The next day the house was too quiet. No one came to check on me, no food, no water—just silence and the steady tick of the old grandfather clock in the hall. My stomach knotted in both hunger and tension. I knew he was watching. Somewhere behind those walls, he was waiting to see if I’d break.
By evening, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I pressed my palms against the cool glass of the balcony door, staring out at freedom. The garden was right there. The gate just beyond. But when I tried the handle, it wouldn’t budge. Locked. Of course.
“Going somewhere?” His voice cut through the quiet, deep and commanding.
I turned. He leaned against the doorway, shirt undone halfway, chest still damp from a shower. His eyes swept over me—barefoot, restless, caught.
“No,” I muttered, though my hands st
