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[allfearstofallto]

Any new yandere Childe stuff here or there?👀 tell us anything about him, I’m all ears for it.

This is all I've got 😭😭

[dollgxtz]

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

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.

“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.”

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.

[i-cant-sing-fics]

Hello. This is Snow. My old blog (i-cant-sing) got terminated out of the blue today. I have contacted tumblr support for help, but started this account for backup. Please reblog and spread this backup account around because i am literally so mad, im crying. ive worked so hard for my blog, all for 4 years of my work to go down the drain.

I'll send proof that this really is me, i have a few screenshots of my inbox.

Currently working on part 8 of time traveller au, but please- pray that my old account is recovered because all my links to other fics and this au's previous parts are there. if u have any other questions, please ask.

Just tagging a few accounts to spread the word:

@babylavendersblog

@sunnycanvas

@sharararararara 

@supervisorkenadams

@seiyasabi

@imayanderesimp

These are screenshots from my inbox to prove my identity. also, this is my instagram username: snow.cant.sing (just in case tumbr decides to terminate this account as well).

[reine-uls]

Can you maybe show some of the fanarts?😭 I can't find any and I really wanna see! You don't have to btw just asking!💕

sure sure imma credit them at each fanart

@lucidxdreamsstuff

I’ve also seen their work on TikTok and secretly follow them there. I’ve been waiting for their comic to finish 🥹

@babylavendersblog

@always-remember-memento-vivere

@smolnuggie911

@nomiyonn

[khawla-gfm2]

[tagging for reach]:

@rununcal @wherethatoldtraingoes2 @rukafais @scribbleshanks @samwise1548

@babylavendersblog @waffletoast215 @davepeta @yourlocalegotisticalqueerishere @tearfulnekolu

@hehemechief @starmeadowsystem @consistantly-changing @gallners @ambiguously-gendered-freak

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@themotorvehicle @garbagevarmint @deedra-posting @thetimecrystal @femmefitz

@seraphstation @lockandkeyhyena @fruiteggsaladit @hashiramashonkers @aliesawaheeda

@froshkoi @aidpostameteur @bowie-amia1 @siritasprite @argesta

📰Khawla's Family Campaign Update: 65📰

$14,936/$20,000 as of October 18th [10pm CDT]

Currently $64 away from $15,000 as a short term goal.

We're getting really close to the $20,000 goal!

Please consider donating even just $5, $10, or $20 to help the fundraiser further along to reaching it's goal. And remember that reblogging/sharing to reach more people can help a lot!

[for more information on the campaign: check my pinned post, the campaign page itself, or message me directly if you have any questions]

[tag list under the cut]:

@corpsenurse @vita-e @guiltycrunch @onetruesirius @gaysebastianvael @inplodinggofer616 @d3lph1unkn0wn @confusedsheepsblog @p33rpressure @ahperrytheplatypus @your-13th-suffers @hericanee @murderbot @arceusbeta @tam-shade-song @coleheinous @diberhaze @space-batzz @devilmeows @gizdathemxel

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[allfearstofallto]

4,10,47,63?

Okay, So!

4. what is the plot bunny you’ve been carrying for the longest? optional bonus question: do you ever wonder why you haven’t written it yet and experience deep existential dread?

I have a ton, like a ton of ideas. I can't say for certain what I've been sitting on the longest though because even some of my older fics will be published. I do have like three separate drafts about Xiao though, they've been in the drafts for literal YEARS. I started writing for Xiao before Wanderer even released, but at the time I wasn't posting my fics anymore and I couldn't bring myself to finish them because I felt like there was no point. They're still sitting in the drafts somewhere, is just have to power through them.

10. at what point in the process do you come up with titles, and how easy or hard is that for you?

Whether or not I title a fic is debatable. I really really struggle with titles, I've genuinely gotten to the point where I do just drop something with no titles.

For some fics, not all, the title actually came first and I wrote from there, but that's not common for me. If I know I have to title a fic, I'll typically come up with a general plot and then take my mind to figure out a title at the same time so I don't have to quickly come up with one later.

47. what story are you most proud of?

Weirdly enough the stories that I'm most proud of don't get a lot of traction, while the ones that I'm weary about posting are liked more! I'm not upset at all though! Even one person reading what I wrote makes me happy.

But I really really like:

The Sweetest Spoils of War

Yandere Demon King! Kirishima x Reader

And

Sweetheart

Yandere! Scaramouche x Reader

63.what’s the best insult you’ve read in a fic?

If you read as much Scaramouche fanfiction as I do then you're used to seeing pretty good insults, like some of you Scara authors are actually super mean/creative. I do think my favorite one is one from a fic I can't remember where Scara implied that the readers parents had to be related because of how stupid they are.

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt.10

Word Count: 22.3k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, extortion, threats, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, Xavier appears, tw vomiting, arguing, blood and gore, nausea, Zayne appears ;)

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

AN: Hi all! This is of course on A03! I pulled some all nighters to get this chapter done and then procrastinated doing the editing process LOL. Either way, its here and I guess thats all that matters ^0^. Also, the taglist has gotten SO long omg. Ty all to my frequent readers and commenters, I love reading your comments and theories in the comments and asks! I am forever grateful to have cultivated a follwing of 1,156 people who love my writing! Mwah! Enjoy! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱𖹭

“I know this is hard for you,” Sylus began, his voice quieter than you expected, softer. “But do you really plan to just avoid me the whole time? I’m the father of the baby, honey. You should at least try and talk to me about how you’re feeling. You aren't alone in all this.” “I…” Your voice trembled as you tried to find the words, your chest tight with the weight of it all. “You…you weren’t supposed to be the father of my baby, Sylus.”

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.11

The room was silent, save for the soft, rhythmic sound of your breathing beside him. You lay curled up on the bed, fragile and exhausted, your cheeks still damp from the tears you had shed throughout the day. Sylus sat beside you, watching you in the dim light. His eyes followed the gentle rise and fall of your chest, but it wasn't the sight of your slumber that held his focus. It was the way your body seemed to shrink from him, even in sleep, as if rejecting his presence.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, the weight of your distance sinking deep into his chest. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He never imagined it would hurt this much—to see you so broken, to feel your body, your spirit, pulling away from him when he had only wanted to draw you closer.

Sylus reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. He traced the path of your dried tears with a gentleness that felt foreign on his skin, his thumb grazing the soft skin beneath your eye. You stirred slightly, a soft shiver running through your body at his touch, and even in your sleep, you wanted away from him. His hand froze mid-motion, the rejection clear even in your unconscious state. His heart clenched, and he pulled his hand back, letting out a long, weary breath.

He had spent the last two weeks watching you drift further away. It pained him, more than he was willing to admit, to see you like this—crying through the days, avoiding his gaze, barely speaking to him. You ate in silence, not a word passing your lips as you forced down meals, your once-feisty but still lively spirit dulled to a muted shell. The life inside you should have been something that brought you together, a bond to strengthen what he so desperately craved. But instead, it felt like you were slipping further and further from him, and it was tearing him apart.

Sylus’s gaze lowered to your stomach, hidden beneath the thin fabric of your nightgown. He stared at the slight curve, though it was still too early to truly show. His breath caught in his throat as he reached out, hesitating just before his hand hovered above your belly. Carefully, as though not to disturb you, he rested his palm against it. It was warm, and moved with your every breath. Flat still, of course—but the thought of what was growing inside sent a thrill through him.

What would you look like fully pregnant?

The image consumed him. The idea of your body changing—transforming—to nurture the life he had placed inside you. Your stomach rounding, your breasts swelling with the promise of nourishing the child. His child. His fingers trembled slightly as he imagined it—how your body would evolve, the way you would look heavy with his creation.

It excited him in ways he hadn’t expected. His pulse quickened, and he swallowed hard, his thumb brushing the fabric that covered your skin. This was the future he had longed for—the one thing he had wanted since he laid eyes on you. You, having his baby, bound to him forever. A leash you couldn't remove. And yet, you fought it. You fought him.

A shadow passed over his expression as he thought of the lengths he’d had to go to. The way he’d had to threaten Xavier’s life, knowing it would crush you. He hadn’t wanted to make you afraid, not really—but he couldn’t take any chances. He couldn’t risk you doing anything to harm the baby. Not when he was this close to having everything he had ever wanted.

His grip on your belly tightened ever so slightly, though he was careful not to wake you. The life growing inside you was his dream made real, and he wouldn't let anything—or anyone—jeopardize that. Not even you. He would make you see, one way or another, that this child was a gift. His gift to you.

A quiet, frustrated sigh left his lips as he leaned closer, his voice a low whisper in the dimness of the room. "You'll understand one day. I’m doing this for us. For our family." His words hung heavy in the air, almost as if he were trying to convince himself as much as you.

You stirred again, but you didn’t wake. Your body curled tighter, seeking distance from him once again. Sylus stared at you for a moment longer, his fingers brushing lightly over the flatness of your abdomen, already imagining the swell that would come in the months ahead. A dark stir of pleasure swelled in his chest and made his way to his groin.

Soon, you would change. Soon, you would be perfect. Even more perfect than you already were.

He just needed to fix this. To make you understand. Then everything would be as it should be.

His gaze drifted upward again, lingering on your face, and this time, his eyes fell on your lips. Soft, slightly parted in sleep, they looked so delicate, so inviting. He had always been drawn to you—your beauty, your strength—but there was something about this moment, seeing you so still, so vulnerable, that stirred something deeper in him. His heart thudded in his chest as his eyes traced the gentle curve of your lips, and a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to be inside your warm walls washed over him.

You had been very sick these past few weeks, and he was very patient in giving you space, careful not to touch you in unwanted places. He knew better than anyone that you didn't feel well enough to even leave the bed some days, much less have sex with him.

He leaned in slightly, his breath catching as he watched your lips, his pulse quickening in his veins. How easy it would be to close the distance, to press his mouth to yours. To claim you, even in your sleep, as though his touch might erase the space you had been placing between the two of you for the past two weeks. His hand twitched at his side, the thought of you squirming under him, softly sleeping while he entered into you sending another thrill down his spine, dark and possessive.

For a moment, his face hovered just above yours, his breath mingling with yours in the dim light. His lips were so close—just a whisper away from touching yours. The heat of his desire pulsed through him, urging him forward, every fiber of his being drawn to you. But as he stared at your peaceful expression, something stopped him. A flicker of hesitation flashed through his mind.

Even in this moment, even with you asleep and unguarded, he could feel the tension between you. The way your body had instinctively recoiled from his touch earlier, the way you had shivered beneath his fingers. You weren’t inviting him in. You weren’t his—not yet, not completely. Even if he claimed you physically, your heart would still belong to another. His child was growing inside you, your body was changing because of him, and yet…your heart was still distant. Still locked away, belonging to someone else.

It hurt. It fucking hurt.

His jaw clenched, frustration simmering beneath the surface, but he forced himself to pull back, his heart still pounding with the lingering heat of the almost-kiss. He exhaled sharply before he shifted back, denying himself the satisfaction.

Xavier.

The name flickered through his mind like an unwanted intruder, making his jaw tighten. Even after everything, even as you lay beside him, carrying his child, there was still a part of you that loved Xavier. He hated that thought. It festered inside him, gnawing at his control. He had done what was necessary—hadn’t he? He’d kept you safe, made sure nothing would happen to jeopardize the future they were building. But your heart...your loyalty...that still belonged to another man.

His gaze darkened for a moment as he stared down at you, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. But then, he forced himself to breathe, to calm the storm brewing inside him. He couldn’t think about that now. It didn’t matter. Not yet.

Sylus exhaled sharply, forcing the tension from his shoulders as he reached for his phone. His fingers slid across the screen, and he checked the time. 6:54 a.m. The time felt irrelevant here. In the N109 Zone, the sun never rose, the darkness an ever-present veil that clung to every moment. Morning and night were nothing but markers on a clock. Still, you’d wake soon, the same way you always did. The brief moments of sleep you allowed yourself would end, and the silence between you would stretch on once more.

He sighed, scrolling through his contacts. There were preparations to make. The doctor. The ultrasound. He would have the specialist come here, to their safe little world, where you had nowhere to run. It would happen next week. That’s when everything would become undeniable. He’d set everything in motion today—make the calls, confirm the appointments. You wouldn’t be able to deny it any longer when the doctor showed you the baby, when you heard its heartbeat.

Our child.

He slipped the phone back onto the table, the faint light from the screen casting eerie shadows across the room before fading back into darkness. His gaze shifted once more to your sleeping form, your breath slow and even, your body curled up beneath the blankets. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Even in the darkness, you looked beautiful like this, fragile, vulnerable, but still strong.

It’s fine, he told himself as he watched you. You just need to be affirmed that this is real.

Once you saw the baby, once you felt it growing inside of you, the doubt would fade. You wouldn’t be able to escape the truth anymore. You’d have to accept that the future was already here—growing inside your body. A future that bound you to him forever.

Sylus leaned back against the headboard, his hand resting idly on the sheets beside you, the excitement stirring in his chest once again. He could wait. He would be patient. Everything was falling into place, just as it should.

Next week, everything would change.

Sylus had barely drifted off when the soft groan from your side of the bed pulled him back to consciousness. His eyes snapped open, and the familiar darkness of the room greeted him, heavy and oppressive but oddly comforting. He blinked once, twice, shaking off the haze of exhaustion. But that groan—it lingered in the air, filled with a quiet distress that sent a sharp pang of worry through his chest.

He turned his head just in time to see you kick the covers off with a desperation that tightened something deep within him. You were restless again, and he could see the fatigue in the way your movements were frantic, almost disoriented. Sylus watched you for a moment, his mind sluggish from the sleepless night he'd spent keeping vigil beside you, but concern sharpened his focus as you stumbled out of bed, making a beeline for the bathroom.

“Honey?” His voice was rough, hoarse from lack of sleep, and tinged with a worry he couldn’t fully mask. He pushed himself up quickly, his body protesting the movement, muscles stiff from having spent the night tense and alert. But you were already halfway to the bathroom, ignoring him entirely. You disappeared into the bathroom without so much as a backward glance.

Sylus sat there for a moment, staring at the entrance, a wave of frustration flickering to life alongside the worry. He had tried—really tried—to help, to stay by your side, to make this easier for you. But it never seemed to matter. Every day for the past two weeks, you had pulled further and further away, as if he were the source of your pain instead of the person trying to alleviate it.

His jaw tightened as the sounds of retching echoed through the thin walls of the bathroom. He ran a hand through his hair, rubbing his face in a futile attempt to shake off the exhaustion weighing him down. You hadn't acknowledged him, hadn’t even answered when he called out to you. The knot in his chest tightened, the frustration quickly morphing into something more painful.

It’s the pregnancy, he told himself, trying to push away the darker thoughts that gnawed at the back of his mind. The nausea, the sickness—it was all part of it. Part of the process of carrying his child. A necessary sacrifice. But even as he reassured himself, the fear lingered. What if it wasn’t just the physical toll of pregnancy pushing you away? What if it was something deeper? Something that ran far beneath the surface, something he couldn’t fix?

He shook the thought away, unwilling to face the possibility, and made his way to the bathroom. His footsteps were hesitant as he approached the entrance, the muffled sounds of your retching growing louder. His hand hovered near the handle, uncertainty freezing him in place. Should he go in? Should he give you space? Every instinct screamed for him to be near you, to help, but every time he got close, you pulled away. Recoiled. As if his presence was suffocating.

The sound of you heaving again shattered his hesitation. Sylus stepped in cautiously, emerging into the dimly lit bathroom. The sight of you, hunched over the toilet, your body trembling from the force of vomiting, made something inside him twist painfully. You looked so fragile, so small, and for a moment, all he could do was stand there, helpless. The air was thick with the sharp tang of bile, and each sound of your labored breathing felt like a punch to his chest.

He wanted to help. But he knew, deep down, that if he touched you, you would pull away. Just like you had every time he tried to get close lately.

Still, the sight of you in pain made him push forward. He couldn’t just stand there. He knelt down beside you, the cold tile biting into his knees as he watched your body convulse with another wave of nausea. His hand hovered uncertainly near your back, his fingers twitching with the urge to comfort you. He wanted to smooth your hair back, to tell you it would be okay, but he hesitated. You had flinched at his touch so many times before, and the sting of it was something he wasn’t sure he could bear again.

But you looked so worn, so utterly defeated, that he decided to risk it. Slowly, gently, he rested his hand on your back, hoping the touch would bring you some semblance of comfort. But just as he feared, you jerked away from him almost immediately, your body tensing under his hand as if his touch burned.

The rejection hit him harder than it should have, the familiar sting of it settling deep in his chest. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain calm. He couldn’t show weakness. Not now.

“My kitten’s got claws this morning, hm?” he tried, his voice soft, laced with an attempt at humor. He was hoping to spark a reaction, hoping for the sharp retort that had once been so typical of you. But the silence that followed felt heavy, oppressive. You didn’t respond. You didn’t even look at him.

You just sat there, your body slumped, your eyes distant. It was worse than anger. Worse than the fire that once flared between you. This was something far more dangerous. This was resignation.

“Sylus…” Your voice was a whisper, so faint he almost missed it. But the sound of his name coming from you sent a jolt through him. He leaned in closer to hear you better, his heart pounding.

"What is it sweetie?"

“What’s the point in making me eat if I’m just going to throw it all up anyway?”

The words hit him like a blow, the quiet defeat in your voice making his breath catch. He didn’t know how to answer. The logical part of him knew the answer—you needed to eat for the baby, for the life growing inside you. But hearing you say it like that, hearing the hopelessness in your tone, made him falter.

He swallowed hard, forcing a smile onto his lips, though it felt hollow. “Kitten,” he murmured, trying to keep his voice gentle, “you need to eat. The baby needs you to eat, even if it comes back up. It’s better than nothing.”

He hoped—hoped—that mentioning the baby would remind you of what mattered. That it would pull you out of this darkness and make you see the bigger picture. But the look in your eyes told him it wasn’t enough. You weren’t angry. You weren’t fighting. You were just…tired. And that scared him more than anything.

Sylus hesitated, his hand hovering near your back again, but this time he didn’t touch you. He didn’t want to risk pushing you further away. Not when you were already so far gone.

“We’ll get through this,” he whispered, though the words felt like a desperate plea more than a reassurance. “I’m right here.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, stretching out between the two of you like an unbridgeable chasm. He watched you, waiting for some sign, some flicker of the fire that once burned so brightly in you. But all you gave him was a soft sigh, a sound so quiet and filled with exhaustion that it twisted something inside him.

And then, to his surprise, you reached out.

Your hand, trembling slightly, extended toward him, palm open and waiting. Sylus stared at it, his breath catching in his throat. It wasn’t much—a small gesture—but to him, it felt monumental. You were asking for his help. Willingly. His heart skipped a beat, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest. Maybe this was a turning point. Maybe you were starting to see that he was on your side, that he wasn’t the enemy.

He took your hand gently, his grip firm but careful, afraid that if he held on too tightly, you would slip away again. The warmth of your skin against his sent a wave of relief through him, and for a brief moment, everything felt right again.

But the moment was fleeting.

As soon as he helped you up from the cold bathroom floor, you pulled your hand away, retreating into yourself once more. Without a word, you turned your back on him and walked away, distancing yourself both physically and emotionally. The connection that had sparked between you was gone, snuffed out before it had even fully formed.

Sylus’s hand hung in the air for a moment, his fingers still tingling from the brief contact, but the weight of your rejection settled heavily on his shoulders. His arm dropped to his side, the frustration bubbling up again, though he forced himself to swallow it. He watched you march back to the bedroom, your back rigid, as if you were desperate to much distance between the two of you as possible.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. You were drifting away from him, piece by piece, and no matter how hard he tried to pull you back, it never seemed to be enough.

But he couldn’t push you. Not now. Not when you were carrying his child. He had to give you space. He had to be patient. He couldn't risk stressing you out.

Turning toward the window, Sylus stared out into the never-ending darkness of the N109 Zone. The preparations for next week’s ultrasound weighed heavily on his mind. The doctor’s visit would change things. It had to. Once you saw the baby, once you heard the heartbeat, everything would be different. You would see that this wasn’t something to be afraid of. You would understand what he was trying to give you—a future. A family.

For now, he would give you the space you seemed to need. But soon, the reality of the baby growing inside you would become undeniable.

And then, maybe… just maybe, you’d come back to him.

Sylus’s fingers tapped idly against the glass of his phone as he stared at the screen, watching the live feed from Mephisto’s eyes. You were there, sitting by the window, staring into the endless, suffocating darkness that swallowed the N109 Zone whole. Your shoulders were slumped, your body curled in on itself, and every now and then, you would lie down on the floor, as if the weight of everything was pressing down on you too hard to stay upright. His jaw clenched as he watched, frustration building inside him.

This is bad.

You had always been resistant, always fought back, but this…this was something different. You weren’t fighting anymore. You weren’t snapping at him or throwing up those fiery walls of defiance he had grown used to. Instead, you were retreating further into yourself, growing more distant with each passing day. The way your body slumped, the way your gaze lingered in the dark void beyond the window—it was getting worse. He could see it, feel it.

Luke and Kieran had reported the same. You had refused their usual games, even Kitty Cards, the one thing that normally drew a spark of life from you. Now, you just sat in silence, staring at nothing. The reports stung more than he wanted to admit, but he had brushed them off with a simple wave of his hand. The twins didn’t understand. They couldn’t. You were complicated, yes, but you were his. You’d come around...eventually.

But as the days passed and your silence grew heavier, Sylus found himself questioning his own certainty.

What can I do?

His mind reeled, sifting through memories, trying to recall something—anything—that might pull you back. Something that might bring you closer, back to the fire and spirit you once had. And then it hit him: those days he spent watching you from afar, studying your every move. You used to be so vibrant, so full of life. You had routines, little quirks, things you enjoyed. You wore your emotions on your sleeve back then, not hidden behind walls of silence and sadness.

Plushies. The thought came suddenly, and he blinked in realization. You had so many of them in your apartment back then, lining your shelves, covering your bed. They had been a part of your life, a small thing, but it was something you loved. Something that made you happy.

Sylus thought of your apartment for a moment. He could go back, retrieve your old plushies—sentimental things, he thought—but quickly dismissed the idea. Too risky. Not because he was afraid of Xavier—no, he had no fear of that man. But the idea of crossing paths with him was a distraction he didn’t need. There was no reason to stir the pot when it could be avoided.

He smirked to himself. No need for that. He had the resources. Endless resources.

The thought turned into action quickly. As soon as his meeting was over, he made his way to Linkon, the place where he had hoped you had long left behind in the depths of your mind. The streets felt familiar under his feet, but the urgency was different now. He wasn’t stalking you, studying your life. This time, he had a mission.

He walked through the streets, eyes scanning every shop and storefront with purpose. It didn’t matter where the plushies came from, not really. They were just material things. But a part of him—perhaps the part still clinging to the memories of you in that life—thought it might mean more if they came from here, from this place that had once been yours. He continued down the street, stopping when something caught his eye.

The arcade.

It was the one you had frequented with Xavier or Tara on occasion, the place where you had spent so many nights laughing, playing games, and winning prizes from those crane machines filled with plushies. Sylus’s eyes narrowed as the idea formed in his mind. He stepped inside, the dim, flashing lights of the arcade casting odd shadows on the floor. The sounds of games whirring and children laughing filled the space, but Sylus barely noticed. His eyes went straight to the crane machines.

The machines were full of plushies—adorable, colorful things, soft and sweet, just like the ones you used to love. He scanned the contents inside, his mind already spinning with possibilities. This wasn’t his usual scene. No, not even close. But for you? He’d endure it. He’d do anything if it meant pulling you out of that dark hole you were sinking into.

This was where you used to come, where you would smile, your eyes lighting up as you played the games with such focus. He could see it, almost feel it.

And then, as he approached the line of crane machines, it happened—a fleeting vision, like a memory, washed over him. He blinked, and for a moment, there you were. You were standing in front of one of the machines, your fingers gripping the controls as you concentrated, your lips curving into a bright, beautiful smile. The way you laughed, the way you cheered when you finally won a plushie—the image was so real, so vivid, that he could almost reach out and touch you.

He blinked again, and it was gone.

The claw machines sat before him, but now they were just stuffed with silent, lifeless toys. The space where you had stood was empty, your laughter only a ghost in his mind. Sylus inhaled deeply, his jaw tightening. He shook off the hallucination. Focus.

He walked up to one of the machines, eyeing the prizes inside. His fingers slid into his pocket, pulling out a handful of coins and tokens he had purchased at the counter. The machine whirred to life as he fed the tokens in, the claw dropping down with a clumsy movement. He tried once, twice, three times—but the claw was weak, releasing its grip on the plushies just before it could carry them to the prize slot. His frustration grew with each failed attempt, his jaw tightening. Rigged, he thought bitterly.

As he was about to try again, an employee approached him, a young woman with a nervous smile on her face. “Uh, sir? If you’d like, we have a coupon for more tokens at half price.”

Sylus didn’t even glance her way as he responded, his voice flat. “No need.”

“Oh! Okay, well...uh...”

The girl blinked, confused for a moment, but before she could offer another suggestion, Sylus turned his gaze toward her, sharp and cold. “How much to buy this entire arcade?”

The employee’s eyes widened in shock, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to form words. “I-I’ll…go get my boss,” she stammered before rushing away, her footsteps barely audible over the noise of the games.

Sylus watched her retreat, his fingers drumming idly against his thigh as he waited. The arcade lights blinked overhead, casting colorful shadows across the room, but to him, the place felt hollow without you here. He had only come because this arcade had meant something to you. It didn’t matter if the plushies came from here or somewhere else, not really. But for some reason, deep down, he thought it might mean more if they came from a place tied to your past. To your life. It wasn’t just a purchase—it was a way to remind you of who you were. To anchor you back.

