ERIC LYNCHARD
1368 Words
~ Martin’s Mansion ~ Four Days Later ~
DINING ROOM
The clink of silverware echoed in the quiet tension of the Martin household.
Eric Lynchard sat at the head of the table — straight-backed, suit perfectly crisp, icy eyes scanning the room with disinterest.
His aura made the very air feel colder. Across from him sat Mr. Nicholas Martins, sweating beneath his false charm.
Beside him, Nancy fluttered her lashes behind thick makeup, her face practically painted like a porcelain doll.
Red lipstick too bright, fake lashes too heavy — like a desperate mask trying to sell a lie.
Mrs. Sonia watched nervously from the side, forcing fake laughter every time Nancy tried to speak.
“So…” Nancy leaned in, trying to sound seductive. “I’ve always admired powerful men. I think a man like you deserves a woman who understands—”
“Silence.” Eric’s voice cut through like a blade.
Nancy froze, lips parting in stunned silence.
Eric’s gaze hadn’t moved. “Is this the daughter you promised me?” he asked Nicholas, tone sharp.
“Yes—yes of course,” Nicholas stammered. “She’s our oldest, very mature, knows how to handle herself—”
“Then why is she dressed for a fashion show at midnight?” Eric asked coldly.
“And why…” he paused, leaning back in his seat, “does she smell like desperation?”
Nancy’s face flushed red as Sonia grabbed her wine glass tightly. Nicholas forced a laugh.
“She’s just eager to impress—”
Then it happened.
Thud. Click.
From the hallway, the sound of a door unlocking echoed faintly. Everyone at the table paused.
Eric turned his head slightly—just in time to see a delicate figure step quietly out of a dim hallway. Her blonde hair fell loosely over her shoulders, lips dry, face pale from four days of starvation.
Her green eyes — wide, innocent, and confused — locked onto Eric’s for a second before she looked down.
Krishna.
She wore a faded dress, too big on her frame. But even in that moment, something about her shattered the false shine of the room.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” she stammered, realizing too late she had interrupted.
Eric stood slowly, the legs of his chair screeching against the marble.
The Martins froze.
“Who is she?” he asked.
Sonia quickly stood. “She’s just the help! A maid’s child—”
“I’m not,” Krishna whispered. “I’m… I’m your daughter, father.”
Eric turned sharply toward Nicholas.
“Father?” he repeated, voice low and dangerous.
Nicholas hesitated. “She—She’s just another daughter from… a previous—”
“You said two daughters but you presented one daughter,” Eric cut in. “You failed to mention two.”
“She’s not fit!” Sonia snapped. “She’s untrained, unclean—”
Eric walked toward Krishna, slowly, like a lion circling prey.
He stopped in front of her.
“You. Look at me.”
Krishna raised her face slowly, afraid but obeying.
“Your name,” he asked, voice soft but deadly.
“…Krishna.”
His eyes searched hers. He saw the bruises beneath the makeup she wasn’t wearing.
He saw her swollen lip, the tiredness in her bones, the spark in her soul that hadn’t died — not yet.
“She’s the one,” he said, turning toward the room.
“What?!” Nancy gasped.
“You can’t be serious,” Sonia hissed.
Nicholas tried to stand. “No, wait, Eric—”
“I don’t repeat myself,” Eric snapped. “You offered a daughter. You tried to deceive me. Now I take the one you tried to hide.”
He turned to Krishna.
“Pack your things. You leave with me tonight.”
Krishna opened her mouth to protest, but then her father’s glare met hers like a knife to the heart.
For a second, she hesitated.
But Eric’s voice came again. “Now.”
She flinched, then nodded, retreating upstairs quickly.
As she walked past her family minutes later — now standing by the front door with Eric waiting — she felt three sets of eyes burning into her back.
Her father's cold, disappointed stare.
Her stepmother's venomous sneer.
And Nancy — oh, Nancy’s eyes were murderous.
Krishna clutched her small suitcase, heart thudding.
She was leaving this prison. But was she entering another?
As the heavy door of the Lynchard limousine closed behind her, she glanced back one last time.
Their plan had failed.
She had ruined it.
And they would never forgive her for it.
— Inside Eric Lynchard’s Limousine —
The silence inside the car was suffocating.
Krishna sat stiffly in the corner of the luxurious black leather seat, her hands curled around the handle of her small bag.
Everything felt foreign. Cold. Intimidating. Even the air smelled different—leather, cologne, and power.
Across from her, Eric sat like a statue—legs crossed, hands clasped, his icy gaze fixed on the city lights beyond the tinted glass.
He hadn’t said a word since she stepped into the car.
Krishna swallowed hard and finally whispered, “Thank you… for taking me.”
Eric didn’t even glance at her. “Don’t thank me. This isn’t kindness.”
His voice was sharp, clean, and distant—like a knife slicing through her already trembling heart.
“I just needed a woman. You happened to be the one they were hiding.” He looked at her now, eyes hard. “I don’t like liars.”
Krishna lowered her head. “I didn’t lie to you—”
“I didn’t say you did,” he interrupted coldly. “But your family did. Which means you already come from betrayal. That makes you dangerous.”
She looked up, startled. “I’m not dangerous—”
“You don’t have to be. Your presence already is.”
He returned to staring out the window.
The rest of the ride passed in silence, except for the soft purr of the engine and the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
— LYNCHARD TOWERS — Manhattan Penthouse —
When the limousine pulled up to a towering skyscraper glowing against the night sky, Krishna felt like she was about to step onto another planet.
A valet opened the door.
Eric stepped out without looking back.
Krishna hesitated, then climbed out behind him, blinking at the sheer size of the building. The floors seemed endless. Glass. Steel. Power.
Inside, the marble lobby was silent, polished, and colder than winter.
Security didn’t ask questions.
They didn’t dare.
A private elevator ride later, they reached the top floor—the penthouse.
The doors opened to a space that didn’t look real. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the entire city.
Black velvet sofas, golden lighting, and minimalist art on every wall. Clean. Cold. Like him.
“Welcome to your new home,” Eric said flatly.
Krishna stepped in slowly, her shoes silent against the polished floors. She felt out of place, like a stain on a white cloth.
“I’ll have someone bring new clothes,” Eric continued, taking off his suit jacket and tossing it onto a chair. “You look like you belong in the servants’ quarters.”
Her cheeks burned, but she said nothing.
Eric poured himself a drink from a crystal decanter. “The contract is for one year. Appear with me in public. Smile when I say smile. Keep your mouth shut otherwise.”
Krishna clenched her fists. “What if I say no?”
Eric’s smile was slow. Cold.
“You won’t.”
He took a sip and stared at her.
“I bought you with your father’s debt. You belong to me now.”
She took a shaky breath. “And after a year?”
He set the glass down with a soft clink.
“Then you disappear.”
He walked past her toward the hallway. “Your room is down the hall. Second door on the right. Stay out of mine unless I call you.”
She stood frozen for a moment.
Then turned.
And followed the hall of her new cage.
- Writer
