The whispers dulled. The fear tightened. And I felt something horrifying settle into my chest like a stone dropped into water. I was his calm. His control. His proof. And he would keep me here not because I mattered?—
But because the world watching him needed to see that he could keep a leash tight even when the walls burned.
I swallowed hard. Pain flared through my ribs from the shift. But I didn’t move again. Because pain didn’t excuse disobedience. Not anymore. Not ever. Royal crossed to us slowly. A glass in one hand. A smirk barely curved at the corner of his mouth.
His gaze drifted over me like I wasn’t a woman. Like I wasn’t even a body. Just posture. Just silence. Just proof that they could make anything obey.
“She’s holding,” he said to Wolfe.
“Impressive.”
He crouched beside me. Close. Too close. Fingers brushing the hem of my dress where it clung to my thighs. “You going to last the night, sweetheart?” he whispered.
I didn’t answer. Because Wolfe hadn’t told me to. Because Royal didn’t deserve it. Because survival lived in my silence now. Royal laughed softly under his breath.
“See that?” he murmured to Wolfe.“That’s the kind of fear you can build an empire on.”
He stood again. Left the glass near my feet like an offering. Or a warning. Maybe both.
Loyal stood across the room. Still. Rigid. But his hands?—
His hands were clenched tight.
White-knuckled.
Knuckles splitting red where the skin pulled too hard.
He was shaking. I knew it. I could feel it in the way the air shifted around him. The way his silence had become louder than Royal’s cruelty. He wanted to reach for me. Wanted to touch. To speak. To save.
But Wolfe hadn’t moved. And Loyal wasn’t brave enough to break that rule. Not yet. Not here. Not when everything else was already bleeding. So he stayed. Silent. Trembling. Hurting.Like me. Only quieter. Only deeper. Because my obedience was visible. His was rotting him from the inside.
Wolfe leaned slightly closer. Not enough to touch me. But enough for his breath to graze my cheek. Cool. Sharp. Precise. “You will stay here,” he said quietly. “Until I say otherwise.”
I nodded.
Once.
Sharp.
Pain split down my side from the motion.
I didn’t flinch.
“And when I return,” he continued, “you will still be kneeling.”
A pause.
Then—
“Because you belong here.”
I used to dream of belonging. But I never imagined it would feel like a knife pressed gently into my throat.
His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t sharpen. It didn’t need to. It just settled into my chest like a second heartbeat. A new rhythm to replace the one that broke weeks ago.
I didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He stepped away. And I stayed. Because that’s what I was now. Stillness. Silence. Survival. Even when it felt like dying.
Especially then.