Sylus slid his hands into his pockets as he scanned the area again. A few minutes later, the owner appeared, a shorter man in his mid-forties with a look of disbelief on his face. He stepped forward cautiously, wiping his hands nervously on his uniform. “Uh, sir, I’m not sure I heard correctly, but did you—did you say you wanted to buy the arcade?”

Sylus nodded, his expression unchanging. “Yes. How much?”

The man sputtered, clearly taken aback by the directness. “Well, uh… I don’t know if we’ve ever…I mean…”

“Name a number,” Sylus interrupted, his tone firm. He didn’t have time for negotiations.

The owner hesitated for a moment, then threw out a figure, clearly testing the waters. “Five hundred thousand?”

Without missing a beat, Sylus pulled out his phone and transferred the funds on the spot. “Done. Banking information?”

After cautiously and nervously giving him the details, owner’s face paled as he checked his account, the shock evident in his wide eyes. He stumbled over his words again. “I…I don’t know what to say…”

“There’s nothing to say. My lawyers will be in contact to draw up a contract for you to sign, acknowledging that you got the money.” Sylus gave a curt nod before walking back toward the crane machines. The arcade now belonged to him, and with it, every single plushie inside. He would make sure you got what you needed, whether you wanted it or not.

Anything to pull you out of the darkness.

Sylus returned home later that day, the weight of the bag of plushies in his hand, his steps deliberate. He had spent the afternoon in Linkon, finding the perfect toys to bring you some semblance of comfort. The arcade had been a ridiculous purchase, but it didn’t matter. He’d do anything if it meant pulling you out of the dark place you’d been sinking into.

But as he neared the bedroom, he felt that familiar heaviness settle over him. The silence in the house was thick, the air heavy with tension. It had been like this for weeks now—no more sharp retorts from you, no more fights. Just a hollow, quiet resignation that ate away at him.

He pushed the door open slightly and stopped, noticing something unusual. You weren’t sitting by the window or on the bed, where you usually sulked in silence. Instead, you were on the floor, your chain stretching behind you. And you were talking—softly, your voice trembling, words coming out in fragments.

His breath caught in his throat, and instead of stepping fully into the room, Sylus lingered by the door, listening.

Perched on your finger was Mephisto, his loyal bird, his own creation. But right now, the bird wasn’t spying for him. Instead, it seemed to be the only company you had, its head tilted as it listened to you speak.

"I never imagined myself being a mom this soon…" Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the sadness in it was unmistakable. Sylus’s hand tightened around the doorknob as he strained to hear more. “Mephisto…what do you think Xavier will think? If I...ever escape? Or when he comes for me? Will he still love me if I’m pregnant with this baby?"

The words hit Sylus like a physical blow.

Xavier. Always Xavier.

His heart pounded, his vision blurring with rage as you continued speaking. That name…that man. Every time you said it, it was like a dagger twisting in his chest. You were here, with him, carrying his child, and yet your thoughts were still consumed by Xavier. It was unbearable. If it weren’t for the fact that Xavier’s life was tied to the babies health, he would have erased that pest ages ago.

“I miss him…sometimes I wonder if he thinks of me”.

He couldn’t listen anymore.

The door swung open, the sudden motion startling both you and Mephisto. The bird flapped its wings, flying up to land on Sylus’s shoulder, as if sensing the tension in the room. You immediately stopped speaking, your body going rigid. Your hand, which had been cradling the bird, fell to your side as you looked up at him in shock, your eyes wide, caught in the act of voicing your deepest thoughts.

Sylus stepped into the room, his gaze fixed on you, burning with a mixture of frustration and anger. He could feel the pulse of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he took in the sight of you, chained by the bed, your eyes wide and tear-streaked. And yet, even now, you were still thinking of Xavier.

You didn’t say anything as he entered. You just pushed yourself up from the floor and moved toward the window, dragging the chain with you, the metal links clinking against the floor. You sat by the window, your back turned to him, staring out into the endless darkness of the N109 Zone. Your shoulders slumped, and it was clear you had retreated back into that shell of silence again.

The knot in Sylus’s chest tightened painfully. He had bought the plushies for you, spent the whole afternoon thinking about how they might cheer you up, how they might remind you of something familiar, something that made you happy before. But now, standing here, the distance between you felt insurmountable.

He stepped forward, his voice low but strained, “These are for you, kitten.” He gestured toward the plushies, trying to keep his tone calm, trying to pretend that your indifference didn’t hurt him as much as it did.

His throat tightened as he set the bag down on the floor, plush toys spilling from the opening in a colorful mess. He stood there for a moment, waiting, watching to see if you would acknowledge him, acknowledge what he had done for you. But instead, you barely glanced over your shoulder, your gaze landing on the bag briefly before you turned back toward the window.

You sighed softly, the sound barely audible but heavy with the weight of your exhaustion.

“I miss the sun,” you whispered, your voice hollow, defeated. "I miss the stars. My star."

Sylus felt something break inside him. The sun. Of course, it wasn’t just the sun you missed—it was the life you had before. The freedom. The light. And with those simple words, you had reduced all of his efforts—everything he’d done, everything he was doing for you—into nothing. The plushies, the grand mansion, the baby…none of it mattered. All you wanted was what he couldn’t give you.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest as he stood there, watching you curl in on yourself, your back turned to him. The silence that stretched between you now felt unbearable, suffocating.

But you didn’t turn around. You didn’t even look at him. All you did was sigh again, your fingers tracing the edge of the window, eyes lost in the dark, endless void outside.

Sylus’s frustration boiled over. He swallowed back the anger, trying to keep it under control, but your silence, your distance, was eating away at him. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he stared at you, trying to understand why no matter what he did, it wasn’t enough.

"You’re not leaving, kitten," he said, his voice barely a whisper but filled with a dark edge. "No matter what you think Xavier will do. He’s not coming for you. He can’t take you away from me. This is real—our life, our baby."

The words hung heavy in the air, and he watched the way your body tensed at the mention of Xavier’s name. His heart twisted painfully as he saw the slight shudder in your shoulders, as though the mere mention of the man you still loved was enough to stir something inside you that Sylus could never touch.

“You need to let this go,” Sylus said, his voice low as he took another step closer, though you still didn’t turn to face him. “I’m giving you everything. I’m doing everything I can to make this work. You have to see that.”

But you didn’t respond. You didn’t argue. You didn’t fight.

You just stared out into the darkness, the silence between you louder than any words you could have spoken. He watched as tears streamed down your face but you didn't move to wipe them.

Sylus stood there, helpless in the face of your indifference, his heart breaking as he realized that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many plushies he bought or promises he made, you still longed for a world that he could never give you.

You missed the sun. And you missed...your star?

He didn't know what you meant by the star bit, but for the first time, Sylus felt a deep, painful fear that maybe, just maybe, he was losing you for good.

The nightmare crept in slowly, the kind that didn’t announce itself with a sudden jolt of fear but instead slithered into your subconscious, blending in with the shadows until you could no longer tell what was real. You found yourself in Reese’s basement again, the cold, sterile air clinging to your skin like an unwelcome presence. The sound of dripping water echoed faintly in the distance, but everything else was unnervingly quiet.

You were lying on an operating table, the cold metal pressing against your back, your body feeling oddly weightless and disconnected. Something was wrong. You tried to move, but your arms wouldn’t respond. Panic flickered inside you, but it hadn’t hit full force yet. Not until you glanced down.

That’s when you saw it.

Your stomach was open, your insides exposed like some grotesque science experiment. The slick, pale coils of your intestines lay outside your body, splayed out on the table in front of you like they didn’t belong to you. The sight was horrifying—your own organs, glistening under the harsh light, as though they were being examined like a specimen. Your breath caught in your throat, but when you tried to scream, nothing came out. Your mouth opened in a silent cry for help, but no sound escaped.

Fear surged through you like a flood, hot and overwhelming, and your mind screamed at your body to move, to do something, but you couldn’t. You were paralyzed, forced to watch the nightmare unfold.

And then you realized you weren’t alone.

There were faces above you, peering down at your exposed body with cold, clinical detachment. First, Reese, his twisted grin spread across his face, his eyes with sadistic glee. He was enjoying this, watching you writhe in silent horror, his hands clasped behind his back as if this was all just a game to him.

Next to him stood Xavier, his face blank, emotionless, as he stared at you. His sharp eyes were cold, distant, and yet they burned into you like a brand. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His presence alone was suffocating, a constant reminder of what you had lost, what he had failed to protect you from. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, just watched as if you were nothing more than a subject under glass.

But it was Sylus who truly terrified you.

He was standing on the other side of the table, his eyes fixed on your exposed body with a look of satisfaction that made your skin crawl. There was something possessive in the way he stared at you, like you were his prized possession laid bare before him. His lips curled into a small, smug smile as he reached out to touch your stomach, his fingers brushing against the edges of your open flesh with a reverence that made bile rise in your throat.

“See, kitten,” Sylus said softly, his voice dripping with that familiar condescension. “This is your new reality. You can’t escape it.”

You tried to scream again, but it was useless. Your lungs felt heavy, your body weighed down by the paralyzing fear, as if the table itself was swallowing you whole. You could feel everything—the sharp, cold air on your exposed organs, the slow, methodical touch of Sylus’s hand, and the suffocating pressure of their gazes pressing down on you.

The room started spinning, the faces above you blurring into distorted shapes, and yet the horror of it all stayed sharp, the feeling of helplessness wrapping around you like chains. The metallic smell of blood filled your nostrils, thick and nauseating, and you could see the glint of surgical tools beside the table, gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The instruments were stained with blood—your blood.

Reese’s grin widened as he leaned over you, his breath hot against your skin. “You never had a chance,” he whispered, his voice low and sickeningly sweet. “These organs are mine.”

Xavier’s eyes flicked to Sylus, and for a brief moment, you saw something in his expression—something dark, something possessive, like he, too, was staking his claim. You were torn between them, trapped on this table, your body no longer yours, and no matter how much you wanted to escape, no matter how much you screamed inside, you knew there was no way out.

You tried to move again, desperate to break free, but the more you struggled, the more the sensation of numbness took over. It was like your body was slipping away from you, being claimed piece by piece by the men who stood above you, watching with eerie fascination.

Finally, you broke through whatever invisible barrier was keeping you from talking.

"Xavier!!!" you screamed. "Do something! Save me...why won't you save me!"

But Xavier continued to say nothing, his gaze drifting back to you.

Then he too, smiled.

The room grew darker, the light flickering overhead, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. The faces loomed closer, suffocating you, crowding your vision until all you could see were their eyes—cold, calculating, and void of any humanity.

Cold water suddenly splashed down, over your face, filling your eyes, ears, mouth, and eventually your lungs. You tried to thrash your head but it was useless. You couldn't breathe, couldn't swallow. Your chest tightened harder and tighter.

And then, just as you felt your lungs were about to burst, as you felt your consciousness teetering on the edge, everything snapped.

You woke up with a violent gasp, your lungs burning as you struggled to pull in air. Instinctively, your hands flew to your abdomen, pressing down hard, as if you needed the physical reassurance that your insides weren’t spilling out. The nightmare’s vivid, grotesque images still clung to your mind, and for a moment, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your body was torn open, laid bare for all to see.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, but the curse did nothing to calm your racing heart. Your chest tightened as you looked down at your stomach, your fingers still gripping your skin, trembling. Slowly, your mind began to separate the dream from reality, but the aftershocks stayed with you. The blanket was tangled around your legs, trapping you in a cocoon of cold sweat. Each breath felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion that went far deeper than just a lack of sleep.

The nightmares—they were getting worse. More frequent, more real. Every time you closed your eyes, they dragged you back into that suffocating pit of fear, where the lines between what was real and what wasn’t blurred. You rubbed your face, but the sensation of dread clung to your skin, leaving you shaken.

You sat up slowly, your body feeling like lead as the gravity of the day hit you, sinking deep into the pit of your stomach like a stone. You turn and look at the calender.

Ultrasound day.

You groaned and ran your fingers through your hair, already feeling the weight of it suffocating you. Of course. How could you forget? Sylus hadn’t let you. He had been hovering over you for days, his voice a constant reminder, as though you could somehow slip away from this reality if he didn’t keep hammering it into you. Today was the day you’d finally see it—the thing inside you, the proof that this wasn’t just some horrific dream. Proof that your body no longer belonged to you, that you were no longer you but something else entirely—his vessel. A means to feed another.

Your gaze fell to the plushies now scattered around the bed. They were everywhere. Cute little creatures, soft and inviting, mocking the harsh gothic surroundings of the room. A crow, a tomato, a cactus, etc. The sight of them in this prison, this cavernous room with its dark walls and heavy, suffocating drapes, was almost laughable. Sylus had brought them to the bed one by one, carefully arranging them as if placing them around you could somehow undo the terror, the isolation, the chain that bound you.

He had looked so stupid, fumbling with the soft toys, his hands large and out of place as he’d set them down like they could bring you any comfort. You had watched him, detached, numb, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of it all. And yet, despite yourself, you had looked at them. You’d finally let him see you acknowledge them.

And they were cute. You hated to admit it, but they were. Out of place, for sure, in this massive room with its cold, black walls, heavy drapes, and gothic architecture. It was as if the plushies were mocking everything that had happened, like they didn’t belong in the hellhole you had been forced into. They were a small reminder of the world you used to live in, the one that now seemed so far out of reach.

Fuck this. A surge of bitterness swelled in your chest as you stared at the toys, their innocent faces staring back at you. Fuck this, fuck all of it. You didn’t want to do this. You didn’t want to see that ultrasound, didn’t want to confront what was happening inside of you. Every fiber of your being wanted to reject it, to deny it, to pretend that maybe—just maybe—this was all some kind of twisted nightmare you would eventually wake up from. But deep down, you knew better. The changes in your body, the nausea, the constant exhaustion…it was real.

It was happening, whether you wanted it to or not.

Before you could sink any deeper into that pit of despair, the door creaked open, the sound making your heart clench with dread. Sylus stepped inside, and you could immediately feel the shift in the air. He always brought that tension with him, that mix of excitement and control that made your skin crawl.

He was trying to mask it, but you saw the gleam in his eyes, the barely-contained thrill in the way he moved. He was always like this when he thought he was getting closer to you—when he thought he was breaking through that wall you had desperately built around yourself.

“Good morning, honey,” he said, his voice soft but dripping with that condescension you had come to despise. He smiled at you, the curve of his lips too smug, too pleased, as if today was some joyous occasion. As if today wasn’t the day you’d be forced to confront the reality of your imprisonment in the most intimate way possible. “Are you ready for today?”

You didn’t answer him. You couldn’t. You felt the bile rising in your throat, that familiar wave of hatred bubbling up inside you, but you swallowed it back down, refusing to let him see how deeply this affected you. You didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. It wasn’t worth the energy anymore. You didn’t even have the words. All you could do was stare at him, your expression blank, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on you, heavier than ever.

Sylus took a few steps closer, his eyes fixed on you, drinking you in like you were the only thing that mattered. That look—it was always the same. Intense. Possessive. Like you were something he had earned, something he was entitled to. It made your skin crawl.

“The doctor will be here soon,” he continued, his tone still maddeningly calm, as though this was just another day. But you could hear the underlying excitement, that barely restrained thrill in his voice. “I need you to behave, kitten. You don’t want to make this harder than it needs to be, do you?”

Behave. You almost laughed at the word, bitter and hollow. As if you had any other choice. As if the chain around your ankle weren’t already proof enough of who held the control here. You glanced down at the metal links, the cold bite of them a constant reminder of how little power you had left. You nodded once, not trusting yourself to speak, because what was the point? Arguing, resisting—it didn’t matter. It never did.

Sylus seemed satisfied with your response, his lips twitching in a small, pleased smile. His gaze swept over you, reading the submission in your posture, the way you sank deeper into yourself. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice low, as if speaking to a pet. “Lie down. The doctor will need to get started as soon as he arrives.”

You moved mechanically, your body going through the motions as you lay back against the pillows, feeling a sick sort of detachment settle over you. It was like you weren’t even in your own body anymore, like you were just watching it all unfold from some distant place. The plushies surrounded you, their soft forms a cruel contrast to the cold reality of what was about to happen.

As you lay there, waiting for the inevitable, your thoughts swirled in a chaotic mess. How did I get here? The question echoed in your mind, over and over again, but there was no answer. No way to explain how your life had gone from days spent laughing with Xavier and Tara to this. To lying chained to a bed, waiting for a doctor to come and confirm that you were carrying the child of the man who had taken everything from you.

The thought made you want to disappear. To sink into the darkness outside the window and never wake up again. Anything to escape the suffocating weight pressing down on your chest, anything to stop the creeping dread that crawled beneath your skin.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and you clenched your fists at your sides, knowing that the moment was almost here.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. Your body tensed instinctively, bracing yourself for the cold, clinical presence you had come to expect from anyone in Sylus’s world. You clenched your fists, eyes darting to the door as the doctor entered, pushing in ultrasound equipment on wheels.

But the man who stepped into the room wasn’t what you anticipated. He was older, maybe in his fifties, his salt-and-pepper hair a stark contrast to the grim atmosphere. His presence wasn’t suffocating like Sylus’s. There was something warm in his expression, something…human. You weren’t used to that. It caught you off guard.

You're shocked Sylus was going to let a strange male touch you. You watched as the doctor shook Sylus's hand, a clear sign of trust and comradery.

Ah. Sylus knows him. Very well. This isn't just some random doctor. Explains a lot. You shiver as you think of what kind of crimes Sylus has probably paid this doctor to commit to let him in his home so willingly.

“Good morning,” he said gently, his voice calm and oddly comforting. He smiled softly as he set his equipment beside the bed. “I’m Dr. Merrill. I’m here to do your ultrasound today. I’ll explain everything as we go, alright?”

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond. The kindness in his voice felt foreign, almost out of place in this twisted nightmare you had been trapped in for what felt like an eternity. You nodded slowly, still suspicious but strangely relieved by the change in tone. His voice wasn’t cold or demanding. It wasn’t laced with the unspoken threat of power or control. It was just…soft. You hadn’t heard anyone speak to you like that in so long, you almost forgot what it felt like.

Sylus hovered nearby, his eyes never leaving you, watching every interaction like a hawk. But for once, he stayed silent, letting the doctor take over.

Dr. Merrill picked up a tube of gel, holding it up so you could see. “This is just a little gel for the ultrasound,” he explained, his voice steady and reassuring. “It’ll feel cold, but it helps get a clearer picture.”

You nodded again, still feeling numb but surprised at the way he took the time to explain everything. You hadn’t expected that. Not here. Not with Sylus looming like a vulture in the background, ready to pounce on any misstep. The doctor’s voice was like a small anchor in the storm, keeping you tethered to something that wasn’t pain or control. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Gently, Dr. Merrill lifted your nightgown, exposing your abdomen. The room felt colder, more invasive as the gel touched your skin. The chill sent a shiver through you, and you flinched at the sensation. The doctor glanced at you with a small, kind smile. “It’ll warm up in a moment,” he assured you. “You’re doing great.”

The words felt absurd. Doing great? In what world could you be “doing great”? You were lying there, chained, being forced to confront the reality of what was happening inside your body, a reality you had no control over. But his tone, the gentle way he spoke, almost made you believe him. Even if just for a second.

“Now, we’re going to take a look and see how everything is progressing,” he explained softly. “You’ll hear the baby’s heartbeat in a moment. That’s one of the few things we’ll check.”

Dr. Merrill picked up the ultrasound wand and placed it gently on your stomach, moving it slowly as he worked. “Now, let’s take a look,” he said softly. The room filled with the quiet hum of the machine, and you felt the weight of Sylus’s gaze on you, his anticipation palpable.

You kept your eyes glued to the ceiling, refusing to look at the screen, refusing to acknowledge what was happening. But the sound of Dr. Merrill’s voice, calm and steady, pulled you in despite yourself.

“There’s the head,” he said, pointing to the monitor. “See it here? The baby’s facing down.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, but you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at the screen. There it was—the faint outline of a tiny head, blurred but unmistakable. Your chest tightened.

“And here are the feet, curled up just beneath the torso.” The doctor moved the wand slightly, pointing to the small image of the baby’s curled limbs. “Everything looks like it’s developing well for 7 weeks. Only one fetus as far as I can see.”

Great. At least the universe had been kind enough to only plant one baby instead of twins or worse...triplets.

Sylus leaned in closer, his eyes fixed on the screen, his excitement almost palpable now. You could feel the air shift with his intensity, like he was holding himself back from bursting with joy.

Dr. Merrill smiled softly, clearly pleased with the baby’s progress. “You can even see the spine here, along the back. It’s still early, but all the major parts are starting to form.”

The soft sound of a heartbeat began thudding in the background, steady and constant, echoing in the room like a reminder you couldn’t ignore. You felt it deep in your bones, the crushing weight of the reality you had been trying so hard to escape.

You started to dissociate. You blocked it out. But then he began to speak again.

“There it is,” Dr. Merrill said quietly, as though the sound was something sacred, something wonderful. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat. Strong and healthy.”

Your heart clenched at the word—baby. The nausea returned, and you turned your eyes to the ceiling, willing yourself not to look at the screen. Not to acknowledge what was happening. You could hear the faint sound of the machine, the steady hum of it filling the room, but all you wanted to do was disappear, to shrink into yourself and never face the truth that was about to unfold.

And then you heard it more clearly. The sound that punched through your mind and straight into your chest.

The heartbeat.

You closed your eyes, a lump forming in your throat, and tried to block it out again, but the sound echoed in your mind, growing louder, more real now. The heartbeat. The baby. Everything you had been dreading, everything you had hoped wasn’t real—it was there, pounding in your ears, confirming the horror of your situation.

Your body went cold, your muscles stiff as you lay there, paralyzed by the reality that you could no longer escape. It’s real. The baby is real and alive.

You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t want to acknowledge it. But the heartbeat kept going, steady and relentless, anchoring you to this twisted new reality.

Dr. Merrill didn’t stop. His voice continued, gentle and patient, as if he didn’t notice the storm brewing inside you. The room felt smaller, the air heavier as Dr. Merrill continued speaking, explaining everything he was doing with a calmness that kept you grounded, even as you felt like you were falling apart inside.

You barely heard him. His words were distant, drowned out by the sound of the heartbeat and the weight of what was growing inside you. Your mind screamed for escape, but there was no way out. No way to undo what had already begun. You were trapped in your own body, and Sylus had made sure of that.

But Dr. Merrill’s calmness, his steady explanations, were the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. His kindness, the small moments of humanity he offered, kept you grounded, even as the world around you shattered. He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t indifferent. He treated you like you mattered, even though everything about your situation screamed that you didn’t.

Sylus, meanwhile, stood at the edge of the bed, his excitement palpable. His eyes were glued to the screen, as if the sight of the baby—the proof of what he had claimed—was the culmination of everything he had ever wanted. His hands twitched at his sides, and you could feel his unspoken desire to celebrate, to revel in this moment with you. To share in the twisted joy he felt.

But you couldn’t give him that. You couldn’t share in his excitement. You couldn’t even look at him.

Sylus finally broke the silence, his voice soft but laced with anticipation. “When will we know the gender?”

Dr. Merrill glanced at Sylus and then back to the screen. “Usually, we can determine the gender around eighteen to twenty weeks, but it can vary depending on how the baby is positioned.”

Sylus nodded, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He turned to you, his expression filled with a strange mix of pride and emotion. “Soon, honey. Soon we’ll know.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The words were too heavy, too suffocating. You stared blankly at the ceiling, your chest tight as the sound of the heartbeat echoed in your mind, a constant reminder of what was happening inside of you.

Dr. Merrill continued with the ultrasound, checking the baby’s size and positioning. “Everything is progressing as it should,” he said gently. “The baby looks healthy, growing well, regular heartbeat.”

His voice was calm, reassuring. Your mind was spinning, the weight of it all pressing down on you. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything other than lie there and listen to the confirmation that you were carrying a child you didn't want, that your body was no longer your own.

Finally, the ultrasound was over. Dr. Merrill wiped the gel from your stomach and offered you another kind smile before turning to Sylus. “I recommend another ultrasound in a few monthsfor a progress check, to make sure baby has all its parts. It'll go just like this one did, very simple."

You looked away, your throat too tight to speak. You hated how his kindness made you feel. Hated how much you longed for more of it, how desperate you were for any scrap of humanity in this twisted, suffocating nightmare.

Dr. Merrill packed up his equipment and left the room, and with him, the brief moment of peace shattered. Sylus remained, his eyes still gleaming with excitement, his voice a soft whisper as he moved closer to the bed.

“Did you hear that, sweetie?” he said, his voice filled with emotion. “That’s our baby. Alive. Real.”

The words felt like a punch to the stomach, knocking the air out of your lungs. You couldn’t respond. You didn’t want to. You just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything press down on you like a suffocating blanket. The sound of the heartbeat still echoed in your ears, relentless and haunting, a reminder that you were no longer just yourself. You were carrying his child, and there was no escape.

“I want to go home,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but the pain in it was unmistakable. Tears streamed down your face and the room became a blur, temporarily blocking Sylus out of your vision before you wiped your eyes.

Sylus’s face faltered, the joy in his eyes dimming for just a moment, but he quickly masked it. You saw the crack in his excitement, but you didn’t care.

“You are home sweetie. This has been your home before you or I ever realized it.”

You turned away from him, silently, your eyes drifting to the window, staring into the endless darkness of the N109 Zone. You wished for the sun, for the light, for anything that could take you away from this nightmare.

But the darkness was all that remained.

Dinner was quiet, a heavy silence draped over the table like a suffocating blanket. The dim glow of the candles cast flickering shadows across the room, but the atmosphere was anything but warm. You sat across from Sylus, barely able to meet his gaze, your fork trembling as you forced down small bites of steak. The nausea had come and gone since the ultrasound, but it wasn’t the sickness that was making your stomach churn now—it was the overwhelming sense of dread that seemed to settle over every moment you spent in this house.

