Chapter 5: His Thoughts
873 Words
From Daniel’s Point of View
I stopped the car in front of my house—or rather, her new prison.
Not far from her parents’ home… just a few streets away, yet for her it would feel like an entire continent.
I stepped out first, calm and silent, like a wolf who knows his prey is already cornered.
She followed after a moment, hesitant. I opened the trunk and pulled out her suitcase.
Her eyes froze on me, wide and disbelieving.
— “When… when did you take it?”
She said it as if she had just witnessed magic.
I smiled. Poor Emma…
If only you knew how many nights I spent planning every single detail with the precision of a surgeon—and the obsession of a madman.
I know your mother’s routine, your sleeping hours, the fragile pauses when you hesitate.
Carrying my name isn’t enough. I want you inside my walls, inside my breath, inside my darkness.
I waved at Miguel, who simply gave me a knowing look before leaving—as if he already understood that she would only walk out of this place towards my grave.
I left the door open for her.
She walked in… slow, trembling steps, like a rabbit realizing too late it had stepped into a golden trap.
Her gaze wandered over the space—the grays, the hidden security, the locked doors.
Everything here was mine.
And everything of hers was mine as well.
I climbed the stairs without looking back.
I could hear her soft footsteps behind me, hesitant and scared, but she didn’t stop.
In my room, I placed her suitcase beside the bed.
Every corner of this place whispered my solitude:
the dark walls, the dim lights, the scent of leather and gunpowder.
Silence, except for the storm in my head.
— “Is this… your room?”
She asked faintly, as if afraid to disturb the monster.
— “Yes.”
She stepped closer, her eyes tracing the blackness of the décor.
— “I see… everything here is black. Just as you like.”
I laughed… a short, broken sound.
— “You’re wrong.”
Her eyes froze.
— “What?”
I moved closer, holding her gaze, drowning in the blue of her eyes.
I wanted to tie myself to her lashes and sink into her.
— “Not everything black… is something I like.”
She fell silent.
I could hear her heartbeat in the pause.
Maybe she was starting to see the spark hidden behind my quiet.
Then, softly:
— “Am I… going to sleep here? With you?”
I studied her face—the one I had dreamed of since I was a boy, lost in blood.
— “Of course. Where else does a wife sleep, if not with her husband?”
Her lips parted as if to protest, but no words came.
How I longed to tell her… that I didn’t just want her beside me in bed.
I wanted her inside me, between my ribs, locking me in, making me her prisoner.
---
I left her to shower and change.
Something inside me wanted to do something human, simple, for her.
I went into the kitchen.
I was no cook. My hands knew weapons, not spoons.
Still, I tried.
Rice and chicken—clumsy, simple, but it was mine.
When I knocked on the bedroom door, no answer came.
I pushed it open slowly.
She was sitting on the bed, hair damp, droplets sliding from her neck to her chest.
She wasn’t n***d—but she may as well have been a stolen painting from the devil’s gallery.
I froze in place.
— “I knocked,” I said quietly, restraining the fire inside me.
She replied without looking at me:
— “Yes. But I didn’t think you’d need permission to come in.”
Her tone… sharp, mocking, like a blade dipped in honey.
So brave—or so foolish.
I placed the tray on her lap and sat in front of her.
— “Next time, I’d like it if you answered,” I murmured,
“Not because I don’t want to see you… but because I don’t want to embarrass you.”
Her eyes lifted to mine.
No longer frightened—just tired.
— “Really? And here I thought you’re my husband… you’ll see me n***d anyway, won’t you?”
Her words were knives, wrapped in sugar.
I laughed—or pretended to.
— “You know… it’s not because I don’t like seeing you.
It’s because I don’t want to take away the trust you still hold in yourself.”
I stood slowly, closing the door behind me without another glance.
---
In my office, the computer screen glowed in front of me, but my mind was elsewhere.
It was stuck on her lips, her eyes, the way her sarcasm cut me and healed me all at once.
She was here.
Under my roof.
In my room.
On my bed.
But she hadn’t only entered my house.
She had broken into my heart—like a thief searching for treasure.
And I…
I would make her my final treasure.
And guard it… until death.
- Writer
