"Why am I here, Alaric?" I ask, using his first name as a weapon. "Not in the asylum. Here. In your room."
He withdraws his hand and walks back to the foot of the bed. "Because you broke the rules," he says. "The North Gate is aboundary. Crossing it has consequences. You proved that the standard security measures are insufficient for you. So, I am upgrading your security."
"Upgrading?"
"You will stay here," he declares. "Under my direct supervision. 24 hours a day. You will eat when I say, sleep when I say, and engage in therapy when I say. There are no orderlies to trick here, Elodie. No key cards to steal. Just you and me."
My breath hitches. "You can't keep me in your bedroom. It’s unethical. It’s illegal."
He laughs then. A dry, humorless sound. "Look around you," he says, gesturing to the opulent room, the heavy velvet curtains blocking the windows, the mahogany furniture. "We are miles from the nearest town. I own the police chief. I own the judge who signed your commitment papers. Ethics is a luxury for people who can afford to be judged. I am the law here."
He walks to the window and pulls back the curtain slightly. Rain is still lashing against the glass. "You have a choice," he says, his back to me. "You can fight me. You can scream, and cry, and pull at those restraints until your wrists bleed. I have sedatives for that. I have straps for that." He turns to face me, the lightning outside casting him in silhouette. "Or... you can accept your reality. You can cooperate. And if you do, life can be very comfortable for you."
"I will never cooperate with a monster," I spit out.
He walks back to me, slower this time. He stops right next to the bed, looming over me. "You keep calling me that," he muses. "Monster. Villain. Captor."
He leans down, his face close enough that I can see the pores of his skin. "You think I’m the villain because I stopped you fromrunning into the woods in a storm? You think I’m the villain because I brought you back to a warm bed?"
"You’re the villain because you enjoy it," I whisper. "I saw your face at the gate. You liked hunting me."
Silence stretches between us. Thick. Charged. He doesn't deny it. Instead, he leans closer, his lips brushing my ear.
"If I wanted to hurt you, Elodie, you wouldn't be in my bed. You’d be in the morgue." He pulls back, his eyes searching mine. "I don't want to break you. I want tofixyou. Your family... they wanted to erase you. To lobotomize the 'trouble' away. Do you know that?"
The blood drains from my face. "What?"
"Why do you think they sent you to me?" he asks, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "They didn't send you here for therapy. They sent you here for a permanent solution. They paid me a very large sum of money to ensure that Elodie Fray never plays the piano again. To ensure she becomes a quiet, docile doll."
My heart hammers against my ribs. "You're lying."
"Am I?" He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it and holds it up. It’s a medical order. Signed by my father.Procedure: Transorbital Lobotomy. Authorization: Immediate.
The room spins. The edges of my vision go black. "No," I whimper. "No, he wouldn't. He loves me."
"He loves his reputation," Alaric corrects, refolding the paper and tucking it away. "And your mental instability was staining it."
He places his hands on my shoulders, pinning me to the mattress. The weight is grounding, even as my world shatters. "I took the money," he says cold. "And I promised them I would do it."
I stare at him, horror choking me. "You..."
"But," he interrupts, his grip tightening. "I hate wasting talent. And I hate being told what to do." He leans in, his nose brushing mine. "So, I made a different decision. I’m not going to lobotomize you, Elodie. I’m going to keep you. I’m going to hide you here, in plain sight. To the world, you will be the tragic case that never recovered. But in here..."
His hand moves up my throat, his thumb resting on my windpipe. Not squeezing. Just holding. Claiming. "...in here, you belong to me. I am the only thing standing between you and a surgical ice pick. So tell me again who the monster is."
I can't breathe. The revelation is too big, too sharp. My father. My own father. Tears prick my eyes, hot and stinging. I try to blink them away, refusing to cry in front of him, but one escapes, tracking a path into my hair.
Alaric watches the tear fall. He looks fascinated by it. "There," he whispers. "That’s the truth breaking through."
He stands up abruptly, the moment of intimacy shattered. "Rest now. You’re still fighting the sedative. We start your new regimen in the morning."
He walks toward the door. "Wait," I call out, my voice small, terrified. He pauses, his hand on the doorknob. "The restraints," I say. "Please."
He looks back at me. "The restraints stay," he says. "Until you learn that I am the safest place for you to be."
He flicks the light switch, plunging the room into semi-darkness. Only the light from the hallway spills in, illuminating his silhouette. "Sleep well,petite. I’ll be listening."
He closes the door. The lock clicks. And the sound is louder than the thunder.