Sylus sat across from you, watching you carefully as he always did, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite name. You didn’t want to look at him. Couldn’t bring yourself to. But you felt his gaze lingering on you, waiting for something. For what, you didn’t know. You didn’t care.

Your chest tightened as you tried to swallow another bite of food, but the lump in your throat made it nearly impossible. Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You were tired—so damn tired of crying. Tired of feeling like you were suffocating, trapped in a nightmare you couldn’t wake from. But no matter how hard you tried to hold them back, the tears slid down your cheeks, silent and betraying.

Sylus noticed, of course. He always noticed.

He reached across the table, his hand gentle as it brushed against your cheek to wipe the tears away. His touch, though cold, felt like fire against your skin, and instinctively, you flinched away from him, pulling back as though his fingers had burned you.

His hand hovered in the air for a moment, the gesture frozen, before he slowly pulled it back. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the intensity of it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

The silence stretched on, thicker now, until finally, he spoke.

“I know this is hard for you,” Sylus began, his voice quieter than you expected, softer. “But do you really plan to just avoid me the whole time? I’m the father of the baby, honey. You should at least try and talk to me about how you’re feeling. You aren't alone in all this.”

You gripped the edge of the table, your knuckles losing blood, your nails digging into the wood as his words washed over you. The anger simmered just beneath the surface, a slow boil that had been building for weeks now, ever since that horrible day when he had brought you here. Your head was a storm of conflicting emotions—rage, sorrow, fear—and the more he spoke, the more the fury bubbled up inside you.

“I…” Your voice trembled as you tried to find the words, your chest tight with the weight of it all. “You…you weren’t supposed to be the father of my baby, Sylus.”

The words hung in the air between you, cold and sharp, and when you finally forced yourself to look up at him, you saw the devastation flicker across his face. For a brief moment, he looked lost, hurt. His expression softened, his eyes searching yours as if looking for something to hold onto.

“Is it the pregnancy making you feel this way,” Sylus asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, “or is it me?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The truth was, it was both. The pregnancy had turned your world upside down, trapping you in a nightmare you couldn’t escape. But Sylus—Sylus had taken everything from you. The life you’d known. The love you’d felt. He had stolen it all, and now, he was asking you to feel something for him, to open up to him like it hadn’t been him who destroyed you in the first place.

The silence between you felt like a chasm, growing wider and deeper with each passing second.

He reached for your hand, gently cradling it in his own as he leaned forward. His touch was cautious, careful, as if he were afraid you might pull away again. “What can I do?” he asked, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’d do anything to prove to you that I can be a good dad. A good man to you. You just have to let me, sweetie. I have money, I have houses…anything you want.”

His words twisted in your chest, making it harder to breathe. He was offering you everything except the one thing you truly wanted: freedom. The freedom to choose your own life, your own path. And now, sitting here, chained to a future you never asked for, with a child you never wanted, the weight of it all finally broke you.

Tears spilled over, uncontrollable now, as you wrenched your hand away from his, your voice trembling with anger and pain.

“I don’t want your money!” you screamed, the sound raw and broken. “And I sure as hell don’t want your baby!”

Sylus flinched at your words, his face crumpling in hurt, but you didn’t care. The anger surged inside you like a tidal wave, crashing against everything you’d been holding back for weeks. It all came pouring out, too fast, too much, but you couldn’t stop.

“You’ve trapped me here, Sylus!” you cried, your voice shaking with emotion. “You’ve taken everything from me! My life, my freedom, my choices…I never wanted this! I never wanted you!”

Your hands shook as you wiped at your tears, but they kept coming, relentless, like a dam had burst inside of you. “I have nightmares every night, Sylus. Every single night, I’m back in that basement. It feels like I never left. I see Reese. I see you. And now…now I’m carrying this…this thing inside me, and it feels like a monster. Another monster trapping me! I feel like I’m losing myself more and more every day, and I can’t take it anymore.”

Your voice broke on the last words, your breath coming in ragged sobs. The weight of everything you’d been holding in finally crashed down on you, suffocating you in its grip. You pressed your hands to your face, trying to muffle the sound of your sobs, but they tore through you, leaving you shaking, fragile.

For the first time in weeks, you let yourself fall apart.

Sylus watched you, his expression stricken, his hands hovering near you but not daring to touch. His face was a mixture of pain and guilt, his eyes wide as if he didn’t know what to do, how to fix this. He had always been in control, always sure of himself. But now, in the face of your despair, he looked lost.

“Sweetie…” he whispered, his voice soft, pleading. “Please, let me help. I never wanted to hurt you.”

But his words felt hollow, empty. There was no fixing this. Not with money. Not with promises. Nothing could undo the damage that had been done.

“I don’t want your help,” you said through your tears, your voice barely audible. “I just want my life back.”

And for a long moment, the two of you sat there, the silence between you stretching into something neither of you could escape. The weight of your broken world pressed down, and the distance between you, though only a few feet, felt like an ocean.

Sylus reached for your hand again, slower this time, hesitant, as though he knew you might pull away. His cold fingers brushed against your skin, and even though you wanted to recoil, you didn’t have the energy to fight anymore.

“I’ll find a way,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll find a way to make this better. I promise.”

But even as he said the words, your heart twisted and your eyes filled with more tears.

Some things could never be made right.

The room felt like it was closing in on you, every breath harder to take as your sobs wracked through your body. You wanted to scream, to run, to make it all stop. But here you were—trapped, chained to a reality you never chose, forced into a life you never wanted. And Sylus, with all his soft words and empty promises, sat across from you, looking at you with eyes that made you want to tear the world apart.

His touch was still on your skin, his fingers cold, tentative, like he didn’t know how to reach you anymore. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he never had.

“I’ll find a way,” he whispered again, like it was some kind of lifeline, something he could grasp onto to pull you out of the darkness. His voice cracked, filled with an emotion you’d never heard from him before. “I’ll make this better. I’ll fix it, sweetie. I’ll do anything.”

The weight of his words only fueled the fire burning in your chest. How could he possibly think he could fix this? How could he believe that he could make this nightmare go away with his empty offers and twisted affection?

You snapped.

“You can’t!!” you screamed, the words ripping from your throat, sharp and raw. Your whole body trembled with the force of your anger, your hands shaking as you clenched them into fists. “You can’t make this right, Sylus! Don’t you get that?!”

His face twisted, the hurt clear on his face, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The dam had broken, and all the pain, all the rage, was flooding out.

“How could you ever make this right?” you shouted, your voice cracking as your tears blurred your vision. “You’ve raped me! I am trapped here, with you, carrying a child—your child—and you think you can fix it? Are you stupid?”

You pushed the chair back so violently it toppled over, but you didn’t care. The only thing you cared about was getting the words out—every awful, gut-wrenching truth you’d held in for so long.

“I hate my life!” you cried, the words bitter and hot on your tongue. “I hate this baby! And most of all… I hate you!”

Sylus’s face crumpled, the hurt in his eyes so deep, so raw, that it would have shattered you if you weren’t already so far gone. His hands, once so confident and controlling, hovered in the air, unsure, as if he didn’t know whether to reach for you or let you be. You could see the way his throat worked as he tried to speak, the words catching somewhere between shock and devastation.

The silence between you was deafening, thick with the weight of your confession. You could feel the cracks in his carefully constructed façade, the way your words cut through him like a knife. But you didn’t feel sorry. You couldn’t. Not anymore.

You expected his usual taunts. You had said similar things to him before and he had just brushed them off. But now, he was listening. And it was very clear he believed you.

Sylus’s voice, when it finally came, was barely above a whisper. “You really hate me?”

There was something so broken in the way he said it, like he couldn’t quite believe the words. Like he hadn’t already known how much you despised him. His face, usually so composed, so sure, was now painted with a pain that almost mirrored your own.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your vision swimming with tears, and for a moment, you didn’t know if you could stand anymore. You were so tired—so incredibly tired of fighting, of feeling like you were suffocating under the weight of everything that had happened.

But you weren’t done. Not yet.

“I hate everything about this,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying, your throat raw. “I hate that you’ve made me into someone I don’t even recognize. And I hate that you think you can just…fix it. Like I'm just some toy you accidently dropped.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time in a long time, you saw something that almost broke you. Sylus, this man who had taken so much from you, who had been the source of so much of your pain, looked shattered. He was still, his face drawn, his eyes wide and filled with something you didn’t want to see—vulnerability.

“I’m trying,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m trying to make this work. I love you. I love our baby. I just…I don’t know what else to do.”

His words hit you like a blow, but instead of softening, they only made you more confused. How could he say that? How could he stand there, acting like he hadn’t ripped apart your entire world, acting like love could somehow make this okay?

“You don’t get it, do you?” you choked out, your voice trembling. “I don’t want your love. I don’t want this baby. You’ve destroyed everything I ever cared about. I can’t love you. I can’t love this…this monster growing inside me.”

Sylus flinched at the word monster, his expression tightening as if you had slapped him. His hands, which had been hovering near you, fell to his sides, limp and defeated.

For a moment, the two of you just remained there, the space between you impossibly wide. Your chest heaved with the weight of everything you had just said, the truth burning in your throat.

Sylus’s face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed as if he were holding back tears of his own. If you hadn't known any better you would've thought he was about to cry. You’d never seen him like this—never seen him so…broken. It should have made you feel better. It should have given you some sense of satisfaction to see him suffer the way you had. But all it did was leave you feeling hollow, empty.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry.”

Sylus stood there, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. You could see the way your words had broken something in him, the raw vulnerability in his eyes, but he didn’t back down. Not yet. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if he wanted to reach for you, to pull you close, but he seemed to know better now. Instead, he took a step closer, his voice cracking as he spoke.

"Your old life was killing you,” Sylus said, his voice soft but edged with frustration. "You were overworked, exhausted, running on fumes. You barely had time for yourself. You were drowning, and I saved you from that. You don’t see it now, but I gave you a way out."

You felt the familiar surge of anger swell in your chest, hotter and fiercer than before. His words felt like a slap in the face, as if he was dismissing everything you had worked for, everything you had built in your life—no matter how hard it had been. He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand. And the fact that he thought he had "saved" you only made it worse.

"Saved me?" you spat, your voice rising with disbelief. "You think you saved me? Sylus, I wasn’t asking to be saved! I didn’t need you to swoop in and decide that my life wasn’t good enough for me. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine!"

He froze, his expression tightening, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

"Yeah, I was tired. Yeah, I was overworked sometimes," you continued, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. "But I chose that life. The life of a hunter. I chose to work hard. I chose to push myself because it was my life. I could decide if I wanted to be exhausted or not. I could decide if I wanted to keep going or take a break."

"You took that away from me."

Sylus shook his head, a deep crease forming between his brows. "You’re not seeing it clearly. You were on the edge, about to burn out completely. I just...I gave you a way out. Somewhere you didn’t have to fight so hard all the time."

"Well, it wasn’t your decision to make!" you yelled, your voice breaking as the tears welled up again. "It was my life! My choice! Maybe I would have burned out, maybe I would have fallen apart, but it would have been my choice to do that! And for the record, I am fighting here. Every single day I have to fight the urge to slam my head into the wall until I pass out and die!"

Sylus’s face twisted with something between guilt and frustration, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "I’m trying to give you something better," he insisted, his voice thick with emotion. "A life where you don’t have to struggle every day. A life where you’re cared for, where you don’t have to worry about anything."

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and hollow in the tense silence between you.

"I don’t want that life, Sylus," you said, your voice soft but laced with anger. "I want my own life. The one where I get to make decisions for myself. Even if it’s messy and exhausting."

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Sylus stared at you, his eyes wide, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something—anything—to convince you that he was right. But you could see the cracks in his resolve, the way his shoulders slumped just a little, the way his gaze flickered with something close to defeat.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. He just stood there, his chest heaving with the weight of everything unspoken between you.

Then, finally, his voice came, soft and tender.

"Why can't you see that this is better for you?," he whispered, his eyes searching yours for something you couldn’t give him. "Your safe here, with me. You saw what happened to you when you ran. Can't you understand?"

You shook your head, your throat tight with the tears you were fighting back from spilling any further. Why were you crying so much? Stop crying in front of this asshole.

"You can’t decide what’s better for me," you said quietly. "That’s not love, Sylus. That’s control."

And with those words, the last bit of fight seemed to drain from him. He stood there, silent and still, as if he didn’t know what to do, as if he were finally realizing the depth of what he had done. You watched as his face let go of all the frustration, and he turned to you.

You braced yourself for the usual. Sylus was nothing if not predictable in the way he handled your anger. You expected the chuckle, the smirk that would twist his lips as he dismissed your emotions, reducing them to a symptom of your hormones. He’d likely pull you into his lap, force you to melt into him until your tears spilled out, and he’d whisper something charming or infuriating, depending on his mood. That was Sylus—always in control, always one step ahead of your emotions, bending them to suit his will.

But this time, there was no chuckle. No smirk.

Instead, he stood up from his chair, pushing it back gently, and then…he knelt.

He knelt in front of you, and it took a moment for your brain to process what was happening. Sylus had never knelt before you, never shown this kind of vulnerability. It was always you looking up at him, feeling the weight of his presence, the force of his control pressing down on you. But now, for the first time, you were looking down at him.

It was jarring, seeing him like this. His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. You wanted to pull away, to retreat into the safety of your anger, but something in the way he looked at you kept you rooted to the spot.

He reached for your hand, his fingers cool against your skin as he took it gently in his. You stared at him, waiting for the shift, waiting for him to pull you into his world of manipulation again. But instead, he sighed softly, and you watched, stunned, as he brought your hand to his lips and kissed it with a tenderness that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I’ve…lost people before," he began, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, filled with something raw, something you weren’t sure you wanted to confront. "People I cared about. People that…didn’t even care about me. And yet, it still hurt."

His words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. You blinked, unable to tear your gaze away from him. This wasn’t the Sylus you knew. This wasn’t the man who had taken you, who had controlled and manipulated every part of your life since that fateful day you had arrived here. This was someone else—someone who, for a brief moment, seemed…vulnerable.

"I don’t want to live through that again," he continued, his voice steady, though you could hear the pain beneath it. "I don’t want to lose you. I want to give you everything I have. Everything I own. My body, my soul—it’s all yours."

His words struck you like a blow, leaving you reeling. You wanted to pull away, to scream at him for saying such things after everything he’d done. But something about the way he spoke, the way his eyes searched yours, made you stay.

"No," Sylus said, his gaze softening as he looked at you, his hand still holding yours. "You don’t belong to me. At least…not your heart. I know this. I’ve known it for a long time. But I’m hoping…one day, you’ll see me and…not see a monster."

You felt your breath catch in your throat. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Sylus—the man who had torn your life apart, who had taken you from everything you knew—was kneeling before you, admitting to his flaws, his mistakes. The tenderness in his eyes was almost too much to bear, and you hated how it made your heart clench, how it made you feel something you didn’t want to feel.

"I am far from perfect," he continued, his voice soft and filled with regret. "I know I’ve made my mistakes. I know I’ve hurt you in ways that…can’t be undone. But even if I’m forever chasing your love, I’ll never regret bringing you here the way I did. It was the only way I could ensure your life with me was safe."

Your mind was spinning, struggling to comprehend the weight of his words. How could he say that? How could he sit there, offering you everything, knowing that he had destroyed everything you once were?

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. You were too stunned, too overwhelmed by the depth of emotion in his eyes. This wasn’t the cold, calculating man you had come to know. This was someone who, in his own twisted way, genuinely believed that he was protecting you, that he was giving you something better.

Before you could gather your thoughts, Sylus shifted. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out—a small velvet box. Your heart skipped a beat as he opened it, revealing an intricately designed ring. It was striking, a silver band with a dark, rectangular gemstone at its center, surrounded by an elegant vine-like pattern that twisted and intertwined along the sides. Small black stones glimmered against the metal, adding depth to its gothic beauty.

Your breath caught as he took your hand again, his fingers trembling slightly as he held it. The ring was heavy with meaning, and as he slid it onto your finger, the cool silver touching your skin, you felt a strange, sinking sensation in your chest. It was beautiful, but there was something in the weight of it, in the way it encircled your finger, that stirred a mix of emotions—both a mix of confusion and adrenaline.

It fit perfectly. Of course it did.

Sylus knew everything about you—every detail, every aspect of your body. He had studied you, watched you, learned every inch of who you were. This was just another reminder of how deep his control went, how he knew you better than you wanted to admit.

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with something so raw, so earnest, it made your throat tighten.

"Will you be my wife?," he whispered, his voice low and thick with emotion. "Marry me, have my baby. And everything is yours. Everything I have, every part of me. My money, my soul, my heart—it’s all yours."

You stared at him, your mind racing, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of the ring on your finger felt suffocating, but the look in his eyes, the way he knelt before you with such open vulnerability, made it impossible to tear yourself away.

You wanted to scream, to tear the ring off and throw it back at him. You wanted to tell him that none of this mattered—that no amount of money, no promises of devotion, could ever erase what he had done to you. To scream about the audacity to ask you to marry him after everything. But the words wouldn’t come. You were frozen, trapped between the anger boiling in your chest and the strange, unwelcome tenderness in his eyes.

For a moment, the two of you sat there, the space between you filled with unspoken emotions. Sylus’s hand lingered on yours, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles as if he were trying to convey everything he couldn’t say aloud.

"I’ll give you the world, sweetie," he whispered, his voice so soft it was almost a plea. "You just have to let me."

And for the first time, you didn’t know what to say.

The ring on your finger felt like another chain, binding you to him in ways you never wanted. But the way he looked at you, the way his eyes pleaded for something more—it made the anger inside you waver, just for a moment.

You stared at Sylus, feeling the air shift between you. For a moment, all you could focus on was the absurdity of what was happening. The man who had turned your life upside down was kneeling in front of you, asking you to marry him. But as the seconds ticked by, the weight of it all began to settle in. The small smile on his face grew as you realized something startling.

He wasn’t joking.

Sylus was serious.

This wasn’t some game, some twisted manipulation to push you further into his control—this was real. He was genuinely offering you a choice. A small one, sure. But a choice nonetheless. The ring on your finger, the sincerity in his eyes—it wasn’t just another part of his plan. He was giving you an opening, a crack in the armor you hadn’t expected to find.

You blinked, your heart racing as the realization hit you. Can I use this?

Your mind began to spin, ideas and possibilities swirling around you. If Sylus really wanted this—if he genuinely wanted you to be with him, to be his wife—then maybe…maybe you could use it to your advantage. Maybe, if you played your cards right, you could turn the tables on him.

Could you pretend? Could you manipulate him, make him believe you were coming around, that you were falling for him? If you played the role well enough, if you made him trust you, maybe you could get closer to freedom. Maybe you could finally escape this nightmare.

Your breath hitched at the thought. The idea of pretending to love him, to be anything but what you truly felt, made your stomach churn. But if it was your only way out, if it meant getting closer to freedom—could you do it?

You studied him for a moment, weighing your options. He wasn’t manipulating you in the way you’d come to expect. He was pushing you to a certain answer, yes, but the sincerity in his eyes was undeniable. For all his control, for all the power he held, he was offering you something—something you could use. The idea sent a small spark of hope through you, a glimmer of possibility in the otherwise suffocating darkness.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, watching you closely, clearly waiting for your response. He was confident, but not in the way that made you feel trapped. He was giving you the space to think, to decide. His face was calm, but there was an anxious look twinkling in his eyes.

It was your move.

“If I say yes…” you began slowly, your voice steady but laced with challenge, “can I start coming outside of this room?”

Sylus blinked, and for the briefest moment, you saw something flicker in his eyes—surprise. He hadn’t expected that. You’d managed to throw him off, if only for a heartbeat. But as quickly as the moment came, it was gone, replaced by the familiar, teasing grin that always made your blood simmer. Only this time, there was something different—less control, more excitement.

“You want to bargain, hm?” His voice was warm, the amusement still there, but it wasn’t manipulative. It was almost…tender, as if he found your attempt at negotiating endearing rather than frustrating.

“How cute.”

Before you could respond, he moved. Standing up, Sylus rose from his kneeling position, his full height looming over you. The sudden shift in power was palpable, and despite the defiance thrumming in your veins, you couldn’t help but feel the space between you shrink, the air thickening with tension.

Sylus took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, but there was no smugness in his expression now. Just a quiet intensity, a soft eagerness that made you realize—he was serious. He wanted this. The idea of you saying yes was something he genuinely wanted, not just some ploy for control. His playful teasing melted away into something deeper, something more real.

“You can only come out when I’m around,” he said softly, his tone gentle but firm. “And when you’re in here, you’ll still wear the chain. I have to protect you, sweetie. But...”

He trailed off, watching your face carefully, waiting for you to absorb his words. Then, he leaned down slightly, bringing himself closer to your level, his eyes never leaving yours. His smile softened, tender now, his excitement barely contained. “But if you accept my proposal, I’ll agree to your terms. You’ll get what you want. You’ll come out of this room more often. I’ll give you that freedom, bit by bit.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. This wasn’t a calculated move on his part—there was no hidden agenda in his eyes, no manipulation lurking in the depths of his voice. He genuinely believed he was offering you something. He believed that this was a fair deal.

He wasn’t just teasing you. He was hopeful. Sylus was hoping you’d say yes, hoping that this—the two of you—could work. The thought was startling. You could use this. He wanted your agreement so badly he was willing to bend. If you played this right, if you acted like you were coming around, you could manipulate him. Slowly. Carefully. Get his guard down, map out the house, and then...escape.

The realization made your pulse quicken, but you kept your face neutral. You couldn’t let him see that flicker of hope now burning inside you. You couldn’t show him your hand.

Sylus, seemingly oblivious to your internal struggle, took another small step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, intimate and sincere. “So, what’ll it be, sweetheart?” His tone was soft, coaxing, but filled with anticipation. “I’ll keep my end of the deal. I’ll give you a little more freedom. You just have to say yes.”

The ring on your finger felt impossibly heavy, the symbol of everything you stood to lose...and maybe, everything you stood to gain. The idea of agreeing to marry him made you feel sick, but the thought of staying locked in this room, with no way out, was worse. If you could use this—if you could pretend to love him, make him believe it—then maybe you could finally have a chance at freedom.

Your throat felt tight, and for a moment, you weren’t sure you could speak. But then, with your heart pounding in your chest, you swallowed your fear.

“I’ll say yes,” you whispered, your voice calm, though your insides were trembling.

Sylus blinked, and for a split second, you saw raw, unfiltered joy flicker across his face. His eyes softened, lighting up with a tender excitement that caught you off guard. He didn’t say anything, didn’t gloat or smirk. Instead, he reached for your hand, his touch gentle as he pulled you just a little closer.

“Good girl,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

For a moment, you were frozen, unable to tear your eyes away from him. His tenderness—the way he looked at you—was almost overwhelming. You hadn’t expected this. You’d expected him to gloat, to make some smug comment, but instead, he seemed genuinely... happy.

His fingers lingered on yours, as if he didn’t want to let go, and you could feel the weight of his emotions pressing down on you. This wasn’t a game for him.

And that made your next move all the more dangerous.

“I’m serious, Sylus,” you said softly, pulling your hand away slowly but not forcefully, letting him see your resolve. “If I agree to this, I need to know you’ll give me more. I can’t live like this forever. I need more freedom.”

He watched you carefully, his eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you thought he might push back. But then, he nodded, his lips pulling into a small, sincere smile.

“I’ll give you what you need, sweetie,” he promised, his voice low and warm. “Your pregnant after all, you can't raise a baby in one room.”

You forced yourself to smile, knowing that this was anything but a cheerful moment for you. But for now, you had to play the part.

You could feel his anticipation thick in the air, almost tangible, his dark eyes locked onto you with that infuriating mix of tenderness and excitement. But you weren’t done yet. No, this was your chance. If you were going to manipulate him, it had to be flawless, it had to be convincing. You had to make him believe that this was real.

"Come closer," you whispered, your voice deliberately softer, almost seductive, as you tilted your head and looked up at him through your lashes. It was an invitation, your eyes pulling him in, baiting him, while you leaned slightly forward.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, the intrigue clear in his expression. For a brief moment, there was a flicker of suspicion in his gaze, as though he were weighing your sudden change in demeanor. Could he sense something? Was he catching on? But then the wariness melted away, replaced by a look of quiet excitement, his features softening. He moved even closer, his posture relaxing as he leaned toward you.

This was the moment. The moment to pull him deeper into the illusion, to make him believe he was winning.

Without giving yourself time to second-guess, you reached up and grabbed his face, pulling him into a kiss. His lips were warm against yours, but he didn’t respond immediately. His body stiffened, and in that split second of hesitation, panic surged through you. Had you pushed too far? Did he know you were playing him?

The silence stretched unbearably, the seconds dragging out as fear twisted in your stomach. But then, just as quickly, Sylus seemed to relax, and he kissed you back. The tension drained from his body, and you could feel the relief ripple through him. He believed you.

His lips moved softly against yours, and you realized with growing unease that he was good at this—too good. His hands slid to the sides of your waist, gentle but deliberate, his fingers making their under your nightgown as the kiss continued, in a way that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. You felt the warmth of his skin against yours, and to your horror, you found yourself leaning into him, your body betraying you with a response that wasn’t part of the plan.

This was supposed to be a game—a trick to manipulate him into letting his guard down. But instead, you were getting lost in it. You could feel the kiss deepening, growing more intense, and Sylus was taking his time, savoring it. His lips moved with a kind of hunger that caught you off guard, and his hands, now wandering higher under your nightgown, made your breath catch. A small gasp leaves your lips as he manages to slip his tongue into your mouth, beginning a slippery and lustful dance with your own tongue. A wave of panic hit you as you realized your resolve was slipping. No. This isn't how it was supposed to go.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you forced yourself to pull back, breaking the kiss abruptly. Sylus blinked, his face twisting with surprise, but you didn’t give him a chance to react or ask questions. A mixture of two of yall's saliva slid down your chin and you wiped it. You needed to get out of there before you lost control completely.

