,” Merrill said, sounding wary but accepting. “I just thought it best to warn you, considering…her life is far more delicate than you might have realized.”

Sylus was silent for a moment, his jaw tight. “I’ll take care of it, and keep me updated on everything you find out. Keep Xavier contained if he recovers.”

“Understood,” Dr. Merrill replied, his tone tense. “I’ll see to it he’s occupied if he starts asking questions.”

Ending the call, Sylus remained silent, lost in thought, eyes drifting toward the door. He would protect you—he’d make sure every aspect of your care was overseen with precision, even if it meant keeping you closer than ever before.

Deciding to check on you, Sylus lingered by the doorway, a shadow in the cold night, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene before him. There you were, crouched by the fence, your body huddled against the chill as you examined the latch with nervous, darting glances around you. You seemed entirely focused, fingers trembling slightly as they traced the cold metal, clearly debating your next move. He could see the tension in your shoulders, the way you scanned the area before testing the latch, and a simmering anger ignited within him.

It was the smallest flicker of movement that caught his attention, the way you shifted closer to the gate, cautiously as if any misstep might alert someone, but Sylus saw everything. Each anxious breath you took misted in the cold air, and though he couldn’t see your expression from behind, the very posture of your body screamed of quiet rebellion. His jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists as he remained rooted in place, watching as you carefully lifted your hand to the lock again, trying to coax it without making a sound.

What did you think you were doing? The thought struck him sharply, but he forced himself to stay silent, letting you think, letting you believe you had gone unnoticed. You were there, so close to the boundary he'd set, so intent on testing it, and he felt an almost bitter pang of disappointment settle into his chest. There was a part of him that wanted to call out, to see your startled reaction right then, but he forced himself to stay hidden, his presence a looming reminder that you were never truly alone in this place.

As you cast another furtive glance over your shoulder, he saw the fear in your eyes, and it only fueled the growing frustration that simmered beneath his calm exterior. You were aware of the risk. You knew what might happen if you were caught, and yet here you were, caught in the very act he had warned against. His eyes narrowed, and he took a silent step forward, ready to make his presence known.

“Sweetie,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the stillness with unsettling clarity.

The sound of his voice froze you instantly, every muscle in your body going rigid as if your worst nightmare had come to life. You slowly turned, dread etched on your face as your gaze met his. You clearly hadn't heard him come up behind you. Sylus’s expression was deceptively calm, his face shadowed but his eyes glinting with a cold, controlled anger that made your breath catch.

“What were you doing?” he asked, his tone soft but laden with unmistakable irritation.

You opened your mouth to answer, but only a shaky breath came out, fear catching the words in your throat. “I…I was just…exploring,” you stammered, your voice barely more than a whisper as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “It’s all a misunderstanding.”

He took a step closer, his gaze unwavering as he studied you. The quiet stretched between you, thick with tension, and you felt your pulse thudding in your ears as you waited for his response.

Sylus let out a slow sigh, the sound laced with disappointment rather than anger, which somehow made it all the worse. His fingers reached for his belt, and with deliberate slowness, he began to unbuckle it, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Kitten…” he murmured, his voice calm, almost pitying. “Do you remember what I said a few weeks ago about trying anything like this?”

He watches as panic surged through you as realization hit, your eyes racing wildly as his hand pulled the belt free, the leather sliding through the loops with a soft, menacing sound. You began to shake, the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you took an involuntary step back. “Sylus…please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I wasn’t trying to leave. I swear…I’m sorry.”

But your pleas fell on deaf ears. He only shook his head, a faint sadness in his expression as he reached down, his grip firm as he took your arm. “I’m sorry too,” he said, his voice coldly resolute. “But I have to do this until you learn.”

With that, he turned, leading you back into the house, his hand unyielding around your arm. You stumbled behind him, barely able to keep up as he guided you through the doorway and into the familiar warmth of the house. But there was no comfort in that warmth, no reprieve from the dread that coiled tighter in your chest with each step.

The living room loomed ahead, and he guided you to the couch, his grip never loosening even as he sat down, pulling you down with him. You struggled, your voice breaking as you begged him, the fear in your tone echoing in the empty room.

“Sylus please, don’t do this, I'm sorry I'm sorry!” you choked out, but he silenced you with a firm hand on your back, pushing you gently over his knee. His hand lingered there for a moment, resting just above your spine as he leaned down close, his voice a quiet murmur in your ear.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered, almost gently, as though trying to soothe a frightened child. “This is good for you. It’ll only hurt for a bit.”

He could feel your pulse pounding against him, every fiber of your being wanting to pull away, to escape his touch, but you were trapped, his hand a steady weight on your back. He gently lifted the hem of your dress, pulling down your underwear to expose the skin of your ass. You braced yourself, eyes squeezed shut as he adjusted his grip, raising the belt.

“Count them, kitten,” he said, his tone carrying an unyielding finality.

Just a little stress is fine. This was necessary. This was good.

"One..."

Smack.

"Mghn! Two..."

Smack.

"T-three..."

