Control
818 Words
Jane noticed the change immediately.
Richard had always been controlling in quiet ways — guards outside her door, cameras in the hallways, rules disguised as concern. But after the phone call he received that morning, something shifted inside him.
Something darker.
He barely left her alone anymore.
“You’re not going outside today.”
The words came casually as he adjusted the cuff of his black shirt near the dining table, but the command underneath them was impossible to miss.
Jane frowned. “I only wanted fresh air.”
“You can get that from the balcony.”
“I’m not a prisoner.”
Richard’s eyes lifted slowly toward hers.
The silence that followed felt dangerous.
“You’re alive because I make difficult decisions for you,” he said calmly.
Jane’s fingers curled against the edge of the chair.
There it was again — that calm, emotionless voice that made her feel trapped.
She pushed her chair back sharply. “You don’t own me.”
“No,” Richard replied. “But someone out there wants to.”
The room fell silent.
Jane stared at him.
Since overhearing the conversation downstairs, fear had lived inside her like poison. She knew powerful men were searching for her. She knew Richard was hiding things. But nobody had explained why.
And Richard refused to answer questions directly.
“Who are they?” she asked quietly.
Richard reached for his coffee without looking at her. “People you don’t need to think about.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Jane took a deep breath, while fighting the urge to scream at him.
“You expect me to stay here while mysterious enemies hunt me down, and I’m just supposed to trust you?”
For the first time that morning, Richard looked irritated.
“I expect you to understand the danger.”
“I understand enough.”
“No,” he said coldly. “You don’t.”
Jane hated how calm he remained during arguments, the calmer he looked the more frustrated she became.
Always in control.
Richard suddenly walked toward her.
Jane instinctively stepped back.
He noticed.
Something unreadable flickered in his eyes before disappearing just as quickly.
“I’m trying to keep you alive,” he said quietly.
His voice was softened slightly, and somehow that unsettled her more than his anger.
Jane swallowed hard. “Then tell me the truth.”
Richard stared at her for several long seconds.
Then he reached into his pocket and placed a small black object on the table.
A tracker.
Jane froze.
“We found this underneath your car the night I brought you here,” he said.
Her stomach dropped.
Someone had been tracking her before the accident.
Before the mansion.
Before Richard.
A cold feeling settled in her stomach.
“Who put it there?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
Jane looked up at him again, searching his face for lies, but Richard’s expression remained unreadable.
“Why would someone track me?” she whispered.
Richard’s jaw tightened slightly.
“That’s the problem.”
The answer made no sense.
Jane wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the warmth inside the mansion.
Richard watched her carefully.
“You’re scared now,” he observed quietly.
Jane hated that he was right.
And somehow, standing near him feel safer than being alone.
Richard moved closer again, slower this time, giving her enough space not to panic.
“You need to listen to me carefully,” he said. “Until I know who’s behind this, you stay close to me.”
Jane looked up immediately. “Close to you?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds insane.”
“It’s necessary.”
His tone left little room for argument.
Jane shook her head. “You can’t control every second of my life.”
Richard leaned slightly closer, his dark eyes fixed completely on hers.
“Watch me.”
The words sent chills through her.
Not because he raised his voice.
Because he didn’t.
Richard didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
Jane tried to step around him, but his hand suddenly caught her wrist.
Not painfully.
Firmly.
Her breath caught.
Richard immediately loosened his grip slightly, but he didn’t let go.
For one dangerous second, neither of them moved.
Jane suddenly forgot how to breathe normally.
The scent of his cologne.
The warmth of his hand around her wrist.
The intensity in his eyes.
“You keep fighting me,” he said quietly, “when I’m the only reason you’re still breathing.”
Jane’s heartbeat stumbled.
She should pull away.
She should hate him.
Maybe she did hate him.
But beneath the fear and anger was something worse growing slowly inside her — trust.
Because monsters were easier to survive when you feared them.
Not when you started needing them.
- Writer