“I—" you stammered, quickly placing a hand over your stomach, hoping the gesture looked convincing. “I feel like I’m going to throw up dinner.”

The words tumbled out hurriedly, and you could hear the desperation in your own voice, but it didn’t matter as long as Sylus believed it. You watched as his expression immediately shifted, the concern in his eyes growing as he laid a hand on your shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry.

You nodded, your pulse racing, already halfway to the bathroom. “Yes, I just—I need a minute.” You didn’t wait for his response, rushing toward the bathroom as if you couldn’t get away fast enough. You rushed through the entrance, leaning against the wall for a moment, trying to steady your breathing.

The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins, your mind spinning from what had just happened. You barely had time to process it as you quickly knelt in front of the toilet, forcing yourself to make exaggerated retching noises loud enough for him to hear. Your heart was still racing, your lips still tingling from the kiss. You needed to calm down, to think.

“Sweetie? Do you need anything?” Sylus called from the other side of the wall, his concern cutting through the noise in your head. “I’ll see if I can get something for the nausea that’s safe for the baby.”

You leaned over the toilet, trying to mask your deep breaths. “I’ll be fine!” you called out, making sure your voice sounded weak, vulnerable. You forced another fake gag. “I just need a minute.”

You held your breath, waiting to see if he’d come to check on you. Your heart pounded in your ears, half expecting him to walk in, but then you heard the sound of his footsteps retreating. You were alone. Finally.

A slow, genuine smile crept across your face, something dark and satisfying twisting inside you. The kiss had thrown you off, but in the end, it didn’t matter. The plan was still intact. Sylus was buying every second of it, and he had no idea what was coming next.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt powerful again. You had him wrapped around your finger, and he didn’t even know it.

“My turn now, Sylus.” you whispered to yourself, the smile widening as you stared down at the toilet, your heart still racing with the adrenaline of what you’d just done.

Because now? Now you were the one in control.

And Sylus had no idea the storm that was about to descend on him.

Xavier stood at the edge of the city, his hands resting on the cold metal railing of the balcony outside of the Hunter's Association, his eyes fixed on the distant skyline. Linkon looked the same as it always had—its towering buildings and busy streets alive with movement—but to Xavier, the city felt hollow. It was as if everything had lost its meaning the moment you were taken. Nothing seemed real anymore. Not since that day.

His jaw clenched as he stared down at the street below, where people moved about, oblivious to the war that raged inside him. The lie he had been forced to tell weighed heavily on his chest, suffocating him. It gnawed at his conscience, at the very core of who he was.

He had told everyone you were gone. That you had escaped the country, far from reach, that you were safe. He had even given them details—fabricated images of a life where you were living free and happy from the shackles of life. It was all a lie. A lie Sylus had demanded he spread to protect you.

But the truth…the truth burned inside him every second of every day.

You hadn’t just left. You weren’t safe. You were still out there, trapped in Sylus’s grasp, and there wasn’t a damn thing Xavier could do about it. Not without risking your life.

“Fuck.” The word escaped his lips in a low, frustrated growl as he ran a hand through his hair. He had been searching for months, chasing every lead, every whisper that might bring him closer to finding you. All of that work, just to be stopped dead in his tracks by Sylus's threats. Sylus had buried you deep. And with every day that passed, Xavier felt you slipping further away.

The memory of the last message still haunted him—Sylus’s threat, calm and chilling.

"You're going to tell your captain that you saw and talked to your… partner. That she is fine and just felt trapped with work, so she fled to another country. After that, get rid of the SIM card. I will know if you don't. Don't test me."

It had been a warning, clear and direct. A warning Xavier had no choice but to obey. Because as much as he wanted to tear the world apart to find you, to rip Sylus apart piece by piece for what he had done, he couldn’t. Not without endangering your life. And that was something he couldn’t live with.

So he had lied. To Tara, to the captain, to everyone that was worried. They had believed him. Captain Jenna had even told him to pass on the message that you were relieved of your duties. They thought you were free, safe, living a life far away from all of this madness.

It had been weeks now. Weeks of living this lie. Of watching the world go on without you, of everyone around him moving forward, believing the false reality he had constructed. But every day without you felt like another day lost, another day stolen by Sylus. The job continued. His life went on.

But you weren’t there.

And without you, nothing mattered.

Behind him, the door to the balcony creaked open, and Xavier tensed. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Tara. She had been hovering around him for days, concerned but respectful of his space. She didn’t understand—how could she? To her, it looked like you had simply left him, like you had chosen to walk away from everything the two of you had built. To her, it looked like he was mourning the loss of you, mourning the heartbreak of being left behind.

He wasn’t mourning your absence.

He was mourning the fact that he couldn’t save you.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Tara said softly, her footsteps light as she approached. Her voice held that same gentle concern it always did, but today, it made Xavier’s chest ache even more. “I know this has been…hard for you.”

Tara came to stand beside him, leaning her arms on the railing, her gaze sweeping over the city, brown hair swaying in the wind. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the cold wind swirling between them. The air felt heavy, thick with the things they weren’t saying.

Xavier swallowed, his throat tight, his pulse pounding in his ears. He wanted to respond, to say something, but how could he explain any of this to her? She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. Sylus had made sure of that. He wasn’t just protecting you with the lie—he was protecting Tara and everyone else from Sylus’s reach.

Tara sighed, turning her gaze to him. “I miss her too, you know,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness. “I thought the two of you were going to make it through anything. And then…she just left. Won't answer my calls or texts either.”

Xavier’s jaw clenched as he tried to keep his emotions in check. He couldn’t tell her the truth. He couldn’t let anyone know that you hadn’t left by choice—that you hadn’t ran—but had been taken. He couldn’t risk Sylus finding out. Not when your life hung in the balance.

“I know,” he muttered finally, his voice rough. It was the only thing he could manage without completely falling apart. He couldn’t lie any more than that right now, not without losing control.

Tara’s eyes softened, her voice gentle. “I still can’t believe she just left like that though. It doesn’t make any sense. She was so in love with you, Xavier. She was my best friend. I mean, maybe…” She hesitated, her brow furrowing in thought. “Maybe one day she’ll come back. People change, you know? Maybe she just needed space.”

Xavier wanted to scream. The idea that you had “just needed space” was so far from the truth it was almost laughable. But he couldn’t correct her. He couldn’t say anything. All he could do was let Tara believe the story he had been forced to tell—the story that you had left, had chosen to disappear from his life, leaving him brokenhearted and searching for closure.

He hated it. Every single second of it.

He turned to face her, trying to hide the rage bubbling beneath the surface. “I hope so,” he said, the words bitter in his mouth. He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t let himself believe anything other than the truth. The truth was that you were still out there, trapped in Sylus’s grasp, and every day that passed was another day you were suffering, another day he wasn’t there to save you.

Tara studied him, her expression soft with sympathy. “You really loved her, didn’t you?” she asked quietly.

Loved. The word twisted like a knife in his chest. He loved you—more than anything. More than anyone could ever know. And yet, here he was, lying to everyone about where you were, letting them believe you were gone. It felt like a betrayal to everything the two of you had shared.

He nodded, but the movement felt hollow, empty. “I still do,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“I just wish I understood why,” Tara continued, her gaze drifting back to the city below. “Why she would leave like that. Why she didn’t tell anyone. Maybe…maybe it wasn’t just about you. Maybe she was going through something we didn’t know about.”

Xavier’s stomach twisted, guilt and frustration gnawing at him. You were going through something, but not in the way Tara imagined. You were going through hell—real hell—and no one could save you because they didn’t even know. No one, not even Tara, could see past the lie Sylus had crafted. The thought of how trapped you must feel, how alone, was unbearable.

He turned his back to the railing, staring at the ground as he wrestled with the fury building inside him. “Maybe,” he muttered, unable to say more. The truth was there, threatening to spill out, but he couldn’t afford to let it. Not when Sylus was probably watching.

Tara sighed again, running a hand through her hair. “I guess all we can do is wait. Maybe one day, she’ll pop up!"

Xavier felt like his chest was caving in. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to scream at the absurdity of it all. You weren’t coming back because you hadn’t left in the first place. You hadn’t abandoned him. You hadn’t chosen this. You were a prisoner, and there was nothing he could do to bring you back—nothing without risking your life.

He looked at Tara, forcing a tight smile, though every part of him felt like it was crumbling.

“Yeah….”

The silence stretched between them again, and Xavier felt the weight of it pressing down on him, the burden of carrying this lie suffocating him. How long could he keep this up? How long before he slipped, before someone started asking the wrong questions?

And how long before Sylus pushed him past the point of no return?

Tara gave him a small, sympathetic smile. “I know you’ll be okay. You’re strong, Xavier. Stronger than most people. Just…don’t forget to take care of yourself too.”

Xavier nodded, not trusting himself to speak again. He didn’t feel strong. He felt like he was falling apart, piece by piece. The only thing keeping him together was the burning rage that refused to die—the rage that promised he’d find you, no matter what it took.

“I’ll be fine,” he lied, his voice quiet but strained. “Thanks, Tara.”

Tara gave him one last look before nodding and heading back inside, leaving Xavier alone with the howling wind and his shattered thoughts. He leaned against the railing, staring into the distance, his mind racing.

The weight of the lie pressed down on him, suffocating, but the anger beneath it was sharper, fiercer. He couldn’t let this continue. He couldn’t keep pretending you were just gone. Somewhere out there, Sylus had you, and every day that passed, every minute that slipped by, was another moment you were trapped in his clutches.

The day was finally over, though Xavier's body told a different story. Every muscle ached, every wound from the fight with the Wanderers throbbed as a sharp reminder of just how distracted he had been. The blows had landed harder today, his reactions slower, his mind somewhere else—on you. Normally, combat was his escape, the adrenaline pushing out everything except survival. But lately, even the thrill of the fight couldn't drown out the thoughts gnawing at the edges of his mind.

The thought of finally getting some rest was almost too good to believe. Akso Hospital was his next stop. A routine appointment—just a quick check-up, maybe get some medication to help him sleep. God, he needed it. The idea of sleep had become almost foreign to him, though. Xavier had never had trouble sleeping before. But lately...

The nightmares. They wouldn’t stop.

Every time he closed his eyes, you were there. Trapped, terrified, screaming for him to save you. But in the nightmare, no matter how much he willed his body to move, to run to you, he was frozen. Helpless. His legs wouldn’t budge, his hands wouldn’t lift. And then the worst part—the smile. His lips stretched into a cold, unnatural grin as if he was glad you were suffering. It haunted him, the way he could do nothing but smile like some twisted puppet controlled by unseen forces. The helplessness, the horror—it tore at him every night.

Xavier shook his head, forcing the memory away as he arrived at Akso Hospital. The building stood gleaming in the dimming light, its massive glass windows reflecting the fading hues of the evening sky. The hospital seemed almost otherworldly in its perfection, standing untouched by the chaos that raged in his life. The metallic façade shimmered, catching the last glimmers of sunlight, giving the place an almost clinical brilliance.

As he stepped inside, the doors slid open with a quiet whoosh, revealing the sterile, unnaturally bright interior. The floors were spotless, gleaming under the fluorescent lights, so polished that he could almost make out his reflection beneath his boots. The scent of disinfectant was sharp in the air, a smell that brought a strange comfort in its predictability. The atmosphere was calm, orderly—everything Xavier’s mind wasn’t.

He headed toward the waiting area, his footsteps echoing in the sterile silence of the hall. Nurses moved efficiently, their white shoes squeaking softly against the tile as they navigated through the quiet hum of hospital life. After checking in on the holographic panel near the front, Xavier slumped into a chair, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he rubbed his hands over his face. He tried to clear his thoughts, but the ever-present gnawing in his chest wouldn't let go. The waiting felt endless, each second dragging painfully.

Finally, the nurse called his name.

“Xavier?” The nurse stood in the doorway, clipboard in hand, her voice pulling him from the fog that had settled over him.

He stood up quickly, brushing off the exhaustion that clung to his limbs, and followed her down the hallway. The halls were lined with doors, each leading to an examination room, and the quiet click of doors opening and closing filled the air with a sterile monotony. Soon, he was led into a small, brightly lit room where Dr. Merrill greeted him with a warm, familiar smile.

“Xavier,” Dr. Merrill said, his voice calm and professional, though tinged with the comfort of someone who had seen him before. The doctor’s movements were quick, practiced, as he reached for his stethoscope.

“Let’s start with your heart and lungs,” Dr. Merrill said, leaning forward as Xavier sat on the edge of the examination table. The cool metal of the stethoscope pressed against Xavier’s chest, the coldness biting into his skin as the doctor listened intently. His brows furrowed slightly in concentration.

The routine check-up was almost comforting in its monotony. Breathe in, breathe out—Xavier’s chest rose and fell rhythmically, the familiar pattern grounding him. Everything was normal. Physically, at least. His heart, his lungs—they were fine. Just like always.

But the silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions. Dr. Merrill stepped back, making a few notes on his clipboard, before he glanced up.

“How are you holding up mentally?” the doctor asked, his voice carefully gentle.

Xavier hesitated, the tightness in his chest returning. He had kept so much of it bottled up for so long, the weight of it pressing down on him like a vice. He could feel the tension rising, the words threatening to spill over.

“Not great,” Xavier admitted, his voice low. “I’ve been…having trouble sleeping.”

Dr. Merrill’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting a quiet understanding. “That’s not surprising, considering the work you’re involved in. A lot of people in your position go through this. Stress can really do a number on the mind.”

He paused, studying Xavier’s face more closely. “Are you having nightmares?”

Xavier nodded slowly, feeling the familiar knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach. “Yeah. Every night. They won’t stop.”

Dr. Merrill leaned back against the counter, his gaze never leaving Xavier’s. “It sounds like you’re dealing with a lot more than just a lack of sleep. Nightmares are tough. And constant nightmares… they can take a toll.” He sighed, shaking his head slightly. “I can relate. Between the hospital and traveling for home visits outside of Linkon, I’m not sleeping much either. Sometimes I wonder why I decided to get into gynecology on top of being a general practitioner.”

Xavier offered a weak chuckle, though it felt forced. “Yeah, I guess we’re both running on fumes.”

Dr. Merrill smiled sympathetically. “I’ll prescribe you some sleeping tablets. Take them as directed—they should help ease you into a better sleep pattern. Hopefully, that’ll help with the nightmares, too.”

The doctor scribbled on a prescription pad before tearing it off and handing it to Xavier. The small slip of paper felt heavy in his hand, as though it held more weight than just medication. He stared at it for a moment before slipping it into his pocket.

“Thanks, docter,” Xavier muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I appreciate it.”

“Take care of yourself, Xavier,” Dr. Merrill said with a nod, his tone kind but firm. “You need to look after your health to keep fighting those wanderers!”

Xavier offered a small nod in return before making his way out of the examination room. The visit had been routine, and yet, that sense of unease still clung to him, wrapping around his chest like a vice. Nothing in his life felt routine anymore.

As he headed toward the exit, a sudden urge hit him. Damn it, he needed to use the bathroom. His steps quickened as he spotted the restroom signs. Thankfully to have found them quickly he rushed in and did his business. He exited the bathroom, wanting to hurry before the pharmacy closed, but as he passed the break room, he stopped. Voices. Familiar ones.

He froze.

It was Dr. Merrill, speaking in hushed tones with someone else. Dr. Zayne. Xavier recognized him—a surgeon, dark hair, sharp features, hazel greenish eyes that always seemed to be assessing everything. He was the top surgeon at the hospital despite being so young. Their voices were low, barely audible, but Xavier strained to hear them. Something about their conversation gripped him, holding him in place.

“Yeah, it was a bit sad,” Dr. Merrill was saying, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of concern. “The girl didn’t seem all that excited. I’m supposed to go back in a few months for another check-up.”

Dr. Zayne’s response was quiet but curious. “Maybe she’s just nervous?”

Dr. Merrill let out a soft laugh. “Maybe. But honestly, it felt like she was acting like she was forced to be there. Felt bad for the husband.”

Xavier’s heart stopped. Forced? His mind raced, panic surging through his veins like fire. No. He swallowed hard, his body going cold as the words replayed in his head. Could they be talking about you?

He stiffened, every instinct screaming at him that something wasn’t right. His pulse thundered in his ears, his body frozen in place. Were they talking about you? They had to be. It was too much of a coincidence. He strained to hear better but the began speaking even quieter. Was there a way he could sneak in without them noticing and listen?

Just then, the door to the break room opened, and the two doctors nearly collided with Xavier. He stumbled back, forcing a smile as he muttered a quick apology. Dr. Merrill brushed it off with a nod, unaware of the storm raging behind Xavier’s eyes, and walked away, leaving the hospital as his shift ended.

Xavier stood there, rooted to the spot, his mind spinning wildly. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t a coincidence. The pieces were falling into place, and the conversation he had overheard only confirmed what he feared deep down.

There was something more—something hidden—beneath the surface of their words.

His jaw clenched as he turned and strode out of the building. He didn’t even think as he made his way to his car, his hand already reaching for the gun he kept safely stashed under the seat. His fingers curled around the weapon, the cool metal grounding him as his mind raced. He waited until Dr. Merrill started the engine in his own car before following behind him.

This was crazy. Had he lost his mind? Threatening his doctor for possible information?

Maybe.

Or maybe—just maybe—he’d gotten another lead after all. And he wasn’t about to waste it.

Xavier's fingers tightened around the grip of his gun, the cold metal sending a shiver up his spine. He sat in the driver's seat of his car, his mind still reeling from the overheard conversation. His heart was pounding, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He knew that what he’d heard wasn’t just some random exchange—it couldn’t be. It was too specific. Too familiar. His gut told him they had been talking about you, and Xavier had learned to trust his instincts.

His hands were steady as he checked the chamber of his weapon, the soft click of the slide bringing him a fleeting sense of calm. He wasn’t sure where Dr. Merrill was headed, but if there was even the slightest chance that this lead would bring him closer to you, he had to follow it. He couldn’t afford to hesitate.

He started the car, the engine roaring to life as he pulled out of the hospital parking lot, his eyes scanning the road ahead for Dr. Merrill’s vehicle. His pulse raced, the tension building with every second. He’d waited too long, spent too many sleepless nights wondering where you were, replaying the last time he’d seen you over and over again in his mind. And now, finally, there was something—something tangible that might lead him to you.

As he turned onto the main road, his gaze locked on the back of Dr. Merrill’s car, just ahead of him. He kept his distance, careful not to draw attention. His mind was a whirlwind of possibilities—questions he didn’t have answers to yet, but he was determined to find out.

What did he know? The thought clawed at his chest, threatening to choke him with the weight of it.

Dr. Merrill’s car turned onto a narrow, dimly lit street, heading toward the outskirts of Linkon. The city lights began to fade as they left the busier part of town behind, the roads becoming quieter, more desolate. Xavier felt his breath catch as they moved further away from the familiar streets, the looming possibility that you could be close gnawing at him with every passing second.

His mind kept circling back to the words Dr. Merrill had said: She didn’t seem excited. Felt like she was acting like she was forced to be there. His blood boiled at the idea that you had been forced into anything...what did that mean? You didn't seem excited about what? And Sylus…Sylus had to be the cause, right? The rage that simmered beneath the surface flared up again, a dark heat burning through him.

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he followed Dr. Merrill from a safe distance, his mind racing with the possibility that this man held the key to finding you. He couldn’t afford to lose him now. Not when he was this close. As the doctor’s car turned off the main road and entered a quiet, suburban street, Xavier tightened his grip on the steering wheel, making sure to keep his car far enough back to avoid suspicion.

Dr. Merrill’s car eventually pulled into the driveway of a modest-looking house. It was a quiet, unassuming neighborhood—exactly the kind of place where secrets could be hidden in plain sight. Xavier parked a few houses down, waiting for the doctor to get out of his car before he stepped out of his own, slipping into the shadows like a predator closing in on its prey.

His hand hovered over the gun tucked securely into his holster, the weight of it grounding him, giving him focus. He couldn’t afford to let emotion cloud his judgment—not yet. He had to approach this carefully, methodically. Dr. Merrill had information. Information that could lead him to you. And Xavier wasn’t about to let him slip through his fingers.

He moved quickly and silently, his years of training guiding him as he made his way toward the doctor’s house. The door had barely shut behind Dr. Merrill when Xavier was already there, pressing himself against the side of the house as he glanced through the window. The lights inside were dim, the faint glow of a lamp illuminating the living room.

Dr. Merrill had settled into a chair, completely unaware of the danger closing in on him.

Xavier slipped around the side of the house, his pulse quickening as he found the back door unlocked. He pushed it open with practiced ease, slipping inside without making a sound. The house was eerily quiet, the ticking of a clock the only noise that broke the silence. Every step he took was careful, calculated. His eyes scanned the room for anything that might give him an edge.

And then he saw him. Dr. Merrill, seated with a cup of tea in hand, oblivious to the storm brewing in the shadows.

Xavier’s breath was steady as he approached, the gun drawn, his footsteps silent on the hardwood floor. He closed the distance between them in an instant, and before Dr. Merrill could even register his presence, Xavier was behind him, pressing the cold barrel of the gun against the back of the doctor’s head.

“Don’t move,” Xavier growled, his voice low and lethal.

Dr. Merrill froze, the cup of tea slipping from his hand and shattering on the floor. His breath hitched as the realization of what was happening sank in. He didn’t dare turn around, didn’t dare make a sound.

Xavier leaned in closer, his grip on the gun tightening. “Tell me what you know,” he demanded, his voice cold and controlled. “Or your brains will be all over this room.”

Dr. Merrill’s body trembled, his voice barely a whisper. “X-Xavier? What the—”

“I don’t want explanations,” Xavier cut him off, pressing the gun harder against his skull. “I want answers. Where is she?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Xavier snapped, his patience wearing thin. “I heard you. I know you saw her. Now, you’re going to tell me everything, or I’ll blow your head off right here. No one will find you for days.”

Dr. Merrill swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest. He could feel the gun pressing into his skin, the cold weight of it a constant reminder that his life hung in the balance. He took a shaky breath, his mind racing for a way out. But there was no way out. Not with Xavier standing behind him, not with that murderous rage in his voice.

“I don’t…I don’t know where she is exactly,” Dr. Merrill stammered, his voice shaking. “I—I’ve only seen her for one checkup. Sylus… Sylus is the one who—"

Xavier stiffened at the sound of Sylus’s name. He had been right. He had followed his gut at it had been correct.

"Don’t say his name,” Xavier hissed, his teeth gritted as he leaned closer. “Tell me what you know about her condition. What has that bastard done to her?"

Dr. Merrill swallowed again, his hands gripping the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“I—I can’t,” Dr. Merrill whispered, his voice barely audible now, as if the words were being forced out of him against his will. “You don’t understand…If I say anything…Sylus will—”

“I don’t care what Sylus will do to you,” Xavier snapped, cutting him off sharply. “You should be more worried about what I’m going to do if you don’t start talking. Now, where. Is. She?”

Dr. Merrill swallowed hard, a small, terrified whimper escaping him as his thoughts raced. His whole body shook under the weight of Xavier’s threat, but the shadow of Sylus loomed larger, darker. “I can’t…” he whispered again, shaking his head. “I can’t tell you. If Sylus finds out I told you anything, he’ll do worse than just kill me. You don't know him like I do."

The doctor was shaking visibly now, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. “He…he…” Dr. Merrill’s voice trailed off, his terror palpable. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Couldn't say much more. Not because he didn’t want to, but because the fear of Sylus’s retribution was overwhelming.

Xavier’s finger twitched on the trigger, his own frustration boiling over. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, and the thought of you suffering while he was stuck here playing this game only made his blood burn hotter. He needed answers. Now.

“Listen to me,” Xavier said, his voice low but laced with a deadly calm. “You think I'm joking?”

Dr. Merrill’s voice cracked as he tried to respond, the fear of Sylus warring with the fear of the gun pressed to his head. “She’s relatively fine. She didn't look hurt,” he managed, his voice shaking. "But I can’t say more. I can’t. Please, if I tell you—”

Xavier leaned in even closer, his lips curled in a snarl. “You’d rather be afraid of him than me? Even with a gun to your head?”

The doctor didn’t answer, too paralyzed by fear, and Xavier hesitated for a moment, his finger on the trigger, his thoughts racing. He could kill him. He could end this right here. But would that get him closer to you? Would that get him the information he needed? The doctor was scared—scared of Sylus, scared of what might happen if he revealed too much.

Xavier took a deep breath, his chest tightening as he stepped back slightly, easing the pressure of the gun. He didn’t want to kill Merrill, not really. But he needed something, some leverage to get to you. His mind worked quickly, formulating a plan.

“Fine. You don’t have to tell me everything,” Xavier said, his voice quieter now but no less dangerous. “But you’re going to help me. You’re going to get me closer to her.”

Dr. Merrill stayed frozen, his body still trembling as he dared to look over his shoulder. “H-How…?”

Xavier’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “Lie to Sylus. Tell him it’s urgent. Tell him you think something might be wrong and you need to check her in person. I'm going to stow away in the back of your car, and when you go inside, I'm going to find a way in.”

Dr. Merrill’s eyes widened, panic flashing in them. “He will find ou—”

“He won’t,” Xavier interrupted, his voice cold and unyielding. “If you play this right, he won’t have any reason to suspect anything. You’ve done it before. Set up an appointment. Make it believable. Say you need to run more tests, whatever you have to. I’ll follow and take it from there.”

Dr. Merrill’s breath came in shallow gasps, his fear still tangible, but he could see that Xavier wasn’t giving him a choice. His eyes darted between the gun and Xavier’s face, searching for any sign of mercy.

But there was none.

“Call him now,” Xavier ordered, the gun still steady in his hand.