Your voice trembled as you forced the words out, each count a struggle as you choked back tears, the ache settling into your skin as his belt landed in steady, unrelenting strikes against the skin of your ass. Over and over, eleven times. You fought to keep your composure, to stay silent, but the pain built, each strike pushing you closer to breaking.

And all the while, he hoped his words echoed in your mind, the calm finality of his voice a reminder that, here, he held the power. That as much as you wanted to hate him, to defy him, that power loomed larger than any fleeting spark of rebellion.

Sylus’s movements were calculated as he finally loosened his grip on the belt, letting it clatter softly to the floor. He watched you, taking in the sight of you shuddering, face flushed with heat and emotion, eyes red and swollen from tears that now streaked freely down your cheeks. Each sob seemed to cut deeper into him, each tear a reminder of why he’d felt forced to take things this far. His chest tightened as he tried to push down the frustration that flickered beneath his surface calm.

“Come here,” he murmured, gently motioning for you to sit up. His tone softened, and he reached out to touch you, his hands gliding over your butt with a gentleness that seemed out of place after everything that had just happened. He could feel the heat radiating from your skin, a stark contrast to the frigid night air outside. The ache beneath his hand seemed to burn under his touch, and he rubbed slow, soothing circles over the places where the belt had struck, trying to calm the sting.

“Look at me, honey,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he brushed his fingers beneath your chin. He gently tilted your face up, guiding your gaze back to his. Your face was a picture of heartbreak, your cheeks still wet, lips parted as you tried to catch your breath between soft, broken sobs. Even in your anger, there was a vulnerability in your eyes that made something stir within him—a part of himself he usually tried to keep at bay.

"Are you okay?"

Your silence was louder than any words, a refusal to acknowledge his question. He could feel the anger flickering behind your tears, simmering just beneath the surface. The defiance was there, mixed with something else—hurt, perhaps, or a sense of humiliation. He knew this had pushed you to a breaking point.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, catching a tear as it fell, his hand warm and steady. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, really. When we get to bed, I’ll keep rubbing where it hurts. I’ll make sure you feel better. Do you understand why I had to do it?” he asked, his voice low, almost pleading, as if he hoped his words might somehow bridge the growing chasm between you.

For a long moment, you didn’t answer, your eyes fixed on some distant point as if looking anywhere else might help you avoid the question. He could see the wheels turning in your mind, your expression flickering between hurt and resentment as you processed what had happened. The weight of it hung heavily in the air between you, a silent struggle for control.

Then, finally, a tremor seemed to pass through you, and without warning, you collapsed against his chest, a fresh wave of tears breaking free. You buried your face in the fabric of his shirt, your shoulders trembling as sobs wracked your body. “Yes. I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled and raw, choked with emotion. It was as though all the walls you’d tried to build had come crashing down, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.

Sylus’s arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you closer as he rested his chin atop your head. For a moment, he was taken aback, unsure if this was genuine or some desperate attempt to sway him, to appeal to the part of him that still longed for your affection. But he couldn’t deny the way you clung to him, the way your fingers gripped his shirt as though holding onto him would somehow make everything right again.

The thought sent a pang through him, and he tightened his hold, letting you cry as he ran his fingers through your hair, whispering quiet reassurances. “Shh…it’s okay,” he murmured, his tone tender as he continued to hold you, his own anger and frustration melting away in the face of your pain. “It’s all over now, sweetheart. You’re forgiven.” He continued to cradle you, his hand tracing soothing patterns across your back until, slowly, your sobs began to quiet, your breathing steadying as the storm of emotion finally started to subside.

In that moment, as he held you close, he realized something unsettling—something that made his resolve weaken and his heart ache with a mixture of frustration and longing. No matter how much he wanted to control you, to bend your will to his, there was a small part of him that didn’t want to see you break completely.

Sylus sat there, feeling the warmth of your body pressed against his, a dark, unsettling question wormed its way into his mind: How far could he take this? How far could he go before the fragile balance he maintained shattered completely, leaving only resentment and pain between you both?

In his mind, he'd always believed that every boundary he pushed, every small piece of control he gained, would draw you closer, like a force so magnetic that eventually, you'd stop fighting the life he had built. And yet, with each test, each punishment, he felt the weight of his own actions pulling him somewhere he hadn’t planned. Somewhere he couldn’t entirely control.

He looked down at you, slumped against him, eyes closed and cheeks streaked with drying tears, and he felt that familiar conflict twist in his chest. He'd gotten what he wanted, hadn't he? Obedience. An apology. A soft, vulnerable moment in his arms. But as he held you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of your shoulders, he couldn’t ignore the pang of doubt. He’d pushed you, molded you, cornered you—yet for what? And where was the line?

As he continued to hold you, he felt that question linger, a shadow that darkened the quiet victory of this moment. The way you’d collapsed against him, seeking comfort from the very hands that had brought you to tears, stirred something that felt like satisfaction, yes but also like an ache. He wanted you to be his, truly, willingly—but every step seemed to make him worry that you were being pushed further from that goal, leaving him to wonder if he was only chasing an illusion.

How far could he take this? He didn’t know. But in that quiet space, with you leaning against him, the thought felt less like power and more like a small, ache of sadness in his chest.

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