Chapter Two: His House. His Rules. His Game.
1168 Words
I woke up to silence.
Not soft silence—the heavy kind. The kind that feels like someone’s holding their breath beside you.
I sat up slowly, unsure of where I was for a second. Then I remembered:
The castle.
The man.
The scar.
The contract.
The locked room.
I got up and walked straight to the door. I tried to open it.
It didn’t budge.
What?
I tried again—harder this time. Nothing.
I stood there, gripping the knob like if I twisted hard enough, it might change its mind.
My chest tightened.
Okay. Okay, maybe it was jammed. Old door. Old house. No big deal.
But my gut already knew better.
I was locked in.
This man—this stranger I married just to keep my mother alive—had locked me in a room like I was… what? A pet? A prisoner?
I backed away slowly, sat on the edge of the bed, and stared at the floor. My hands were shaking.
I didn’t cry.
I didn’t even panic.
Not because I was brave, but because I think my body didn’t know how to react anymore. I’d already spent the last week trying not to shatter. This just felt like one more crack.
I waited.
No clock on the wall. No sound outside.
Time started to stretch and collapse. Five minutes felt like fifty.
Then finally—click—the door creaked open.
I didn’t say anything at first.
Neither did he.
Demian Voss stood in the doorway wearing a black dress shirt, the top two buttons undone. He looked freshly showered. Polished. And still like someone who could kill me with a sentence.
“You locked the door,” I said, keeping my voice steady.
He leaned one shoulder against the frame.
“You say that like it surprises you.”
I blinked. “You can’t lock me in a room like a dog.”
“I didn’t,” he said. “The castle did.”
Oh.
That’s cute.
“It locks from the outside, Lena,” he added. “Don’t take it personally.”
I stood slowly. “That’s not okay. I’m not something you purchased off a shelf.”
He didn’t answer. Just studied me for a moment like I was a puzzle missing half its pieces.
“Are you hungry?”
Seriously?
“You’re ignoring the fact that you locked me in a room overnight and asking if I want toast?”
He shrugged. “Everyone breaks differently. Some scream. Some starve.”
My stomach twisted.
“I’ll take toast,” I said quietly.
His lips curved. Not into a smile—into something colder.
The dining room was too big for two people.
One long wooden table, shining like it had just been waxed, with more chairs than I’d ever seen in one place.
He sat at the head.
I sat… not at the opposite end, but far enough that we weren’t close.
Toast. Eggs. Orange juice.
Laid out like I was a guest at a five-star hotel.
The tension between us? Enough to choke on.
He ate in silence.
Cut everything like he was measuring each bite.
I didn’t eat.
I just watched him. Quietly. Carefully.
He was so composed. Controlled. Like the world could end and he wouldn’t blink.
And yet… I could feel it—something fractured underneath.
You don’t build walls that high unless you’re trying to keep something dangerous in.
“Why did you agree to this?” I asked.
He looked up slowly.
I regretted the question before I finished it.
“To be married to me?” he said.
I nodded.
He wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
“Because silence,” he said, “is expensive.”
I frowned. “What does that even mean?”
He didn’t answer.
I tried again. “You didn’t need a wife. You needed what—an object? A… stand-in? A statue to decorate the hallway?”
His fork scraped across the plate. Sharp. Intentional.
“I needed someone who wouldn’t ask questions,” he said.
“Well, that’s too bad,” I muttered. “Because I’m full of them.”
He leaned back, his gaze sweeping over me.
“Then let me make this clear, Lena.”
He said my name like a warning.
“You’re not here to fix me. Or know me. You’re here to exist quietly, like air. I don’t expect anything from you except obedience. And respect.”
I folded my arms. “Respect is earned.”
His jaw clenched. “Then you’d better start observing.”
After breakfast—if you could call it that—I wandered.
Not because I wanted to snoop. Because I needed space. I needed somewhere to breathe.
The castle was endless. High ceilings. Thick rugs. Doors with locks.
Rooms with antique furniture and the smell of old money.
The only place that didn’t feel haunted was the library.
It was massive. Wooden shelves from floor to ceiling. A rolling ladder. Velvet chairs.
I sat there, pretending I was somewhere else.
Someone else.
But then… I heard it.
A piano.
Soft. Haunting. From somewhere far off.
I stood.
Every part of me was already screaming Don’t go.
But I did.
Bare feet. Cold tiles. My heart thudded in my ears.
The sound led me down a corridor I hadn’t seen before.
A darker part of the house. Dimmer. Narrower.
And at the end—a door cracked open.
I stopped breathing.
He told me not to go near the east wing.
I should’ve turned back.
But my feet didn’t listen.
I pushed the door open just enough to peek through.
And what I saw…
It wasn’t a piano.
It was a room filled with black-and-white photographs.
The walls were covered in them. Faces. Couples. Families.
A woman with long dark hair and eyes that looked like they knew pain.
And him.
Demian.
Standing dead center in the room, staring at a photo.
Not moving.
Not playing anything.
Just… staring.
I stepped back.
Hard.
The floor creaked.
Shit.
I turned to run—
“Lena.”
I froze.
His voice was calm. Too calm.
I turned slowly. His face was unreadable.
“You went where I told you not to.”
“I… I heard music,” I said. “Piano. I followed it.”
His eyes darkened. “There’s no piano in this house.”
“No, I heard it. I swear—”
“There. Is. No. Piano.”
He stepped forward.
I backed up until my spine hit the wall.
“You’re not crazy,” he said, too softly. “But this house… it plays tricks.”
My breathing was too fast. My hands were shaking.
“You’re scaring me,” I whispered.
He paused.
Glanced at me.
Then he stepped close.
Closer.
So close I could feel his heat, his breath, the tension pulling tight between us like a thread.
“I haven’t even started,” he whispered.
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