Dr. Merrill’s hands trembled as he reached for his phone, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He dialed the number, his voice barely steady as he waited for Sylus to pick up.

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest as he listened, every muscle in his body tense, his ears straining to catch every word.

“Sylus?” Dr. Merrill said, his voice shaking. “It’s…it’s Dr. Merrill. I, um…I think there might be something wrong. With the-I mean, I…I need to see her again, in person. It’s urgent. I want to make sure I didn't miss anything.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and Xavier’s hand twitched on the trigger, his eyes locked on Merrill.

Finally, Sylus’s voice crackled through the phone, calm but dangerous. “Is that so? Very well. Come by tomorrow around 9 am.”

Hearing Sylus's voice ignited an anger in Xavier's heart so big he nearly grabbed the phone from the doctor, still he kept quiet, even trying not to breathe so loud as to not tip off Sylus that someone else was there.

The call ended, and Dr. Merrill let out a shaky breath, his hand still gripping the phone tightly as he looked up at Xavier with wide, terrified eyes.

“It’s done,” Dr. Merrill whispered, his voice barely audible. "I did what you asked..."

Xavier didn’t lower his gun just yet. He stared down at Dr. Merrill, his expression hard, unreadable, as if deciding whether or not to trust him.

“You better hope you’re telling the truth,” Xavier said quietly, his voice thick with menace. “Because if you’re lying to me—if this is a trap—I’ll make sure Sylus never gets the chance to kill you.”

Dr. Merrill nodded quickly, his body trembling with fear. “I swear, I’m not lying. I did what you asked.”

Xavier hesitated for another moment, his eyes locked on Merrill, before finally stepping back and lowering his gun. He didn’t holster it, though. Not yet. He wasn’t done.

“You’ll take me there,” Xavier said, his tone flat. “And you’ll make sure she’s safe when I get her out. Do you understand?”

Dr. Merrill nodded again, his face pale, his entire body trembling. “I understand.”

Xavier glanced toward the door, his mind already moving to the next step. He was getting closer—closer to finding you, closer to ending this nightmare. He wasn’t going to stop now.

Without another word, he turned and headed toward the door, the tension still crackling in the air between them. As he reached the threshold, he cast one final glance over his shoulder at Dr. Merrill.

“Pray that you’re telling the truth,” Xavier warned, his voice low and deadly. “Because if you’re not, there won’t be enough left of you for Sylus to recognize.”

And with that, Xavier disappeared into the night, his heart pounding with the promise of what was to come.

He was going to find you.

And nothing—not Sylus, not fear, not anything—was going to stop him. He didn’t care about Sylus’s stupid threats in this moment. He would bring you home before Sylus ever layed a finger on you.

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt.9

Word Count: 22.4k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, mentions of rape, murder, extortion, threats, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, Xavier appears, tw vomiting, flashbacks of blood and gore, nausea, kidnapping

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,

AN: Hi all! This is of course on A03! I love this story so much! Each chapter is so fun to write!! The tension, the devastation. Its SO delicious!! So sorry for the late upload, I had a BUNCH of exams last week and a wedding to attend on the weekend so I couldn't just down and write. If I have u tagged here and u want to be removed from future tag lists just shoot me a dm! Enjoy my lovelies ! ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

“Eat,” he said firmly, the command in his voice clear and sharp. “I won’t repeat myself.” You froze, your breath catching in your throat. “If you kill our baby,” Sylus continued, his voice low and deliberate, “I kill him. Pretty fair, wouldn't you agree?”

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

The towering glass building of the Hunter's Association stood like a beacon in the heart of the city, its sleek, modern architecture gleaming under the afternoon sun. The mirrored panels reflected the sprawling cityscape, a place Xavier once found familiar, even comforting. But now, as he trudged through the automatic doors, the cool blast of air conditioning hitting his face, it all felt foreign. His world had changed. The familiar sound of boots tapping on the pristine marble floors, the usual buzz of hunters and staff moving through the building, and the distant ring of telephones seemed like nothing more than a haze of noise.

His reflection caught in the glass of the lobby—he barely recognized the man staring back at him. His once well-kept appearance was gone, replaced by a man disheveled and weary. His clothes, wrinkled and stained from days on the road, clung awkwardly to his body, the fabric of his jacket creased and dusty. His hair, normally brushed neatly, now hung in messy, unkempt strands over his forehead, and the dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights and relentless mental strain.

He moved like a ghost through the lobby, ignoring the passing glances from the other hunters and staff who clearly noticed his haggard appearance. They didn’t stop him, though. They knew who he was—Xavier, one of the best hunters in the Hunters Association. An integral part of UNICORNS. He had earned his place here, had earned his own office on the upper floors. But despite his reputation, today he felt like a shell of the man he used to be.

His boots made a heavy thud with each step as he headed directly for the elevator. The metallic doors slid open with a soft chime, and he stepped inside, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him as the doors shut, sealing him away from the noise of the lobby. The elevator began its slow ascent, the soft hum of the machinery doing little to quiet his thoughts. His hand slipped into his jacket pocket, his fingers curling around the small, inconspicuous sim card. It was a simple object, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to him, it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

This is it, he thought. This is what might finally give me the answers I need. The answers I’m terrified to find.

The memory of the last few weeks gnawed at him. Even having escaped the N109 Zone the memories had been a blur of desperation, exhaustion, and haunting questions. Where are you? What happened to you? And why had Skye tried to kill him? The silence, the emptiness he felt without you, was unbearable. But what gnawed at him more than anything was the creeping dread in the back of his mind—the fear that he was already too late.

The elevator dinged softly as it reached his floor, snapping him from his thoughts. The doors slid open, revealing the long, pristine hallway of the upper offices. Xavier wasted no time, his legs moving mechanically as he headed straight for his office. The lights overhead flickered ever so slightly, casting long, sharp shadows across the floor as he walked, his pace quickening with every step.

But before he could reach the safety of his office, a familiar voice cut through the air.

“Xavier?”

He froze mid-step, his body tensing involuntarily. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. He could already picture her—bright-eyed, curious, and always full of questions.

Sure enough, when he turned, there she was—Tara. Her short brown hair, usually neatly styled, bounced slightly as she hurried toward him, her eyes wide with a mixture of relief and concern. She was one of the few coworkers who always made a point of checking in on him, though at times, her bubbly personality felt overwhelming. Today was no exception.

“Xavier!” she called again, picking up her pace. “Oh my God, where have you been? We haven’t seen you in forever! You just disappeared, and everyone’s been asking about you, wondering if you were okay. I thought you might have left like—”

He raised a hand, cutting her off before she could finish. His voice was strained, and though he tried to keep it steady, there was an unmistakable edge of exhaustion in it. “Tara, I’m sorry. I really am. But I need to get to my office. I can’t explain anything right now.”

Tara’s face fell slightly, her eyes scanning his face, her brow furrowing as she took in his disheveled appearance. It was clear she wanted to press further, but something in his tone, or maybe the haunted look in his eyes, stopped her. She shifted awkwardly on her feet, biting her lower lip as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice softer now, filled with genuine concern. “I mean…you don’t look so good.”

Xavier forced a small, tight-lipped smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be fine. Just…I just need some time.”

Before she could say anything more, he nodded to her and brushed past, his heart racing as he made his way down the hall. He could feel her eyes on him as he walked away, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not now. Not when he was this close.

Finally, he reached the door to his office, his sanctuary. His hand trembled slightly as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The familiar scent of ink and printed paper greeted him, a scent that used to bring comfort but now felt cold, distant. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing him off from the world outside.

For a moment, he just stood there, leaning back against the door, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. The weight of the last few weeks, of everything he’d been through, came crashing down on him all at once. He ran a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck as he tried to steady himself. Focus, Xavier. Focus.

His eyes scanned the room—his desk, cluttered with papers and old case files, the soft leather chair in the corner, and the wide windows that let in far too much light. He needed darkness, quiet, space to think. Without hesitation, he moved toward the windows and drew the blinds shut, plunging the room into a muted, shadowy haze. The soft hum of the city outside was muffled now, replaced by the stillness of the office. He flicked off the overhead lights, leaving only the dim glow of his computer screen.

It was just him and the SIM card now.

He dropped into the chair behind his desk, his body sinking into the worn leather as he pulled the small chip from his pocket. It sat there on the desk in front of him, almost mocking him with its simplicity. How could something so small hold the answers to everything? How could it carry the weight of his hope and fear all at once?

His fingers trembled slightly as he picked it up, turning it over in his hand, his thumb brushing against the smooth surface. This is it, he reminded himself. This is how I find out what happened to her.

Xavier inserted the sim card into the slot on his computer, the holographic screen flickering to life above his head as the files began to load. His heart pounded in his chest, each second feeling like an eternity as he waited for the data to appear.

The room seemed to shrink around him, the air growing heavy as his eyes locked onto the screen. His breath hitched, his fingers tightening around the edge of the desk.

Please. Please let this tell me something. Let it lead me to her.

The files loaded slowly, the progress bar inching forward at an agonizingly slow pace. Each second felt like an eternity, the air in the room growing heavier as Xavier leaned closer to the screen, his heart pounding in his chest. His fingers drummed impatiently against the edge of the desk, a nervous rhythm that barely kept his panic at bay. This has to work. This has to show me something—anything.

But when the files finally opened, the first thing he noticed was the dull red warning message flashing on the screen: FILE CORRUPTED.

Xavier froze.

He blinked, staring at the message as though it might change if he looked at it long enough. Then, with a shaky breath, he clicked on the first file, hoping against hope that the system had made a mistake. But the message was clear: Corrupted. Unreadable.

His stomach twisted as a wave of cold dread washed over him. No… No, this can’t be right. Not now. Not after everything.

He clicked on another file. Corrupted.

Then another. Corrupted.

And another. Corrupted.

His fingers moved faster, more frantically now, clicking through the list, trying to find anything that wasn’t destroyed. But the same message greeted him every time. The red text burned into his eyes, taunting him with every click. He felt like the ground was being pulled out from under him, the desperation clawing at his chest, making it harder to breathe.

How? His mind raced, scrambling for an explanation. How could this have happened?

His thoughts spiraled. Was the sim card programmed to destroy its contents once removed? The possibility made his blood run cold. He had been so careful, so sure that this card would give him the answers he needed. And now it was slipping through his fingers.

Xavier's hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles white as he pounded the desk in frustration. "No..." His voice was a harsh whisper, barely able to contain the anger bubbling up inside him. His vision blurred for a moment, the weight of everything crashing down on him in a wave of helplessness.

This can’t be happening. Not now. Not when I’m so close.

He could feel his pulse racing, his heart pounding in his chest, faster and faster as the panic settled deeper into his bones. His mouth was dry, and his breath came in shallow, uneven bursts as he tried to hold himself together. The room felt smaller, darker, like the walls were closing in around him. The light from the computer screen flickered against his face, casting shadows under his eyes, deepening the lines of exhaustion and frustration etched into his skin.

I can’t lose this. I can’t lose her.

The thoughts came unbidden, swirling in his mind like a storm. He had been so sure this card would lead him to you—that it would show him where you were, what had happened. He had imagined this moment so many times, but now, all that hope was unraveling, torn apart by a series of corrupted files. And it felt like his last chance was slipping away right in front of him.

No. No, I won’t let this happen.

His fingers flew across the keyboard, clicking open every file he could find, his breath catching in his throat each time the same corrupted message popped up. With each failed attempt, the panic inside him grew, his heart hammering wildly as frustration gave way to desperation.

His mind raced, grasping for a solution. There had to be something he could do—something to fix this. He wasn’t about to give up, not now, not when you were still out there, waiting for him to find you. His eyes darted to the screen, scanning for anything that could help, his mind reeling, searching for an answer through the haze of fear clouding his thoughts.

And then, a flicker of hope.

He remembered the program. A faint memory, tucked away in the back of his mind—a file recovery tool buried somewhere deep within his system. It wasn’t something he used often, but it was there. His heart skipped a beat, the sliver of hope cutting through the rising panic. Yes. That’s it.

Without hesitating, he pulled up the program, his fingers trembling slightly as he typed in the command to search for the corrupted files. The familiar blue loading screen appeared, and for a moment, Xavier felt the breath he had been holding slowly release. But it wasn’t over yet. He still had to wait. The program would take time to scan the files, to see if it could recover anything usable.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and each tick of the clock felt like another weight pressing down on his chest. He sat back in his chair, staring at the spinning loading icon on the screen, willing it to move faster, to show him something—anything that could give him the answers he so desperately needed.

His leg bounced under the desk, a nervous habit he hadn’t been able to shake for days now. The anxiety clawed at him, making it impossible to sit still. His mind was racing again, fear and hope warring inside him, a toxic mix that made his stomach churn.

What if this didn’t work? What if the files were too damaged to recover? What if—what if he never found out what happened to you?

Stop it. Don’t think like that. He gritted his teeth, trying to shove the doubts out of his mind. He couldn’t afford to lose hope now. He had come too far, and he couldn’t let himself break. Not yet.

The program beeped softly, breaking the silence of the room. Xavier leaned forward, his heart thudding against his ribs as the first of the recovered files appeared on the screen. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, his pulse racing in anticipation.

Please...let this work.

He clicked on the file, holding his breath as it opened, the screen flickering before finally stabilizing. His eyes scanned the first few lines of data, and for the first time in hours, a glimmer of hope sparked in his chest.

There it was. Not everything—far from it—but there was something. Something he could use.

His breath hitched as he leaned in closer, his eyes locking onto the details flashing across the screen. The tension in his body didn’t ease, but the panic that had threatened to overtake him was starting to ebb, replaced by a grim determination.

The first recovered file blinked to life on Xavier’s screen, and for a moment, his heart slowed its frantic pace. This is it, he thought, leaning forward, eyes fixed on the video as the grainy footage loaded. The room was cloaked in shadow, his breath the only sound breaking the silence. His hands hovered over the keyboard, fingers still trembling slightly, half out of exhaustion and half from anticipation.

But as the video began to play, the tension in his body didn’t ease—it only deepened.

The screen flickered with the image of a familiar dimly lit, grimy basement. The walls were old, stained with mold and years of neglect. The camera was positioned at an angle, casting shadows that made the space look even more claustrophobic. But that wasn’t what made Xavier’s stomach twist. It wasn’t you in the video. His breath caught in his throat as the scene unfolded, confusion clouding his mind.

A girl—blonde, young, and panicked—was being dragged into the room by a shoddy-looking man. Her limbs flailed wildly, her voice sharp with terror and rage.

"Fuck you, Reese! Let go!" she screamed, her voice raw, the words tearing through the oppressive silence of the basement.

Xavier’s eyes narrowed, his pulse quickening as he watched the man—Reese, apparently—roughly shove her onto a dingy, stained bed in the corner. The blonde girl gasped as she hit the mattress, her breaths coming in panicked bursts, her chest heaving. Her face contorted in fury and fear as she glared at the man who stood a few feet away, shaking like a leaf, as though he was caught between shame and desperation.

Reese, the man responsible for dragging this girl down here, opened his mouth but struggled to speak. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice cracking with guilt and fear. His hands trembled as he backed away from the bed, eyes wide, like he didn’t know how he had ended up in this situation either.

Xavier’s mind raced, his thoughts scrambling to make sense of what he was seeing. He had heard the name Reese before. It had come up when he questioned the shoe clerks in the N109 Zone. He knew that you had been with Reese at some point—that much was clear. But this...this wasn’t you.

Who the hell was this girl? Why was she in the same basement?

Xavier clicked on the fast-forward button, his hand shaky as he tried to piece together what he was watching. The blonde girl, still hyperventilating, curled into herself on the bed, her hands gripping the fabric of her clothes as if she could disappear into the mattress. The fear on her face was palpable, and Xavier felt a sickening knot form in his stomach as he imagined what was going through her mind in those moments.

What's happening? His mind spun with questions, but there were no answers—not yet. He fast-forwarded again, his anxiety growing with each passing second. Days seemed to pass, the lighting in the basement changing subtly as time wore on. The girl’s resistance dulled, her movements slower, her body slumping as though she had lost the will to fight back.

And then they came back.

Xavier's breath hitched as Reese appeared once more, but this time he wasn’t alone. His heart dropped as he recognized the second figure—her. The cold, sharp-eyed woman with dark hair tied into a strict bun, dressed in business casual attire. Xavier had seen her before. He remembered her face clearly, down in that same basement when he had been searching for you, when she had tricked him and escaped before answering more of his questions. She was a predator in a sleek package, her eyes devoid of warmth or sympathy.

A traitor to her own gender.

The blonde girl jolted when she saw them, her fear reigniting, her voice cracking as she screamed. “No! Please! Leave me alone!” She scrambled to the head of the bed, pressing herself into the wall as if she could sink through it and escape.

The dark-haired woman didn’t flinch. Her voice was smooth, cold, clinical. “We’ll see if she’s a match, Reese. If she’s not…” She trailed off, inspecting her nails as though the girl’s fate was of no consequence to her. “…you can give her to Damien for...y’know.”

Xavier’s blood ran cold at her words. Damien? The name made his stomach churn with anger and disgust. His grip tightened on the edge of the desk, his knuckles white as he leaned in closer to the screen, his mind now spinning with dread. This was more than just a kidnapping—more than just a rescue mission. There was something deeper, something more sinister lurking beneath the surface of all this.

Reese mumbled something under his breath, barely audible over the girl’s terrified sobs. His hands shook as he backed away from the bed again, leaving the girl in the cold, uncaring grip of the woman with the dark hair. She stepped forward, cold and methodical, holding out a syringe as though it was just another day at the office.

The blonde girl screamed as they took a blood sample, the needle piercing her skin. Her eyes were wide, wild, filled with the horror of not understanding what was happening to her but knowing that it was something dark, something she couldn’t escape. Xavier’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding as he watched the scene unfold. The helplessness in the girl’s eyes echoed the same helplessness he felt now—watching, unable to intervene, unable to stop what was happening.

The video blurred again as Xavier fast-forwarded, skipping through more days, more moments of isolation and fear. The blonde girl’s spirit, once fiery and defiant, began to erode. By the time the dark-haired woman returned with Reese days later, her demeanor had changed entirely. She wasn’t fighting anymore. Instead, she lay curled on the bed, tears streaming down her face, silent sobs shaking her body.

The cold woman sighed, almost bored. “You’re useless to me. But hey, you’re a woman,” she said, her voice dripping with casual cruelty. “Maybe you can seduce Damien for your freedom.” The words hung in the air like poison, and the blonde girl let out a wretched scream, her body convulsing with panic as Reese grabbed her again, dragging her off the bed and toward the stairs.

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, angry bursts. What the hell is this? His mind was racing, the implications of what he was seeing burning through him like wildfire. This wasn’t just about you. This wasn’t just a random guy that you had gone with. This was part of something bigger, something darker than he had ever imagined.

And yet, even as the video ended—cutting off abruptly as Reese pulled the screaming girl up the stairs—one thought dominated his mind.

Where were you?

His hands shook as he closed the corrupted file, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. His mind spun with questions, but no answers came. Who was this girl? Was she still alive? Had Reese given her to Damien like they suggested? A dark chill crawled up Xavier’s spine. His thoughts twisted and darkened as he remembered the basement when he had first been there—when he had been searching for you.

Reese had been dead when I searched that basement.

A sudden, horrifying thought pierced through him like a dagger.

Did Reese let this 'Damien' hurt you?

His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, everything went still. The room, the air, the soft hum of the computer—it all faded into the background. A single thought rang in his mind, louder than anything else. Was Damien involved with what happened to you?

Xavier swallowed hard, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as the tension mounted inside him. His eyes darted back to the screen, scanning the list of recovered files with a sense of rising urgency. He had to find your video. He had to know what happened to you. His breath came quicker, more shallow as he clicked on the next file, praying that this time—this time—it would show him the truth.

Xavier’s hands moved frantically across the keyboard, clicking through file after file. Each video that played on the screen sent another wave of nausea crashing through him. Each one showed a different girl—each of them dragged into that same dingy basement by Reese. Their screams echoed in his ears, the fear in their eyes burning into his memory, but none of them were you.

His stomach churned violently as the helplessness clawed at his insides. He could barely keep his breathing steady, each breath shallow and strained. The flickering images on the screen felt like a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. He was so close, yet so far. With every corrupted file, every unfamiliar face, the weight of dread settled deeper into his bones. Where are you? His mind screamed, hands gripping the edges of his desk until his knuckles turned white.

He clicked on another file. Another girl. Not you.

His jaw clenched as he forced himself to click through the next video. Still not you.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, his heart thudding in his chest like a war drum, each beat harder than the last. The urge to smash everything on his desk was almost unbearable, but he kept moving, his desperation growing with every passing second. Each wrong file felt like a stab to his gut. The girls all looked terrified—some bruised, some screaming, others had already given up—but it wasn’t you. His vision blurred for a moment, frustration and fear clouding his thoughts.

Then, he clicked the last file.

For a split second, he hesitated. His heart was in his throat, the weight of all his hopes and fears balancing on this one moment. Please. Please be her. The screen flickered, and then—your features came into view.

Xavier exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

It’s you.

The relief was so intense it nearly knocked the wind out of him. He felt his entire body sag forward, his muscles trembling as he sat frozen in his chair, staring at the screen. He hadn’t seen you in what felt like forever, but there you were, in the same filthy basement he’d seen in the other videos. But something was wrong. So very, very wrong.

You looked… worse for wear. Even through the grainy footage, it was clear you hadn’t been eating well—your face was more gaunt than he remembered, your cheeks hollow, and your body seemed frail, weaker than it ever should have been. Your hair, once well-kept, now hung in matted strands, clinging to your face as though it hadn’t been washed in days. Your eyes wide with shock. His heart broke at the sight, a heaviness settling into his chest that made it hard to breathe.

He could barely hold it together as he watched you struggle. There you were, the person he’d been so desperate to find, trapped in that godforsaken basement. His eyes stung, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He wanted to be there, to protect you, but he was stuck watching, helpless on the other side of a screen.

The camera trembled slightly as two figures came into view—Reese, and another man Xavier didn’t recognize. The stranger was larger, more menacing, and as they manhandled you, dragging you toward the wall, Xavier felt the white-hot surge of anger flare through him.

He watched as the man pushed you roughly against the cold stone wall, your body slumping on impact. You struggled, arms flailing as you tried to fight back, your voice strained and frantic. The unfamiliar man approached you, his face twisted with a sickening grin, and before Xavier could even process it, the man’s hands were all over you, feeling you up.

“Get off her!” Xavier hissed under his breath, his fingers tightening so hard around the arms of his chair that he thought the metal might snap. His body tensed, every muscle coiled with the instinct to protect you, to tear the man away from you. But he was powerless—stuck watching, his heart pounding in his ears, every second feeling like a lifetime.

Your voice cut through the chaos. “I'm bleeding! I’m on my period!” you screamed, desperation thick in your voice.

Xavier froze, eyes wide as the stranger’s hands recoiled. The man grimaced, backing off like a coward, muttering something inaudible as he stepped away from you. Xavier felt a surge of relief—so intense that he almost thought it was over. But then his stomach turned, realizing just how close you had come to something worse.

The relief didn’t last long. He watched, his breath shallow, as he dragged you over to a dingy showerhead in the corner of the room. The rusted metal clung to the grimy tile, the smell of mildew practically radiating through the screen. You were shoved under the cold spray, and when the icy water hit your body, you didn’t scream. You didn’t cry out. You trembled, your whole frame shaking violently as the freezing water soaked through your clothes, your hair plastering to your skull.

Xavier’s chest tightened painfully. You were silent, but your body was wracked with shivers, your shoulders shaking as the water poured down over you. Why aren’t you fighting? he thought, his heart breaking with every second that passed. Why aren’t you screaming?

He could see it, the exhaustion that had settled into you, the hopelessness. The strength you usually had was slipping away, replaced by the toll of captivity and cruelty. His fists clenched, the rage boiling under his skin as he watched the stranger turn off the water and leave you there—helpless, wet, and shivering on the cold basement floor.

Xavier’s breath hitched, his throat closing up as he watched you desperately try to catch your breath, your body trembling uncontrollably. Then, slowly, your eyes fluttered shut, your head lolling forward as your body went limp. You collapsed—passed out from sheer exhaustion, from the cold, from everything they had done to you.

A single tear slid down Xavier’s cheek, though he didn’t realize it was there at first. The wet warmth caught him by surprise, and he wiped it away quickly, frustration twisting inside him like a knife. He couldn’t stop watching—he couldn’t turn away. Even though every second felt like it was cutting deeper into him, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen. He needed to know what had happened. He needed to know everything.

The screen flickered slightly as the footage continued. Reese appeared again, but this time he was alone. His hands were full—clothes and pads, probably for you. Xavier’s teeth ground together, a sickening feeling settling in the pit of his stomach as he watched Reese step cautiously toward the bed. Your body still lay there, unconscious, cold, vulnerable.

Reese didn’t move for a long moment, just standing there, staring at your unmoving form. He seemed torn—his face twisted with guilt, fear, maybe even shame. His eyes flickered to your face, and Xavier’s pulse quickened. The tension in his body coiled tighter, a knot of rage and anxiety constricting his chest.

Then, slowly, Reese stepped closer to you. His hand extended, trembling as he reached toward your face, his fingers hovering just above your cheek. No. Don’t touch her. Xavier’s mind screamed the words, his hands gripping the sides of his chair so hard that his nails dug into the leather, leaving deep grooves. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears, his muscles straining as though he might actually break through the screen and stop him.

But then Reese hesitated. His hand hovered for a moment longer before he pulled back, taking a deep, shaky breath. Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest, his relief palpable—but it did nothing to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him.

Reese placed the clothes on the bed across from you, his eyes still fixed on your face, but he didn’t touch you. He stepped away, leaving you there, still unconscious, still shivering slightly. Xavier’s breath came out in a ragged sigh, his body trembling with the overwhelming flood of emotions that he could barely keep in check.

