“Would you really hurt them?” Her voice shakes now. For the first time since I walked in, she sounds small.
I could lie. Could reassure her, play the merciful captor, let her believe her compliance is buying safety rather than simply delaying consequences. But I don’t lie to her. That’s the rule I’ve made for myself. Everything else is negotiable, but not this.
“You love them,” I say quietly. “I don’t think you’d want to test it.”
She stares at me. The rage is still there, I can see it burning behind her eyes. But underneath it now there’s fear. Not for herself. For them.
There it is.
This is the leash that will keep her here when walls and locks fail. I’ve researched every person she cares about. I have eyes oneach of them. She could break every window in this room and it wouldn’t matter, because she’ll never risk her family.
Her expression hardens. The fear doesn’t disappear, it becomes sharper. Colder.
She moves faster than I expect.
Blood oranges roll to the floor as she hurls the Ming dynasty bowl at my face with the kind of desperate, unhinged force that comes from feeling truly cornered.
Intent to injure.
I catch it six inches from my nose. The porcelain is cool against my palm, fragile as a bird’s skull. I don’t break eye contact as I place it on the worktable beside me.
“You’ll need to be more creative,” I tell her.
She’s already coming. No weapons left, so she’s made herself into one. She shoves against my chest with both hands, putting her whole body weight behind it. I don’t move. She swings, a right hook this time, and I catch her wrist. A left jab. Caught.
“Let mego, you sicko?—”
“I’ve spent months learning you.” My voice stays calm. Level. “I know you better than you know yourself.”
She spits in my face.
The warm saliva hits my cheek. I don’t flinch.
She freezes, eyes wide, waiting for the violence. For the punishment she’s clearly expecting. For some sign that she’s finally pushed me too far.
Instead, I release one of her wrists. Slowly, deliberately, I wipe the spit from my cheek with two fingers. I hold her gaze as I bring those fingers to my mouth.
She tastes like rage.
I savor it.
“What—” Her voice breaks. “What the fuck iswrongwith you?”
I don’t answer. Just look at her.Even this, I think.Even her violence is mine to taste, to swallow, to keep.
She’ll learn.
I release her other wrist. She backs away immediately, her breath coming in harsh gasps, her face a mask of horror and disgust.
“This hallway will be open to you during the day, provided you’re well-behaved. More rooms will become available as you demonstrate cooperation.”
I walk her back to the bedroom. She moves like a sleepwalker, her brain still processing, still trying to find an angle I haven’t already closed.
Inside, she starts pacing. A caged animal. Beautiful in her fury.
“What do youwant?” She spits the words as we enter her room. “What the fuck do you actually want from me?”
“You should change for dinner.”