But this wasn’t over. He knew it wasn’t over.

Xavier leaned forward, wiping another tear from his cheek as he narrowed his eyes at the screen. He had to keep going. He had to see what happened next. He had to know. He had to find out everything.

Xavier watched as the video played on, his entire body locked in place, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen. He could barely breathe as the image flickered and your figure stirred, your body shifting slowly on the cold, hard ground. The way you moved, every inch of your body screaming exhaustion, made his heart sink. You looked like a shell of yourself, like every ounce of strength had been drained from you, leaving only a frail, weakened version of the person he once knew.

He watched as you struggled to sit up, your soaked nightgown clinging to your body like a lead weight, dragging you down. Your hands trembled as you pushed yourself up, your hair soaked, wet strands sticking to your face, your breaths shallow and labored. His fingers tightened on the edges of the desk, his heart aching at the sight of you. Every movement looked painful—every breath an effort.

Come on… please… just get up, he thought, willing you to find the strength to keep moving, to fight back against the hell you were trapped in.

Slowly, you managed to rise to your feet, your knees wobbling slightly as you reached for the clothes Reese had left behind. You dressed in silence, your movements sluggish, like you were on the verge of collapse. The sight of you changing, of slipping into the dry clothes, should have brought Xavier some relief, but it didn’t. If anything, it made his stomach churn with dread. He could see it in your face—the numbness, the exhaustion, the sheer hopelessness that seemed to radiate from your every gesture.

You don’t deserve this. None of this, Xavier thought, his throat tightening as a lump of guilt settled deep in his chest.

Then, something shifted. You glanced up toward the stairs, your expression tense, wary, like you were planning something. For a moment, a flicker of hope sparked in Xavier’s chest as he watched you move toward the steps, your eyes focused on the large hatch at the top. Were you trying to escape? He leaned forward in his seat, his breath held as you reached the hatch leaning against it, your breath ragged

Come on. You can do this. Try and open it baby.

But then, you froze. Your head jerked up, eyes wide, and without warning, you bolted back down the stairs, your feet nearly slipping on the slick floor as you dove under the bed, hiding like a frightened animal. Xavier’s heart stuttered, his breath catching in his throat.

What’s wrong? Why are you hiding?

His pulse pounded in his ears as the camera trembled slightly, picking up the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching the basement. Heavy, deliberate footsteps—multiple sets, moving in sync. His heart sank deeper into his stomach, his gut twisting with dread as three figures came into view: Reese, the cold-eyed woman with dark hair—the same woman who had haunted his thoughts since that first encounter—and another man, unfamiliar, likely one of their henchmen.

The air felt suffocating as the henchman crouched down beside the bed, his meaty hand reaching under and grabbing you roughly by the arm. Xavier’s stomach lurched as he watched you struggle, but it was no use. The man yanked you out from under the bed, your body hitting the floor with a dull thud as he dragged you to your feet.

“No, no, no…” Xavier whispered under his breath, his chest tightening as he watched helplessly from behind the screen. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair, his knuckles white with tension. His skin crawled with anxiety, his mind screaming for you to fight, to resist, to do anything to stop this from happening.

The woman stepped forward, her face a mask of cold indifference as she looked down at you, her eyes sharp and calculating. Dialogue is exchanged that he cant quite hear but he manages to make out a few sentences.

“We don’t know for sure if you’re a match yet,” the woman said, almost thoughtfully. “But you're a woman, so that's already one criteria met. And it’s just a matter of time before we find out the second.”

Xavier’s jaw clenched. A match? For what? What kind of sick, twisted operation was this? His mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of the nightmare unfolding in front of him. She had mentioned you were a match back in the basement. Was this what she was referring to? He felt the bile rise in his throat as the woman produced a syringe from her coat pocket, her movements mechanical, practiced. She didn’t care about you. You were nothing but a commodity to her—just another body, another possible match.

He leaned closer to the screen, his breath coming faster, harder. “No! Don’t give in!” he screamed in his mind, wishing with every fiber of his being that you could hear him. Fight! Stab her with it!

But you didn’t.

You just…obeyed.

Your arm trembled as you extended it toward the woman, too weak, too exhausted to fight back. Your eyes were dull, drained of the fire he knew you once had. Xavier felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest as he watched you give in, letting them take the blood sample without resistance. He wanted to scream, to throw something, to punch through the screen. This isn’t you. You were always so strong. So fierce. What did they do to you?

But he knew the truth. He could see it in your body language, in the slump of your shoulders. You had been beaten down, worn away by days of captivity. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not from here. His helplessness gnawed at him, threatening to overwhelm him.

After taking the sample, the woman glanced at the henchman and hands it to him. He leaves and the woman stayed behind, her eyes never leaving you. “Now we wait,” she said, crossing her arms. “If you’re lucky, you won’t be a match. But if you are… well, we’ll be in touch.”

She exchanges a few words with Reese before making her way up the stairs, heels clacking as she walks back up.

But Reese didn’t follow. He lingered behind, his eyes avoiding yours. And then you snapped. You start yelling about how you had trusted him.

"I trusted you!" you shouted, your voice growing louder, the raw emotion burning through your exhaustion. "I told you everything—I told you about my escape, I thought you were trying to help me!"

Your words were heavy with betrayal, each syllable cutting through the silence like a knife. Xavier’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. He remembered your voice on the phone—the trust in your words when you mentioned Reese. You had believed in him. You had gone with him because you thought he would protect you.

I should have told you not to go. I should have warned you. Guilt flooded through Xavier, choking him. I thought you’d be okay. I thought I’d find you in time.

Reese flinched under your words, his hands shaking at his sides. He couldn’t even meet your eyes as you continued to hurl your accusations at him. He looked every bit the coward, standing there, unable to face the truth of what he’d done to you. He babbles some excuses about how he had to do what he did. But you weren't having it. How he thought you would be dumped like the others. How he didn't know about the organ trafficking.

Xavier scoffed. A coward and a liar this guy was.

“I’m sorry,” he says, seemingly all he can mutter after all that.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he turned and walked out, leaving you alone in the cold, empty room.

Xavier’s chest heaved with labored breaths as he watched you slide down the wall, your body shaking with silent sobs. His heart ached, the guilt and anger mixing into a storm of emotions that he couldn’t contain. He wanted to reach through the screen, to hold you, to tell you he was coming.

I’m so sorry. I’ll make this right. I swear.

The video continued, the next few days slipping by in a blur of monotony. Reese came and went, bringing you food, but he said nothing. He was silent, avoiding your gaze, avoiding confrontation. And you—you barely moved. You spent most of your time sleeping, your body too exhausted, too worn down to fight anymore. Xavier’s stomach churned as he realized how deeply this place had broken you.

But then… something changed.

His eyes widened as a familiar figure appeared on the screen. The same man who had groped you when you had first arrived in the basement, his expression dark, predatory. Xavier’s blood ran cold as the man descended the stairs, his eyes fixed on your sleeping form.

No…no…not again.

You stirred, your body tensing the moment you saw him. The tension in the air was palpable. Xavier could feel it in his bones, the dread creeping up his spine as the man stalked toward you. His lips moved, saying something to you, but the audio was too muffled to make out the words. Whatever he said, it made your body stiffen with fear as he grabbed your arm.

Then, without warning, the man lunged forward, grabbing you tighter and slamming you into the mattress.

Xavier’s vision blurred with red. His heart pounded in his ears as rage surged through him like a wildfire. He gripped the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white, his teeth grinding together as he watched you fight like hell. You kicked, you scratched, you screamed—but it wasn’t enough. The man was too strong. He pinned you down, his hands tearing at your clothes, ripping your sweatpants off with vicious intent.

“No...” Xavier hissed, slamming his fist into the desk. He couldn’t watch this. He couldn’t watch you be violated like this. His eyes squeezed shut, but he couldn’t stop himself from listening, every sound making his blood boil, the anger roaring in his mind like an unstoppable storm.

He could hear the man struggling—his heavy breathing, the sound of fabric tearing, your muffled cries. Every second felt like an eternity. Xavier’s entire body trembled with fury, his mind screaming at him to do something, but he was powerless.

And then he heard it.

Your voice, soft, almost a whisper. He couldn’t make out what you said, but the words were enough to anger the man on top of you He seems like he's about to hit you, and then—

"Is that anyway to talk to a lady?"

The man was frozen, is facing twisting in shock before he was suddenly flung off of you, his body slamming into the wall with a sickening crunch. His screams filled the air, a sound so satisfying that it almost drowned out the confusion that followed.

Xavier’s eyes snapped open, his breath catching in his throat. What the hell just happened?

And then he saw him.

A tall man, dressed in dark clothes, his face somewhat shadowed by the dim lighting of the basement. His presence was commanding, intimidating—and immediately recognizable. The white grayish hair, terrifying demeanor, crimson blood colored eye.

Skye.

Xavier’s heart lurched. What the hell was he doing there?

Xavier’s breath caught in his throat as the figure of Skye moved toward you, his tall, dark silhouette looming in the dim light of the basement. His walk was calm, casual, as though he hadn’t just flung a man across the room like a ragdoll. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes as he stopped in front of you, his lips twitching upward in a half-smile.

But what shook Xavier to his core wasn’t just Skye’s appearance. It was your reaction.

You scrambled to pull your clothes back on, the shock evident on your face, but there was something else in your expression that made Xavier’s stomach twist. You didn’t look confused. You didn’t look like you had just been saved by a stranger. There was familiarity there—recognition. And then you spoke, your voice shaky but not surprised.

“What took you so long?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Xavier’s heart skipped a beat. What?

Skye chuckled softly, his voice low and almost teasing. “Is this the thanks I get, kitten?” He glanced back at the man crumpled against the wall, a smug grin playing on his lips.

"I save you, and all you’ve got is attitude?" Skye raises an eyebrow, the smirk on his lips widening as if he’s enjoying this far too much. “You’re getting harder to please.”

Xavier’s mind reeled, his thoughts scrambling to make sense of what he was seeing, what he was hearing. You knew him? The question burned in his chest, but before he could fully process it, another sound drew his attention.

There was a loud thud as Reese came tumbling down the stairs, his body rolling helplessly until he landed face-first on the cold stone floor. Behind him, two figures with bird-like masks giggled, nudging each other proudly.

"We got him, boss," one of them chirped, his voice muffled behind the mask. "Tried to run, but he fell flat on his face." He punctuates his words with another casual kick to Reese's side. "Much like he did just now."

Reese groaned, struggling to push himself up, but when he finally lifted his head, his eyes went wide with terror. He looked past the masked figures, past you, and his gaze landed on Skye. His entire body trembled, and Xavier could see the exact moment the fear set in, the moment Reese understood who he was facing.

“Sylus…” Reese breathed, his voice trembling as he tried to scoot backward, his limbs shaking. “You…you ran away from Sylus?”

The name sent a bolt of electricity through Xavier’s body, freezing him in place. His entire world seemed to tilt on its axis, the ground falling away beneath him. Sylus. The name echoed in his mind, a name he had heard whispered in fear, a name spoken with the kind of reverence reserved for monsters and myths. The ruler of the N109 Zone. The feared leader of Onychinus.

And now, that man—the man who had offered him a ride, the same man who had tried to kill him and stage it as a car crash—was standing right there, in the same room as you. Sylus.

The reality of it hit him like a punch to the gut. This is Sylus?

His breath quickened, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts at once. Sylus—he’s been the one all along. The man with the charm, the mystery. The one who played me for a fool and tried to end my life. He remembered their conversation in the car, the way Sylus had studied him, like he was nothing more than a pawn in some twisted game. And now, here he was, standing over you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

The audio cuts out briefly, some words being exchanged between you and Sylus before it comes back in clearly. A black crow had materialized on his shoulder, and Reese seemed confused that the crows name was Mephisto. Sylus snapped at him, seemingly annoyed he was attempting to talk to you.

Sylus’s dark eyes flicked back toward you, his expression softening in a way that made Xavier’s stomach churn. He watched as Sylus crouched down in front of you, his tall frame looming over you but his movements gentle, controlled. You seemed to be spiraling. There was something possessive in the way he moved, the way he reached out to you.

“Shh, kitten,” Sylus murmured, his voice soft but commanding. “It’s alright. I found you.”

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest, his throat tight. Kitten? The term dripped with intimacy, with ownership. He watched in horror as you didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. You just stared at Sylus, your eyes wide with a mix of emotions—fear, confusion, and something else Xavier couldn’t quite place. Tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t try to push him away. You didn’t run. You just trembled there, your body torn between exhaustion and emotion.

Sylus leaned in closer, his dark gaze locking onto yours. “You’re mine again,” he whispered, his voice a possessive growl that made the hairs on Xavier’s neck stand on end. “Don’t cry. Not now. Not in front of them.”

Xavier’s breath hitched, his body trembling with a combination of fear and fury. Yours? The word echoed in his mind, and he couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense of dread that came with it. Sylus just called you his. And you…you weren’t fighting it. You weren’t pulling away. Xavier’s mind spun with confusion, with disbelief. He could barely make sense of what was happening.

Xavier’s hands gripped the sides of his chair, his knuckles turning white with the strain. No…no, this can’t be happening. The tenderness in Sylus’s voice, the way he looked at you like you were the center of his universe—it made Xavier’s stomach twist with anger. You were his. How dare this man—this monster—claim you?

But then, something else drew his attention.

A blood-curdling scream filled the basement, shattering the stillness. Xavier’s eyes snapped to the figures on the other side of the room. Reese and the henchman were writhing in agony, Reese's body contorted with pain as he was slammed into the wall, their screams echoing through the small, claustrophobic space. But Sylus… Sylus didn’t even look at them. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move. His attention stayed fixed on you, his hand gently wiping the tears from your cheeks as though nothing else in the world mattered.

“Don’t look at them,” Sylus murmured softly, his voice soothing yet firm. His fingers brushed over your face, gently cradling your chin and turning your gaze back to him. “Look at me.”

Xavier felt like he couldn’t breathe, his heart racing as his mind struggled to process everything. Sylus was ignoring the carnage behind him, the screams of the men he was torturing, and was focused entirely on you. It was as if you were the only thing that mattered to him, as if the world outside of you didn’t exist.

His eyes stayed locked on the screen, unable to look away as Sylus reached out, his hand moving gently to your face. “Look at me,” he whispered, his voice dripping with a dark intimacy. “Your tears, your pain, your misery…it all belongs to me.”

"I’m the only one, who gets to see you cry."

Xavier’s pulse pounded in his ears, his skin crawling as he watched Sylus’s possessive, gentle touch. The man was a predator, but the way he handled you, the way he spoke to you, was so calm, so assured, like you were his most valuable possession. And what frightened Xavier the most was that you weren’t fighting him. You were letting him soothe you. You were letting him touch you.

Before Xavier could even begin to process the horror of what he was seeing, another voice broke through the tension.

“Please, make him stop! Ask him to stop!”

Xavier’s gaze snapped to Reese, his blood boiling. The coward was begging for his life, his body curled up against the wall, his eyes wide with terror. But it was your face that made Xavier’s heart ache. Your expression had hardened, your fear melting away into cold resolve. You stared at Reese, your lips curling into a sneer. The audio cuts out briefly before it comes back again.

“Go to hell, Reese,” you spat, your voice sharp and final.

A sickening crack followed, and before Xavier even had time to register what was happening, Sylus calmly stood up. He reached into his coat, pulling out a sleek black pistol. With smooth, practiced movements, he aimed the weapon at Reese without even blinking.

Xavier’s breath caught in his throat, his entire body tensing.

BANG.

Reese’s head snapped back as the bullet tore through his skull, his brain matter splattering against the wall in a gruesome display. His body slumped to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling around him in a thick, dark puddle.

Sylus lowered the pistol, his expression calm, almost serene, as though he had merely swatted a fly. He turned back to you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looked at your shocked face. His smile—so tender, so full of affection—made Xavier’s stomach churn with revulsion.

“I sent him to hell, just like you said, sweetie,"

Xavier’s mind raced, his heart hammering in his chest as he sat frozen, unable to pull his eyes from the screen. What the hell am I watching? His hands gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly that his fingers ached, but the pain barely registered. His world was narrowing down to this single moment, the horrifying spectacle unfolding in front of him.

His eyes darted to Sylus, who now stood with calm, calculated precision, his face devoid of any emotion as he turned his gaze to the henchman still writhing on the ground. The man’s body was twisted in agony, his limbs jerking uncontrollably as he gasped for breath, his face contorted with raw terror. He’s going to die. Sylus is going to kill him, too.

Xavier’s pulse quickened, a sick feeling swirling in his gut as he watched the tendrils of the familiar ominous red mist around Sylus begin to thicken, swirling with a low, almost inhuman hum that reverberated through the air. The mist was like a living entity, moving with a purpose, snaking toward the henchman with eerie fluidity, wrapping itself around him like a serpent tightening its hold.

The man’s breath hitched, his chest heaving with frantic, desperate gasps, but it was no use. The mist coiled tighter, its grip unyielding as it crushed the air from his lungs. His mouth opened wide, as if to scream, but no sound escaped. His eyes bulged with fear, veins popping in his neck as the mist squeezed relentlessly, cutting off any hope of escape.

Xavier’s throat tightened, his own breath becoming shallow as he watched the man’s body convulse violently, limbs thrashing against the floor in a sickening dance of death. The panic in the man’s eyes was unmistakable, the sheer terror that gripped him as he realized his life was slipping away. The mist was alive, feeding off his fear, tightening like a noose around his entire body.

Sylus stood over him, his hand raised slightly as if controlling the mist with nothing more than a thought. His expression remained cold, detached, but there was something else there—a faint flicker of satisfaction in his dark eyes. He was enjoying this.

Xavier’s stomach churned, the bile rising in his throat as Sylus’s power became terrifyingly real before his eyes. This wasn’t just some mob boss. This was a monster.

The man’s body twitched one final time, his limbs spasming as the mist constricted further, wrapping around his torso like a vice. His ribs began to bend, then snap, the bones splintering under the intense pressure. A gurgling sound escaped the man’s throat as his body gave way, his chest caving in, bones cracking like brittle twigs underfoot.

Holy shit... Xavier could barely comprehend what he was seeing. The sound of bone snapping echoed through the room, filling his mind with a sickening chorus of destruction. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. His eyes were glued to the horror as Sylus squeezed his hand into a fist, the motion simple, deliberate—final.

With a sickening, wet crack, the man’s entire body exploded outward. His ribcage folded under the immense force, collapsing in on itself like a house of cards, his spine snapping in two as the red mist continued to crush him.

The impact sent a sickening splatter of blood and tissue across the tiles, a dark, violent stain painting the cold grey walls in streaks of red. His bones crunched under the force, his skull cracking against the hard surface as his remains dripped to the floor in a grotesque heap. The sound echoed in the stillness, the dripping blood the only sign of life left in the room.

The mist slowly receded, dissolving into the air like it had never been there at all.

Xavier’s chest heaved, his breath shallow, ragged, as he sat in stunned silence. His mind couldn’t process what he had just witnessed. The sheer brutality of it, the casual way in which Sylus had destroyed a man’s life with nothing more than a thought—it was too much. Too surreal.

Sylus didn’t even flinch. He turned back toward you, his face softening once more, his cold detachment melting away as he reached out to touch your shoulder, as though nothing horrific had just occurred. As though the world hadn’t just shattered in violence around him.

Xavier swallowed hard, his throat dry, his body shaking with a mix of adrenaline and shock. What the hell is happening here? His mind was spinning, trying to reconcile the image of Sylus—this monster in human skin—with the man who was now gazing at you with such tenderness.

Sylus gently tilted your chin upward, his fingers brushing your skin with a strange sort of intimacy. "Sorry," Sylus says smoothly, his tone as casual as if he had just finished a routine task. His gaze slides back to you, eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction. "I didn't want them breathing the same air as you any longer."

Xavier’s heart clenched as he saw the tears in your eyes, the way your body trembled. You looked utterly broken, shaken by the violence, but you didn’t pull away from Sylus. You didn’t fight. You let him touch you. You let him soothe you. And that—that was what terrified Xavier the most.

But you didn't really have a choice but to let him did you? Who would refuse a guy that just made a man explode his guts all over the walls?

Xavier sat there, his mind numb and his body frozen in place. The images on the screen had burned themselves into his brain—Sylus’s cold efficiency, the detached way he had slaughtered these men without a second thought, and the possessive way he touched your trembling body. It was like none of it mattered to him. He had done what he came for, and nothing more.

One of the masked men cheered as if he had just witnessed a cool party trick, his voice muffled and gleeful behind the bird-shaped mask. Xavier's stomach turned as he watched Sylus remain calm, entirely unfazed by the grotesque carnage he had just caused. Sylus didn’t even spare the scene another glance. His attention was entirely on you, your trembling body settling in his arms as he picked you up, your form curling inward slightly as if to shield yourself from the reality of what had just happened.

Xavier’s heart ached as he watched you struggle weakly, a part of you resisting, but ultimately…relenting. Giving up. The way you allowed yourself to be held by him—the man responsible for everything—sent a deep wave of anger and helplessness through Xavier’s veins. He wanted to scream at the screen, to break through it and take you back from this monster, but he was powerless.

Sylus paused for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, looking down at your small, shaking form cradled in his arms, then briefly glanced up at the camera. His crimson eyes glinted, and then—he winked. A cold, confident wink that sent a shiver down Xavier’s spine. It was as if Sylus knew exactly who was watching, as if this entire grotesque performance had been for his benefit. He didn’t care about the bloody mess he had left behind. He had what he came for.

The crow perched on Sylus’s shoulder cawed once, flapping its wings as Sylus calmly ascended the stairs with you in his arms, disappearing into the dim shadows above. Xavier watched in stunned silence, his breath shallow, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. He fast-forwarded through the footage, his mind racing, but the camera cut out soon after, leaving only an empty, black screen.

Xavier leaned back in his chair, the tension in his body finally releasing as his head hit the backrest, but the relief never came. His head was spinning, everything suddenly crashing into him all at once. Sylus. The truth hung heavy in the air around him, suffocating. Sylus had been the one behind your disappearance. He was the reason you had abruptly vanished from Xavier’s life. He was the monster pulling the strings.

His heart raced as the pieces fell into place, each one sharper than the last. Sylus had tried to kill him, not for the Hunter's Association’s secrets, but because he had been looking for you. And Sylus knew that. He had known that all along. But then… why had he kept him alive? Why toy with him like this?

“I've realized you're much more useful to me alive than dead." Sylus had said to him. The words now echoed in Xavier’s mind like a sick joke.

Useful? Useful for what?

Xavier sat there in stunned silence, his hands resting uselessly on the desk. The weight of it all settled into him, the anger rising and brimming in his chest until it became almost unbearable. His breathing quickened as rage burned through him. Of course, it had to be Sylus. The feared leader of Onychinus, the untouchable ruler of the N109 Zone. Of course, it had to be him. The man who had made practically everyone tremble with fear—the man who had just casually slaughtered people as if they were nothing—he had taken you.

And he was the one who had tried to take Xavier’s life, too.

Xavier clenched his fists, the tension in his body building to a fever pitch. His mind raced, the realization settling deep in his gut, heavy and sickening. Fuck.

He felt…hopeless. What could he do against Sylus? How could he fight someone like that—a man with an army, with power beyond anything Xavier could even fathom? The weight of it all crushed him. The anger simmered, bubbling just beneath the surface, threatening to consume him.

Then, a sound broke the silence. His phone buzzed on the desk, the vibration snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts. His heart skipped a beat as he glanced at the screen.

An unknown number.

Xavier’s breath caught in his throat, a strange, icy dread settling over him as he picked up the phone. His eyes scanned the message.

"I figure by now you've realized what's really going on. Listen closely. I will not repeat myself. Try any tricks or tell anyone, she dies."

Xavier’s chest tightened, panic creeping into his every nerve. His fingers trembled slightly as he held the phone, the reality of the situation finally crashing down in full. This was Sylus. It had to be.

She dies.

The words hit him like a sledgehammer, sending a jolt of terror straight through his core. Sylus had her. Sylus was watching. He had been watching all along.

Xavier’s heart raced, his mind scrambling for what to do. He needed to respond, but the fear clawed at him, suffocating. His hands shook as he typed out the only thing he could think of, his fingers moving almost instinctively across the screen.

"It's you, isn't it? Sylus."

The message was simple, direct. But as he stared down at the words, his stomach twisted into knots. He knew who Sylus was now, but what was he going to do about it? What could he do?

Xavier’s fingers hovered over the screen as he read the response. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat louder than the last.

"You're smarter than you look."

The insult was almost expected, but Xavier barely registered it. His mind was too focused on what Sylus had just revealed—on the horrifying reality he was now facing.

His eyes narrowed as he typed out his reply, his fingers moving with more defiance than his trembling heart felt.

"Well, I'm not stupid. Why would you save her just to kill her? You're lying."

His pulse raced as he hit send, the words blurring slightly as he stared at the screen, waiting.

The silence on the other end stretched out, suffocating. Every second felt like an eternity, the tension building in the room like a storm about to break. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Maybe I’m pushing him too far.

Xavier’s throat tightened as his mind scrambled for what he’d do next. Had he made a mistake? Sylus wasn’t just some thug. He was the ruler of the N109 Zone, the man who had tried to kill him. The man who now had you in his clutches.

Then, the phone buzzed again, and Xavier’s stomach dropped.

"Do you want to find out?"

The blood drained from Xavier’s face as he read the message. His body stiffened, a cold, creeping dread settling deep into his bones. The casual threat lingered in the air, icy and terrifying. He could almost hear Sylus’s voice behind the words, dripping with dangerous amusement.

Do you want to find out?

Xavier’s blood ran cold. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of the question sinking into him like a lead weight. What did Sylus mean? The threat was clear, but Xavier felt trapped, stuck between the impossible.

He wouldn’t kill you… not after going through so much trouble to find you. That’s what Xavier wanted to believe, but the sinking feeling in his stomach told him otherwise. Sylus was unpredictable. A man who could kill with a flick of his hand, a man who saw people as tools, as possessions.

What if Sylus wasn’t bluffing?

Xavier’s thoughts raced, his mind a chaotic swirl of panic and rage. He didn’t know what to do, and for the first time in his life, he felt utterly powerless. Sylus had control—over him, over you. Every choice was a trap.

His fingers hovered over the phone, frozen as he stared at the message. Do you want to find out?

No. He didn’t.

Xavier's fingers hovered over the screen as he read Sylus’s latest message before typing once more.

"Okay fine. Enough with the games. What do you want from me?" His chest tightened, each heartbeat pounding in his ears like a drum.

"Good to know we're on the same page."

The casual, almost mocking tone twisted Xavier's gut, but it was the rest of the message that made his blood run cold.

"You're going to tell your captain that you saw and talked to your… partner. That she is fine and just felt trapped with work, so she fled to another country. After that, get rid of the SIM card. I will know if you don't. Don't test me."

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest. The SIM card—the one that had shown him the horrific reality of what had happened to you, the one that contained evidence of something far larger and darker than he’d realized—had to be destroyed. Sylus knew everything. Every move Xavier made, every desperate attempt to unravel the truth, Sylus was watching. Controlling him like a puppet.

His hands trembled as he furiously typed back, the words coming fast, his desperation bleeding into every stroke of the keys.

"I can't. There's an organ trafficking ring going on right under our noses, and they might be stealing women from Linkon as well. I can lie to the captain, but don't you at least care about the people who took her in the first place?"

He hit send, his pulse quickening as the message went through. This was it. His last-ditch effort. If he could just get Sylus to care—if he could find some sliver of humanity in the man, some reason for him to want justice, to see that the people responsible for trafficking you were taken down—maybe, just maybe, he could find a way out of this.

But the silence that followed was suffocating.

Xavier’s heart raced in the quiet seconds that ticked by, every moment dragging out into an unbearable eternity. His breath hitched as he stared at the phone, waiting—hoping—for a response. Come on… care about this. Do something.

Finally, after what felt like an agonizing stretch of time, his phone buzzed.

"I’m taking care of them. Just do what I ask and she lives. Simple, yes?"

Xavier’s stomach churned as he read the words, the cold reality settling over him like a blanket of ice. Of course. Sylus wasn’t concerned about the trafficking. He wasn’t concerned about justice, or the victims, or anything that Xavier cared about. He was focused on one thing—control. He was always ten steps ahead, always moving the pieces on the board to his own advantage.

A wave of frustration, helplessness, and rage swept over Xavier, but what choice did he have? You were still in Sylus’s hands. He could keep pushing, keep trying to fight, but Sylus had made one thing clear—don’t test me.

Xavier's hands hovered over the phone, his mind racing. He felt trapped. Every move felt wrong, but there was no way out, not with you hanging in the balance. His throat tightened as he typed his next message, his heart pounding with the bitter taste of defeat.

"Fine. I'll do what you ask."

He hit send, the words feeling like poison as they left his fingertips.

Xavier's fingers tightened around his phone, his knuckles white as he stared at Sylus’s last message:

"Good. That's what I like to hear."

It was a simple sentence, but it carried the weight of finality that made Xavier's stomach twist. He typed furiously, his heart racing as he asked the one question that had been gnawing at him since this nightmare began.

"If I do this, does that mean you'll let her go?"

He hit send, the cold sweat on his neck making him shiver as he waited for a response. His mind raced, clinging to the faint hope that maybe—maybe—Sylus had a plan that involved letting you go. Maybe there was a way out of this, a way to get you back. Alive.

The phone buzzed in his hand.

"You get knowledge that she's still breathing. Should suffice."

Xavier’s stomach dropped, his body going cold as he read the message. His heart hammered in his chest, rage bubbling up inside him, burning hotter with each passing second. That was it. That was all Sylus was offering—the knowledge that you were alive. Not freedom. Not safety. Just…existence. Sylus had no intention of letting you go. Not now. Not ever.

But why? What was his game? Why keep you? Why was he so obsessed?

Xavier’s mind flashed back to the surveillance footage. To the way Sylus had looked at you. That strange tenderness in his eyes, the possessiveness in his voice when he called you "mine". It hadn’t been cold or detached like the way he dealt with others. It was intimate. Like you were something he cherished, something that belonged to him.

Did this monster…love you?

The thought made Xavier sick to his core. No. Someone like Sylus wasn’t capable of love. He was a killer, a manipulator, a tyrant. People like him didn’t love—they controlled, they possessed. But then… why kidnap you? What was it about you that had caught his attention, his obsession? You couldn’t possibly mean that much to him. Could you?

Xavier’s fists clenched in anger. The thought of Sylus loving you—touching you—made his blood boil. The idea of you, his love, being held by that monster sent a dark wave of rage crashing over him. He couldn't stop the thought from festering in his mind, couldn't shake the image of Sylus holding you close, controlling you with that calm, possessive demeanor.

"Don't think you'll have her for long. I'll find her. And you. You won't like it when I do."

The words appeared on the screen before Xavier even realized he had typed them, each letter a promise of vengeance, of justice. He hit send, the anger burning in his chest like a fire he couldn't contain.

For a moment, there was silence. Then his phone buzzed again.

"I'd love to see you try. Although, you may be a tad bit too late when you arrive. I've already claimed her in more ways than one."

Xavier froze. His entire world tilted as the implications of Sylus’s words sank into his mind like a dagger. Claimed her? In more ways than one? His body stiffened, the air around him suddenly feeling thick, suffocating.

Had this monster…forced himself on you?

His breath caught in his throat, fury surging through him like a wildfire. No. No, he couldn't have. The thought of Sylus putting his hands on you, of violating you in any way, made Xavier feel like he was about to explode. His heart pounded in his chest, rage clouding his vision.

He couldn’t stop his fingers from moving, the words fueled by a deep, primal fury.

"You fucking bastard. I'll kill you."

The message was blunt, raw, and filled with a hatred so deep that it practically burned through the screen. Xavier’s body trembled, his pulse roaring in his ears as he waited, barely able to breathe.

Sylus’s response came quickly, sharp and dismissive, as if this were nothing more than a game to him.

"We'll be in touch. I'll be watching. Ciao."

Xavier's hand shook as he stared at the words. Sylus had won, for now. He had all the control, all the power. He had you. And as much as Xavier wanted to tear the phone apart, to destroy everything in his path, there was nothing he could do. Not yet.

The fight wasn’t over, but it had just gotten infinitely more personal.

And Xavier knew he wouldn’t rest until Sylus was dead.

Xavier stared at his phone in disbelief, his heart racing as he watched messages with Sylus disappeared. What the hell? He hadn’t deleted them. He frantically swiped at the screen, refreshing, trying to bring them back, but there was nothing. Just an empty thread where Sylus’s taunting words had been only moments before. Gone.

His chest tightened, a cold wave of dread sweeping over him. Could Sylus really manipulate his phone? Could he get into his messages, erase things at will? The thought made Xavier’s blood run cold. Sylus wasn’t just some twisted mob boss; he had control over everything—his world, his technology, even his mind. He was everywhere, watching every move Xavier made. It felt like a noose tightening around his neck.

His hand trembled as he stared at the blank screen. Sylus had just stripped him of the only connection he had left. No evidence. No trail.

Xavier swallowed hard and clicked on your profile picture, seeking something—anything—to ground him. Your smiling face filled the screen, staring back at him with that familiar warmth, and for a moment, his heart clenched so painfully that it felt like he couldn’t breathe. You. He could see you so clearly in his mind—your laugh, the way your eyes lit up when you smiled, the way you had looked at him with concern that last night, like you always knew when something was wrong.

He clicked on the last message he had sent you, his heart aching with a bitter sense of nostalgia.

"Meet me outside my door, it’s urgent."

You had rushed over that night, your knock echoing in his memory—quick and frantic, just like you. He could still see you standing in his doorway, breathless, your brow furrowed with worry, the anxious look on your face as you took in his tense expression.

You’d been worried about him—worried about what was going on. He hadn’t meant to scare you, but in a way, your worry had been endearing. You looked so cute when you were worried about him.

He remembered how his heart had skipped a beat when he saw you there, how he’d calmed you down with a soft smile, suggesting the two of you go grab food together. He had something to tell you. Something important.

That night—the last night he saw you—had been etched into his mind ever since. The kiss. The confession. The memory replayed over and over in his head, a cruel reminder of what he had lost. The way his heart had raced when he finally worked up the courage to tell you how he felt. The words had tumbled out of him—nervous, but genuine. He remembered the way you’d looked at him, eyes wide with surprise, and for a moment, he thought he’d blown it.

But then…you kissed him.

God, that kiss. Xavier’s breath caught in his throat as the memory washed over him. The softness of your lips, the warmth of your body pressed against his. The way his heart had nearly burst from his chest when you leaned into him, your fingers brushing against his skin as if testing the waters. He remembered how everything else had faded away in that moment. There had been no Hunter’s Association, no missions, no danger. Just you and him, wrapped up in each other, the world melting into the background.

That kiss had been everything he’d hoped for and more. It had been sweet, tentative at first, but quickly deepened into something more, something real. He could still feel the way his fingers had tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as the heat between you grew. He had wanted to lose himself in you, to never let go. It felt right. More right than anything had in years.

But then…he had pulled away. He had stopped himself. Why? Why hadn’t he just asked you to come home with him? Why hadn’t he let the night go further? He had been scared. Scared of pushing too far, too fast. Scared of ruining what you had just started.

And now you were gone.

Xavier’s chest ached as the regret hit him like a tidal wave. If he had just asked you to stay, if he had let you come home with him that night, maybe you’d still be here. Maybe you wouldn’t have been taken. Maybe Sylus wouldn’t have you now.

His heart clenched painfully as he stared at your smiling profile picture, the weight of his regret suffocating him. He wished he could turn back time, take back that night, change everything. He had been too cautious, too afraid to push things forward. And now… now he was paying the price.

With a shaky hand, Xavier typed a message into the empty thread.

"I am coming, my love. When you read this, we will be together again."

The words blurred on the screen, and he stared at them for a long moment before pressing send. He didn’t know if you’d ever see it. Didn’t know if you’d even get a chance to read it. But it didn’t matter.

He was coming for you.

No matter what it took, he would find you. Sylus or no Sylus, he wasn’t going to stop until he had you back in his arms. Safe.

Suddenly, a sharp knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts, his heart leaping in his chest.

“Xavier? I heard you were back. Is now a good time?” Captain Jenna’s voice came from the other side of the door, calm but commanding as always. Xavier felt a rush of dread wash over him. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to face anyone right now, to lie to Jenna’s face after everything he had just uncovered. But he had no choice.

His gaze dropped back to his phone, to the message he had just sent you, your smiling contact photo staring back at him like a distant memory of a life that felt so far away now. He had to lie. Sylus was watching. Everything depended on him playing his part.

With a deep breath, Xavier shut off the phone, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he tried to steady himself. The weight of it all—the anger, the regret, the fear—pressed down on him, but he couldn’t let it show. He had to wear the mask. For now.

He exhaled slowly, opening his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. His voice was steady, controlled, even as the storm raged inside him.

"Yes…come in."

The door creaked open, and Xavier sat up straighter, forcing a calm expression as Captain Jenna stepped into the room. His heart still ached, the images of you still burned into his mind, but he would do what he had to.

For you.

You lay on the cold bathroom floor, your body still trembling from the aftermath of your vomiting. The cool tile pressed against your cheek, grounding you in reality, even though you desperately wanted to drift away from it. You felt weak, drained, as though the life had been wrung out of you by your own body’s betrayal. The soft hum of the overhead light buzzed, the only sound breaking through the thick silence that surrounded you. The nausea still churned in your stomach, but now it felt different—this wasn’t from sickness. This was from the weight of the truth sitting heavy in your chest, pressing down harder with every shallow breath you took.

You stared at the boxes of pregnancy tests that sat between you and the bathroom entrance, their neat, pristine packaging somehow mocking you. They were simple—just cardboard and plastic—but they felt like they had the power to tear your world apart. They loomed in the small space like a ticking bomb, waiting for you to take the next step. You knew what Sylus wanted. He wanted confirmation. He had planted the seed—literally—and now he was waiting, watching for the inevitable proof.

His words echoed in your mind, even though he was no longer in the room. "Take your time. I'll be in the room." The gentle kiss he had placed on your forehead before leaving left an imprint, a brand you couldn’t shake off. The way he had looked at you, with that dark, possessive patience, still sent chills down your spine. You hated it. Hated him.

The soft sound of his shoes getting farther and farther away had felt like a death sentence.

Now, you were alone. Alone with the tests and your growing fear.

You curled up tighter on the floor, wrapping your arms around your legs as if that could somehow shield you from what was coming. This can’t be real. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you tried to blink them away. You had to think. You had to focus, but all you could feel was the overwhelming weight of dread pressing down on you.

Your gaze kept drifting back to the boxes. What were your options?

The thought crossed your mind—maybe you could slam your head against the sink or the floor until everything went black. Maybe that would buy you some time. Maybe you could avoid facing this nightmare for just a little longer. But deep down, you knew it wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t kill you. You’d wake up with a concussion, maybe worse, and Sylus would simply chain you to the bed, his control tightening even further.

No. There was no escaping this.

Your chest tightened, and the panic began to rise again, bubbling up inside you until it was choking you. The silence in the room grew heavier, like the air itself was thickening, pressing down on your lungs. You could barely breathe.

You sat up slowly, every movement feeling like you were dragging yourself through quicksand. It’s fine. It’s just stress. You’re not pregnant. You’re just sick. That’s it. The nausea, the dizziness, the aches—they’re from being here. From the constant tension. It’s Sylus messing with your mind.

You weren’t pregnant. You couldn’t be.

But even as you tried to convince yourself, the doubt crept in. The signs had been there for days now, maybe even weeks. The constant exhaustion, the strange tenderness in your body, the way your stomach felt uneasy after every meal. Even the smallest things—like how your clothes had started to feel just a little bit tighter, or how your body seemed heavier, more sluggish. No. No.

You swallowed hard, staring at the boxes again. Despite the lavish bathroom being huge, the room felt too small, the walls too close. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears as you reached for one of the boxes, your hands trembling.

Fine. You’d take the test, and then you’d laugh. You’d prove Sylus wrong. You could already imagine the smug look on his face melting away when you showed him the negative result. He was toying with you. This was just another one of his cruel games, right?

Your fingers fumbled with the box, your hands shaking so badly that you almost dropped it. The cheap cardboard tore under your grip, and you finally managed to pull the pregnancy test free. The plastic felt cold and foreign in your hand, like you didn’t even know what to do with it.

How did you end up here? How did this become your reality?

You stood up slowly, your legs wobbling beneath you, and shuffled awkwardly toward the toilet. The nausea rose again, a sickening wave that made you gag, but you swallowed it down, willing yourself to keep it together. It’s just a test. Just a stupid test.

The test felt clumsy in your grasp as you positioned yourself awkwardly. You had never thought you’d ever have to take a test until you were ready for a baby. Pregnancy hadn't been on your radar for awhile. You had always been careful, always taken the necessary precautions.

Birth control had supposed to been your protector.

But then Sylus...

You closed your eyes for a second, biting down on your lip hard enough to taste blood, and then you did it. After a few tense moments, you placed the test on the counter and sat back down on the floor.

Now you had to wait.

The seconds ticked by, stretching into what felt like hours. The ticking of the clock on the wall filled the room, each sound loud and grating in the stillness. Your heart pounded in your chest, so fast and so loud that it almost drowned out the noise around you. Not pregnant. You’re not pregnant.

You curled your knees to your chest, rocking slightly as you waited, your stomach churning with nausea, but this time from the overwhelming sense of dread that was building inside of you. The thought of looking at that test, of confirming what Sylus had already suspected, made your skin crawl. It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s not real.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you forced yourself to stand. Your legs were shaking, and your hands were clammy as you reached for the test. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, willing yourself to have the strength to look. It’s going to be negative. You’re going to laugh at this. You’re going to shove it in Sylus’s face.

But when you finally opened your eyes, the world tilted beneath your feet.

Two faint pink lines.

Your breath caught in your throat, your mind refusing to process what you were seeing. No. You blinked, your vision blurring as you stared down at the test. No. You held it closer to your face, as if maybe, just maybe, you had read it wrong. But the lines didn’t change. They stayed there—two unmistakable lines.

Positive.

The air left your lungs in a painful rush, and the room began to spin. You dropped the test, the small plastic clattering against the tile as your legs gave out beneath you. You crumpled to the floor, your body folding in on itself as the sobs began to tear through you.

No. No. No.

You buried your face in your hands, the sobs coming harder now, shaking your entire body. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. But no matter how much you cried, no matter how much you wanted to deny it, the truth was staring you in the face.

You were pregnant.

Sylus had done this to you. He had taken everything from you—your freedom, your choices, your body—and now he had tied you to him in a way you couldn’t escape. You felt sick, disgusted, and utterly trapped. Your hand moved instinctively to your stomach, hovering there for a moment, but you couldn’t bring yourself to touch it. This was real.

And there was no way out.

The scream ripped from your throat before you could even register the sound. It was raw, primal, and filled with the kind of desperation you hadn’t known you were capable of. Your entire body shook with the force of it, and you dug your nails into the cold tile, gasping for air through the sobs that wouldn’t stop. This can’t be happening. This thing inside you, this parasite that was feeding off your body, off your very life. The thought clawed at your mind, tearing you apart from the inside.

With shaking hands, you grabbed the pregnancy test box, rage surging through you as you hurled it across the bathroom. It hit the wall with a dull thud, the remaining tests scattering across the floor in a chaotic mess. It didn’t make you feel better. It didn’t release the boiling anger inside of you. The sobs only grew louder, more frantic, as the reality of it all hit you like a crushing weight. This was real.

Sylus had forced himself inside you. And now something else of his was also inside you.

You curled into yourself, pressing your hands against your stomach as if you could will the parasite away. Your breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, your chest heaving with the effort.

Get it out. Get it out.

You couldn’t stop the spiral of thoughts, the feeling of complete and utter violation.

Then, the sound of hurried footsteps.

Through your tear-blurred vision, you saw Sylus rush into the bathroom, his eyes locking onto you instantly. His calm demeanor was gone, replaced by concern. He took in the scene—the scattered tests, the crumpled pregnancy box, and you, curled up on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

His expression softened as he knelt down beside you, his hands reaching out as though to comfort you, to soothe your trembling body. “Shh…,” he murmured, his voice calm, almost tender, as he tried to get closer to you. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

But the sound of his voice—that voice—only sent another wave of fury through you. You recoiled from him, your body jerking away as his hands hovered too close, your head snapping up as you glared through tear-stained eyes.

“No!” you screamed, your voice raw and broken. “Don’t touch me!”

Sylus froze, his hands still hovering near you, but his face remained composed, watching your every move, your every tear with that same unsettling patience.

“You did this to me!” The words ripped from your throat, your voice shaking as you let the sobs tear through you again. “You put a parasite in me! It’s feeding off me! I hate you! I hate you!” Your body convulsed with the weight of your anger, your fear, your disgust.

Sylus didn’t flinch. His eyes darkened for just a moment as your words hit him, but he didn’t respond with anger. Instead, he leaned closer, his voice lowering as he spoke, "Honey. It’s okay. You’re overwhelmed. Let me help you.”

The tenderness in his voice only made your skin crawl more, and you pulled away again, pushing yourself against the wall as if it could somehow protect you from him. But you knew better. There was no escaping Sylus, not anymore.

“Get away from me!” you sobbed, your voice cracking under the strain. “I don’t want your help! You’ve ruined everything! You’ve taken everything from me! And now you’ve put this—this thing inside me!”

His face remained impassive, but there was something behind his eyes now—a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. “It’s not a thing,” he said softly, inching closer again, though still careful not to touch you yet. “It’s a child, sweetie. Our child.”

Those words sent a violent shiver through you, and your stomach turned. Our child. The thought made you feel like you were suffocating. Your breaths grew more frantic, your body trembling harder as the sobs became desperate gasps. No. You couldn’t accept that. You wouldn’t.

“You’ve trapped me,” you whispered, your voice shaking with anger, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. “You’ve ruined my life. I’ll never forgive you for this. Never.”

"You were planning to forgive me?" he asked, half jokingly and half confused. You don't respond immediately glaring at him for a few short seconds, as if trying to force his existence away altogether.

"Fuck off!"

Sylus remained calm, even as you spat your words at him, even as you screamed your hatred in his face. He sat back slightly, watching you crumble before him. He didn’t respond with cruelty, nor did he try to argue. He simply waited, his gaze never leaving you, his presence like a suffocating blanket that you couldn’t escape. You hated him for it—hated how composed he was, how in control he remained even as you fell apart at his feet.

He let your sobs fill the room, let you scream and cry and tremble, but eventually, when your voice grew hoarse and the tears ran dry, he leaned closer again, this time more confident in his movements. He reached out, this time taking your face gently in his hands, his thumb brushing the stray tears from your cheeks.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Sylus murmured, his voice calm, steady. “But you will understand. In time.”

Your body went rigid at his touch, but you didn’t have the strength to pull away anymore. You were too drained, too broken. The weight of it all had settled into your bones, and you felt like there was nothing left inside of you but emptiness. Even the rage had flickered out, leaving you with nothing but a hollow pit of despair.

“Let me help you,” Sylus said again, his hands still holding your face, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “I know you’re scared. I know this wasn’t what you wanted. But you’ll see, sweetie. This child—they will change everything.”

His words made your blood boil again, but the fight had gone out of you. All you could do was stare up at him, your body trembling, tears still streaking down your face. The cold tile pressed against your back, grounding you in this horrible reality. You were trapped. Bound to him in a way you could never escape.

And he knew it.

Sylus’s hands stayed steady on your face, his touch far too gentle for the storm raging inside you. You felt like you were breaking apart, crumbling in his grip, but even through the haze of tears and anger, he remained composed, calm. His thumb brushed away the tears still spilling from your eyes, and he let out a soft sigh.

"I don’t like seeing you cry," he murmured, his voice a low hum that seemed to reverberate through the small bathroom. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours, unblinking. "But if you must…then cry on me."

His words made your heart clench painfully, the bile rising in your throat again as the weight of his command—no, his offer—settled over you. Cry on him? The thought disgusted you, but you were too exhausted, too torn apart to resist any longer. The sobs were still clawing at your throat, your body shaking with the effort of trying to keep them down. You hated him. You hated him so much, but he was the only thing there, the only thing keeping you tethered to reality in this moment, twisted as that reality had become.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, your forehead pressing into his chest as the tears came again, harder this time. Your fists clenched against the fabric of his shirt, your sobs muffled against him as you shook uncontrollably. It felt like your mind was unraveling, slipping away from you, and you hated that he was the only option you had for any semblance of comfort. Sylus. The man who had orchestrated all of this.

You despised him, and yet…you clung to him. There was no one else.

You had no other choice.

Your sobs came in waves, each one more broken than the last, your body wracked with the force of your grief. Sylus’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you in closer, holding you tightly against him. His hand began stroking your back, slow and deliberate, the movement meant to soothe, to quiet the storm inside of you. And it made your skin crawl, made you want to tear away from him, but you didn’t. You couldn’t.

He leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against your hair as he whispered, “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t how you wanted it, but…I love you.” His voice was gentle, almost tender, and the sound of it only made the nausea twist harder in your stomach.

"I love you," he repeated softly, like a promise, his fingers tracing slow, calming circles on your back. "I can’t wait to hold our baby. Half you, half me…perfect."

Your body stiffened at his words, bile rising again, but you didn’t move. You didn’t have the strength. Instead, you cried harder into his chest, the fabric of his shirt wet with your tears as you tried to block out what he was saying, tried to close off the part of your mind that was registering the sheer genuineness in his voice.

He sounded…excited. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was about to start crying.

Disgust rolled through you like a wave, but it was smothered by the exhaustion that had settled deep into your bones. How could he be excited about this? How could he speak so softly, so sweetly, about something so wrong? So vile? You hated him for it. Hated the way he talked about this baby, this thing inside of you, as if it were some dream come true.

"I can’t wait to see what our baby will be like," Sylus continued, his voice warm with anticipation. His hand never stopped its slow, soothing path along your back. "Regardless, they'll be beautiful, Just like you."

You wanted to scream at him. To pull away, to tear yourself out of his grasp and run as far as you could. But the reality was too suffocating, too crushing. Your body wouldn’t move, wouldn’t obey your mind. You were frozen in his arms, forced to listen to him speak about a future you couldn’t even begin to imagine, a future you wanted no part of.

"I don't want to give birth" you sob into his shirt, gripping your fists tighter.

"I know you’re scared," he whispered, his lips close to your ear now, his breath warm against your skin. "But I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of both of you."

His words were like poison, slowly sinking into your mind, and you wanted to shove them away, to reject every syllable. But his hand on your back, his arms around you—it was all so steady, so calm. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t forcing you. He was just… there. Waiting for you to break.

"I’m sorry," Sylus murmured again, his voice soft, but full of that dark possessiveness you had come to dread. "But this…this is how it had to be. Things are just a little hard right now. Soon, you’ll see just how beautiful your life will be." His fingers stroked the back of your head gently, his voice a constant, maddening reassurance.

Your sobs began to quiet, but only because you had no energy left to cry. You hated him. God, you hated him. Every word he spoke made your stomach twist with revulsion, and yet, the sobs were now muffled against him, your body leaning into his, helpless in your own weakness.

"I love you," Sylus whispered one last time, his lips brushing against your temple. "And I love them too. Our little family."

A shudder ran through you, your heart breaking under the weight of his words. Our family. It sounded so wrong. So twisted. But he spoke with such genuine tenderness, with such sincerity, that it made your skin crawl. He meant it. He actually meant it.

And you were trapped.

Tied to him by something you never wanted, something that was now a part of you, growing inside you, linking you to him in a way you could never escape.

You finally tore yourself away from him, the anger bubbling up inside you until it felt like it would consume you whole. His touch felt like a poison, seeping into your skin, suffocating you. You stumbled out of his arms, putting as much distance between the two of you as your weakened body would allow. Disgusting freak. The words echoed over and over in your mind, ringing in your ears like a relentless drumbeat. This monster. He had done this to you. He had planted something inside you.

Your feet moved without you thinking, chain noisily dragging on the floor, carrying you out of the bathroom and toward the bed as if you could somehow escape the nightmare unfolding around you. He put a monster inside me. The thought made your stomach churn, your head spinning as you tried to grasp the enormity of it all. You were trapped. Trapped by him, by your own body, and now by this…thing growing inside you.

You could feel the bile rising in your throat again, the nausea twisting your insides into painful knots. You leaned over the bed, clutching the edge of the mattress as your body heaved, but this time it wasn’t just the nausea—it was the sheer revulsion, the overwhelming sense of betrayal. He had taken everything from you. Your freedom. Your choices. And now, he had taken control of your body in the most horrifying way imaginable.

Your mind raced, grasping for a way out, any way out. Hunger strike. You could starve yourself. You could stop eating, let your body waste away until there was nothing left for it to feed on. Maybe then, this nightmare would end. But the thought only lingered for a moment before another, darker idea crept in. Hot showers. You had read somewhere that pregnant women weren’t supposed to take hot showers. Could that work? Could you force your body to reject this thing inside you?

Your mind spiraled, the possibilities flashing through your thoughts in quick, frantic bursts, none of them staying long enough to feel real. You didn’t know if it would work. You didn’t know if any of this would work. But you had to try, didn’t you? You couldn’t let this happen. You couldn’t let Sylus win.

A sharp wave of nausea hit you again, pulling you back to the present, and you gagged, clutching the bed for support as your body threatened to betray you once more. You wanted to vomit, to purge this feeling, this sickness, to purge the very thought of what was happening to you. Maybe you should vomit all over the bed. It would serve him right. His pristine, perfect bed, ruined by the very thing he had caused.

But before you could move, before you could make the decision to act, you heard him behind you.

“Easy, honey.” His voice was soft, infuriatingly gentle, and the sound of it sent a violent shiver down your spine. You felt his hands on you again, his touch light but firm as he gently turned you around, guiding you back toward the bathroom with a patience that made your stomach twist even more.

Why is he doing this? You couldn’t understand it. Your mind couldn’t process the calmness, the care in his movements. After everything he’s done. After all the control he’d exerted over you, the pain, the manipulation…why was he being gentle now? Why was he acting like he cared?

Before you could think any further, your body betrayed you. The nausea you had been holding back surged forward, and before you could stop it, the vomit spilled from your mouth, coating Sylus’s shirt and splattering onto the floor below. The bile burned your throat, and for a moment, you were too shocked to react, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Your heart stopped, panic surging through you as your mind caught up to what had just happened. Shit. You stared at the mess you had made, your body frozen in place as you waited for the inevitable. He’s going to lose it. You had just vomited all over him, all over his perfect, controlled exterior. Surely this would snap his calm. Surely this would make him angry.

But to your utter shock, Sylus didn’t flinch. He didn’t react at all. His face remained impassive, his expression as calm and composed as it had been moments ago, as though the vomit on his shirt didn’t even register.

“Do you feel better at least, honey?” His voice was filled with amusement, almost soothing, as if this were just another normal moment between the two of you, as if you hadn’t just thrown up all over him.

You stared at him in disbelief, your breath still shaky as your mind tried to process what was happening. How can he be so calm? He's seriously asking if you feel better after throwing up on him? You couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but give a small, weak nod, your body still trembling from the exertion of vomiting. You did feel better after that...not just physically, the nausea settling at last. Something about seeing Sylus covered in vomit, something he was the indirect cause of, was satisfying.

Sylus let out a low, amused laugh, his eyes softening as he watched you. “Good, that's all I care about” he said simply, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Without another word, he pulled the vomit-covered shirt over his head, tossing it aside in one fluid motion. His chiseled chest and abs were now fully visible, and despite the disgust still swirling in your gut, you couldn’t help the way your cheeks flushed with heat. You quickly averted your gaze, hating the way your body reacted to the sight of him, hating that even now, after everything, your body still betrayed you.

But Sylus didn’t seem to notice your reaction. Or at least, pretended not to notice. He reached out again, his touch gentle as he guided you back toward the bed. “Come on, lie down,” he said softly, his voice laced with that same unsettling tenderness. “I’ll clean this up. Don’t worry about it.”

You hesitated, the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. You didn’t want to do what he said, didn’t want to follow his instructions, but your body had reached its limit. The fight had drained out of you, leaving you feeling like an empty shell, hollow and spent. Without another word, you collapsed onto the bed, your limbs heavy and weak as you sank into the soft mattress.

As you lay there, staring up at the ceiling, you couldn’t help but watch him through teary, half-lidded eyes. You expected him to be angry, to snap at you, to make you clean up the mess you had made, but instead, Sylus crouched down and began cleaning up the vomit with meticulous care. He wiped the floor with a towel after spraying some kind of cleaner, his movements precise and deliberate, as though this were just another part of his daily routine.

Why is he doing this? The question gnawed at you, tearing at the edges of your sanity. Why is he being so gentle? So calm. Shouldn’t he be yelling at you? Shouldn’t he be furious that you had ruined his shirt, that you had made such a mess? But there he was, calmly wiping the floor, acting like none of it bothered him in the slightest.

It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

As you lay there, your body still trembling from the effort of vomiting, you felt a strange sense of detachment settle over you. You were watching him clean up your mess, watching him act like he cared, and it was like you were seeing it all from a distance. He’s supposed to be your captor. He’s supposed to be the monster that destroyed your life, the one who took away everything you cared about.

So why…why was he going to such lengths to take care of you? Especially after ignoring you for days and days on end before his trip?

The questions swirled in your mind, each one more unsettling than the last, but you were too tired, too overwhelmed to find any answers. You hated him. You despised him for what he had done to you. And yet…here he was, gently cleaning up after you, tending to you like you were something precious, something fragile.

When he finished, Sylus turned to you, his expression softening as his eyes met yours. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate as he sat down on the edge of the bed beside you.

“Feeling any better? I have plenty more shirts for you to vomit on if the answer is no” he joked, his voice gentle, almost kind.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. The words stuck in your throat, tangled with the confusion and anger and exhaustion that had settled deep in your chest. Instead, you stared up at him, your tear-filled eyes searching his face for any sign of malice, any trace of the cruelty you had come to expect from him.

But there was none. Just that same calm, that same unsettling tenderness that made your skin crawl.

Sylus reached out, his hand brushing the damp hair away from your face. His touch was gentle, soothing, and you wanted to pull away, to scream at him, but your body wouldn’t obey. You were too tired. Too drained. So you let him touch you, let him stroke your hair as you lay there, staring up at him with a mix of hatred and confusion.

“Rest, kitten,” Sylus murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You've had a long day.”

As he continued to stroke your hair, you felt your body begin to relax against your will, the exhaustion pulling you under like a heavy blanket. You hated him. God, you hated him. But you couldn’t fight anymore. Not now.

And as your eyelids grew heavier, the last thought that flickered through your mind was one you couldn’t shake:

Are monsters capable of love?

You were running.

The world around you was a blur, dark and suffocating, your feet pounding against the ground as you sprinted forward. The only sound filling the air was the piercing cry of the baby in your arms—a sound so loud, so shrill, it felt like it was splitting your skull. You tried to hush it, tried to quiet the wailing, but the baby’s cries only grew louder, more insistent, drowning out everything else. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest as you clutched the baby closer, but it was no use.

You couldn’t escape.

No matter how fast you ran, no matter how far you went, he was always behind you. Sylus. You could feel him closing in, his presence pressing down on you like a heavy shadow, lurking just beyond the edge of your vision. You couldn’t keep away from him like this—not with the baby. The weight of it slowed you down, its cries echoing in your ears, making it impossible to think, impossible to escape.

You needed to get rid of it.

Your eyes darted around, frantically searching for somewhere—anywhere—to put the baby. Your heart raced faster, your pulse thundering in your ears as you looked for a way out, for a place to hide. And then, you saw it: a box. An old, weathered box sitting in the shadows, half-open as if it were waiting for you.

Without thinking, you stumbled toward it, your legs trembling beneath you as you approached. You looked down at the baby in your arms, its face red and scrunched up as it screamed, its tiny hands clutching at your clothes, and for a moment, a flicker of guilt tugged at the edges of your mind. But this is the only way. You had to get rid of it. You couldn’t keep running, not with this weight dragging you down.

The box seemed to beckon you, and with shaking hands, you placed the baby inside. Its cries grew louder, more desperate, echoing off the walls as you closed the lid, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You couldn’t look back. You couldn’t let the guilt stop you.

The baby’s screams filled the air, shrill and deafening, but you turned away.

You took a step, then another, walking further and further from the box. The cries became distant, muffled, as if the sound was being swallowed by the darkness. It’s over. The baby was gone. You were free.

But then…a voice.

It was small, almost childlike, but laced with something dark, something that sent a chill racing down your spine.

“How could you leave me, Mommy?”

You froze, your heart stopping in your chest as the words hung in the air. Slowly, you turned, your breath catching in your throat as you looked back at the box. The baby’s cries had stopped. Silence pressed down on you, thick and heavy, making the air around you feel too dense to breathe.

“Don’t you love me?” the voice continued, and you felt your blood run cold. The lid of the box creaked open, and your heart sank. You wanted to run, but your legs wouldn’t move. You were rooted to the spot, helpless as the baby climbed out, but it wasn’t a baby anymore.

It had changed.

The thing that crawled out of the box was no longer the small, fragile infant you had left behind. Its body had twisted, morphed into something grotesque. Its skin was pitch black and sickly, its limbs too long, its eyes too wide and gleaming with a cruel intelligence.

The baby—the monster—fixed its gaze on you, a twisted smile stretching across its face. “You’re the monster, not me,” it hissed, its voice dripping with venom. “You’re the one who abandoned me. You’re the one who doesn’t care.”

You stumbled back, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the creature advanced on you, its twisted body contorting as it moved. You wanted to scream, wanted to turn and run, but your body wouldn’t obey. You were paralyzed with fear, trapped in the nightmare as the creature’s words pierced through you.

The creature lunged at you, its clawed hands reaching out, its sharp teeth bared. “You’re the monster!” it screamed, its voice echoing in your mind, the accusation burning into your thoughts as it leaped forward.

And then everything went black.

You jolted awake, your body drenched in sweat, your heart racing as though it were about to burst from your chest.

You held a trembling hand to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart after the nightmare. Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, your skin still damp with sweat. Just a nightmare. Another horrible, twisted nightmare. You should’ve been relieved that it wasn’t real, but the fear clung to you, refusing to let go. What if the dreams kept getting worse?

The memory of the baby—no, the monster—flashed in your mind. It had lunged at you, screaming that you were the monster. You shuddered, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to push the image away. It was just a dream, nothing more. But why did it feel so real? And why did it feel like it was more than just your imagination running wild?

You hadn’t wanted to sleep in the first place. The only reason you’d fallen asleep at all was because of your outburst earlier having taken all your energy. The exhaustion had finally pulled you under, but instead of the relief you craved, it had brought you nothing but torment. Awful, suffocating dreams that clung to you even now.

Your hand drifted down to your belly, and you hesitated, unsure of what you were even feeling for.

Are you even real?

The thought echoed in your mind, your fingers hovering over your stomach as if touching it would make it all real, too real. Maybe the test had been wrong. Maybe this was all some twisted lie Sylus had fed you.

But then, another, more terrifying thought crossed your mind. When would you feel it move? The idea made your stomach churn with nausea again. The thought of something growing inside you, something moving, living… it made you want to crawl out of your own skin. You pressed your hand harder against your stomach, as if trying to confirm or deny the existence of this thing.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps, and before you could react, the door opened. Sylus shuffled in, a plate of waffles balanced in his hands. His presence filled the room, his footsteps soft but heavy enough to send a chill down your spine. The smell of syrup and cinnamon filled the air.

"Another bad dream?" he asked, his voice far too gentle for the weight of the situation. You didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to acknowledge him, but you found yourself nodding despite the effort it took to keep yourself together.

Sylus set the plate down in front of you, the smell of food wafting up, making your stomach turn again. You couldn’t even think about eating, not after the dream, not after the terrifying thought of something moving inside you. You didn't want to eat. Didn't want to nourish the beast inside you. But you stayed silent, gripping the blanket in your lap as you tried to focus on anything but the food or the man standing so close.

He sat beside you, his fingers reaching out to gently stroke your hair, as if this were all so normal, as if you weren’t crumbling from the inside. His touch made your skin crawl, but you didn’t have the strength to push him away.

"I want you to take another test," he said softly, his hand continuing its slow, deliberate strokes through your hair. "No worries, it won’t be the ones you threw on the floor."

You gulped, your throat suddenly dry, dread settling like a stone in your stomach. Another test. You didn’t want to face the reality you were so desperately trying to avoid. Once was enough, wasn’t it? You had already seen those two faint pink lines that had shattered your world. But now, you’d have to face it again.

You said nothing, staying silent as you stared at the plate in front of you, your mind racing. Sylus didn’t seem bothered by your lack of response. His fingers never stopped stroking your hair, a twisted form of comfort that only made you feel more trapped.

"I’d estimate you’re about four weeks and four days pregnant right now, sweetie," he continued, his voice soft, almost as if he were talking about the weather. "At about six to seven weeks, I’m having a doctor come here to do an ultrasound. We’ll also hear the baby’s heartbeat."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Ultrasound. Heartbeat. The reality of it felt like it was closing in on you, suffocating you. Your mind reeled at the thought of it—of hearing something inside you. Something that was half him.

You stared at the food, your appetite gone completely now, your chest tightening as you fought the rising panic. You didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want to see it. You didn’t want any of this. But Sylus was already talking about the future, about this baby, like it was a certainty, like it was his dream coming to life.

You felt like screaming, but the words caught in your throat, trapped by the fear and helplessness. All you could do was sit there, nodding numbly as he continued to stroke your hair, his voice a constant reminder that you were trapped in this nightmare.

You finally mustered the courage to speak, your voice trembling as the words left your mouth. “How do you know how far along I am? Are you secretly an OB-GYN or something?”

For a moment, the room hung in silence, thick and heavy with tension. Sylus’s eyes flickered with amusement before he let out a soft, almost casual laugh, like the question had genuinely entertained him. The sound of it made your stomach churn, the lightness of his reaction so at odds with the fear gnawing at your insides.

“No, kitten,” he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with that familiar confidence that always left you on edge. “I told you. I’ve been tracking your period and ovulation.”

Your body froze. His words were like ice flooding your veins, your blood running cold as realization sank in. You felt yourself recoil, the room suddenly too small, too suffocating. Every muscle in your body tensed, the nausea swelling in your gut as the full weight of what he had just said hit you.

It wasn’t just some twisted joke. He had actually been tracking you—monitoring your body like it was a tool, like he was a puppeteer pulling invisible strings. He knew. Every detail. Every cycle. Every moment when your body had been vulnerable, he had been watching, waiting.

Your thoughts raced back to the night of your so-called “punishment,” the sex had seemed far too strange and easy to even really be considered a real punishment. You had been ovulating that day and he knew it. Now it all made sense. He planned everything. He had known what he was doing—carefully orchestrating every move like a sick game. You had thought he was cruel before, but this… this was something else. Something beyond cruelty.

You felt like your skin was crawling. He had planned it all, down to the most intimate detail of your body. The air felt too thick, your chest too tight as you struggled to breathe, your mind scrambling for some way to make sense of the horror of it all.

"Freak."

The word slipped from your lips, barely more than a whisper, but it carried every ounce of your disgust, your revulsion. You pushed the plate of waffles away from you, the sight and smell of food turning your stomach even more. How could you eat? How could you even stomach the idea of him feeding you after knowing the full extent of his manipulation?

But Sylus only chuckled again, the sound light and unfazed, as if your insult hadn’t landed at all. He picked up the fork and speared a piece of waffle, lifting it toward you with a grin that made your blood boil.

“Don’t be like that, kitten,” he coaxed, his tone playful, teasing, as though he hadn’t just shattered your world with his confession. He held the fork out to you, the piece of waffle balanced delicately on the end as if this were some kind of intimate gesture.

“Come on. Eat.”

You stared at him, your eyes wide with disbelief, your stomach twisting in knots. How could he be so casual, so calm about all of this? You wanted to knock the fork out of his hand, to scream at him, to make him see the rage and fear burning inside you, but the words caught in your throat.

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered, your voice weak but filled with defiance. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. The idea of accepting anything from him right now made you feel sick. You turned your head away, trying to block him out, your hands clenched so tightly in your lap that your nails dug painfully into your palms.

Sylus didn’t seem the least bit surprised by your refusal. He set the fork down on the plate, his movements calm and deliberate, his eyes never leaving you. His expression didn’t change. The amusement lingered in his gaze, but there was something else there now—something darker, something more determined.

“You can’t starve the baby,” he said, his voice dropping into a softer, more serious tone. The calmness in his voice made the words all the more chilling. “I won’t let you.”

The room seemed to grow colder, his words wrapping around you like a vice, squeezing tighter with every breath. Starve the baby. It was as if he had reached inside your mind, plucked the very thought you were trying to bury, and laid it out in front of you like a threat. He knew. He knew what you were thinking, what you were hoping for. And he wasn’t going to let you escape.

Your stomach dropped, the weight of his control pressing down on you like a physical force. There was no escape. You couldn’t starve the baby. You couldn’t do anything. He was right there, always one step ahead, already planning every outcome. He wasn’t angry—he didn’t need to be. The threat was already clear.

Sylus leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking with yours, his voice steady and unwavering. “I’ll take care of you,” he said softly, his tone almost gentle, but the underlying authority was unmistakable. “You and the baby. No matter what you do, I’ll be here.”

You could feel the rage building in your chest, bubbling up like a storm ready to break, but it was trapped beneath the suffocating weight of his words. The hopelessness. The helplessness. You wanted to scream, to lash out, to fight—but the exhaustion was already pulling you down, drowning you in the realization that there was no way out.

You glared at him, your teeth gritted, your hands trembling from the sheer force of holding back the torrent of emotions. But Sylus remained calm, his gaze unwavering, patient. He didn’t need to push. He didn’t need to force you. He knew he had already won.

Your thoughts raced, swirling in chaos, the air thick with tension. Your mind kept flashing to the nightmare, the baby’s cries morphing into screams, accusing you of being the monster. You couldn’t bear the thought of this thing growing inside you, something that would tie you to him forever.

But Sylus sat there, watching you, his expression a mixture of amusement and something far more sinister. He wasn’t going to let you escape this. He wasn’t going to let you do anything to harm the baby.

His baby.

And you knew, in that moment, that there was no fighting him. He was in control of everything—your body, your choices, your future.

“Eat,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of his words felt like chains binding you to him.

And as the silence settled in the room, you felt the walls close in, the hopelessness creeping in around you, suffocating you.

Your hands clenched into fists, your body shaking with a violent, rising fury. No. Fuck him. Fuck this baby. You couldn’t stomach the idea of giving in to his control, not again. You couldn’t let him win. If he was going to force you into this, so be it. You’d fight him every step of the way.

“I’m not eating,” you spat, your voice raw with anger. The defiance in your words was the last shred of resistance you had left, but you clung to it like a lifeline. You glared at him, trying to summon every ounce of strength to hold your ground. “I don’t care what you do. I won’t do this. I won’t be your prisoner, and I won’t nourish this—this thing.”

Sylus didn’t flinch. His face didn’t even shift. Instead, his lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement that made your skin crawl. There was no frustration in his expression, no anger, just the unnerving calm of someone who was always ten steps ahead. He had anticipated this. He had expected it. And that knowledge made your stomach turn, a chill crawling down your spine.

“Sweetie,” he said softly, his voice far too calm for the storm of emotions raging inside you. He tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating his next words carefully. “You have two choices. Either you eat and nourish the baby...or Xavier dies.”

The name hit you like a punch to the gut. All the air rushed from your lungs, your body going cold as the words sank in. Xavier. Your heart stuttered, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to collapse. You stared at Sylus, wide-eyed and trembling, the room spinning around you.

“No,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you tried to process what he had just said. “No…you’ve killed him anyway! I won’t fall for your tricks!” You needed to believe it—to convince yourself that Xavier was already gone, that Sylus was lying, manipulating you. That this was just another one of his mind games.

But the way he was looking at you, so calm, so sure—it made you doubt. It made you fear.

“Actually,” Sylus cooed, his voice dripping with condescension. “Xavier is very much alive. He’s been looking for you. Quite the determined man, I’ll give him that.”

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest, but you shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. No. He’s lying. “You’re lying!” you screamed, your voice filled with desperation. “You’re trying to mess with my head!”

Sylus’s eyes gleamed with amusement, his lips curving into that same, unnerving smile. “Sweetie,” he said, his voice low and calm, but there was an edge to it now. “I am many things, but a liar to you? I am not. Do you really think that?”

Your breath hitched in your throat, the words catching before you could respond. Of course you thought he was a liar. He was a manipulator, a monster. But something about the way he said it—the confidence, the certainty—made your blood run cold.

Before you could say anything, Sylus stood up, leaving the room without another word. You sat there, frozen, your heart pounding in your chest, the echo of Xavier’s name still ringing in your ears. He’s alive? No way. Sylus was playing with you. He had to be.

Moments later, the door creaked open again, and Sylus returned—holding something in his hand. You squinted, trying to make sense of it, and then you saw it. Your phone.

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes locked onto the familiar case. Your phone. You hadn’t seen it in what felt like an eternity. It was as if a piece of your old life had been placed right in front of you, a stark reminder of the world outside of this nightmare.

Sylus walked closer, the phone dangling loosely from his fingers as he watched your reaction with a smug, knowing smile. He unlocked it with ease, swiping across the screen with fluid movements, and it didn’t surprise you in the slightest that he knew your passcode. Of course he did. He always knew everything.

But then, he turned the screen toward you.

Your breath stopped in your chest as you saw the text message on the screen, your heart thundering in your ears. The words stared back at you, sharp and undeniable:

“I am coming, my love. When you read this, we will be together again.”

Your hands flew to your mouth as a gasp escaped your lips. Xavier. He was alive. He was alive and looking for you. The realization hit you like a wave, crashing into you with such force that tears sprang to your eyes. All the fear, all the desperation you had bottled up came flooding out. He was still out there.

But Sylus…Sylus had him in his sights.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “Leave him alone, you bastard!” The tears spilled over, running down your cheeks as you shook with a mixture of rage and despair. “Don’t you dare hurt him! Please!”

Sylus looked at you pitifully, his eyes softening as if your tears were hurting him. But you could see the satisfaction underneath it all, the way his lips curled just slightly at the edges. “You both love that nickname,” he said with a mocking sigh, as if indulging in a private joke.

“He had similar things to say when I talked to him.”

Your blood ran cold at the thought of Sylus getting anywhere near Xavier. He had spoken to him. Sylus had gotten close enough to Xavier to make him suffer. You clenched your fists, shaking with anger at the thought of the man you loved being at the mercy of this monster.

“Stay away from him!” you yelled, your voice cracking with the intensity of your emotions. You wanted to leap out of bed, to fight, but your body felt weak, your limbs heavy with hopelessness. “If you touch him, I swear I’ll—”

Sylus held up a hand, cutting you off mid-sentence. His eyes darkened, the playfulness vanishing in an instant as he looked at you with cold, unwavering authority. “Eat,” he said firmly, the command in his voice clear and sharp. “I won’t repeat myself.”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

“If you kill our baby,” Sylus continued, his voice low and deliberate, “I kill him. Pretty fair, wouldn't you agree?”

The weight of his words sank into you like a stone, pulling you down into a pit of despair. You felt the ground fall away beneath you, the walls closing in as the finality of the situation crashed over you. This was it. There was no escape. If you didn’t obey, if you didn’t nourish this baby growing inside of you, Sylus would kill Xavier.

You could barely breathe, your chest tightening as the tears continued to flow down your cheeks. You hated him. You hated him so much it burned inside you like fire, but you couldn’t let him kill Xavier. You couldn’t.

With shaking hands, you reached for the fork, your vision blurred by tears. The weight of the utensil in your hand felt like a death sentence, like the final seal on the prison that had become your life. Your fingers trembled as you lifted the fork, your stomach twisting with disgust, but you couldn’t stop. You had to do this.

You stabbed the piece of waffle on the plate, your tears dripping onto the table as you brought the food to your mouth. It tasted like ash, like poison, as you forced yourself to chew. Your body revolted against it, every instinct screaming for you to spit it out, to reject it, but you couldn’t. You had no choice.

As you swallowed the bite of food, more tears slipped down your face. You felt hopeless, broken, the fight drained from you as you sat there, silently crying.

Sylus watched you, his eyes calm and satisfied. He leaned down slightly, brushing a hand through your hair, his voice soft and tender now.

“Good girl.”

You wanted to scream, but all that came out were silent sobs. You gripped the fork tighter, your knuckles losing all blood, as you prayed. Prayed that Xavier would find you.

“Hurry,” you whispered under your breath, your voice choked with emotion. “Please. Hurry.”

But deep down, the gnawing fear clawed at your heart—you knew there was no outrunning Sylus.

And as the silence stretched between you, the crushing weight of your reality settled over you like a suffocating blanket, leaving you gasping for breath.