The lock clicked.
That sound—small, final—split the air.
He turned to me slowly, his expression calm, almost bored, like this was a task he'd postponed too long.
"Beg," he said. "I'm only here for one reason."
My throat went dry. "For… what?"
"For revenge." His smile twitched. "You should know—Aiden isn't innocent. Not one of us is. We're equally soaked in it."
He moved faster than I expected.
The dagger left his hand in a sharp arc.
I dropped to my knees on instinct. The blade tore past me—so close I felt the wind of it—striking the wall behind with a dull, vicious thud. My whole body shook as I gasped, palms scraping the floor.
Before I could stand, he was already in front of me.
"How disappointing," he murmured. "I thought you'd scream sooner."
He kicked the dagger loose and pressed the tip against my shoulder, guiding—not stabbing, not killing. Dominating. Commanding.
"Kneel properly."
My muscles obeyed before my mind did.
"Sit."
I sank down, spine rigid, breath coming in broken pulls.
"This house," he said quietly, "answers to one face. No one will interfere. They'll think it's him."
The knife pressed harder.
Then pain exploded across my back.
I screamed.
Not because of blood—there wasn't much—but because of the deliberate slowness. The intention. Each movement of the blade was careful, controlled, like he was writing, not cutting.
"Roman," he whispered close to my ear. "So you never forget who owns your fate."
My voice broke into sobs I couldn't stop. I clawed at the floor, tears blinding me, every nerve screaming as the knife traced, paused, traced again.
Footsteps passed outside the door.
No one entered.
No one questioned.
Because to them—
This was just Aiden.
____
Then a fabric slid around my throat before I even realized what was happening.
One second I was stepping back—still holding the candle stand—the next, a long scarf jerked tight from behind. My breath cut off in a sharp, panicked gasp as his body slammed into my back, solid, inescapable.
My hands flew to my neck.
The pressure was brutal, calculated. Not rushed. He knew exactly how much to pull.
Stars burst behind my eyes.
I clawed at the scarf, nails scraping uselessly over silk that only tightened more. His chest was pressed flat against my back, his breath steady near my ear.
And that was when terror truly hit.
It felt the same.
The height.
The strength.
The familiar way his body aligned with mine.
For a sick, disorienting second, my mind betrayed me.
Aiden.
My knees buckled.
"That hesitation," he murmured calmly, tightening the scarf just enough to steal more air, "is why you'll die."
No.
I forced my thoughts to sharpen through the panic. The voice was wrong. Too cold. Too detached. Aiden's presence was dangerous—but this was precise, empty.
I slammed my heel backward.
It connected with his shin. He grunted, grip faltering for a fraction of a second.
I used it.
I dropped my weight suddenly, throwing my elbow up and back with everything I had. It caught his ribs. The scarf loosened just enough for me to drag in a burning breath.
I twisted hard, fingers slipping under the fabric, ripping it away as I spun.
I crashed down the floor. He stumbled—but didn't fall.
He straightened slowly, eyes dark with something like approval.
"Good," he said. "Fight. It makes killing you meaningful."
My throat burned. My lungs screamed for air. But I stayed there.
This wasn't Aiden.
And that meant I could survive him.
If I stopped confusing the face with the monster behind it.
_______
He launched forward,i tried to run but he pulled me and slammed me to the wall,he bound my hand and blindfolded me with the ripped fabric that spilted into two.
Then another fabric gagged my mouth.
He dragged me to somewhere,i heard the noise of shackles.
I felt Cold metal snapped around my wrists as he wrenched my arms behind me again, forcing me down onto my knees. The impact sent pain shooting up my legs. I tried to twist away, but the second cuff locked, anchoring me to the heavy iron ring bolted into the floor.
I gasped, struggling, the chain biting into my skin.
"There," he said calmly, stepping back to admire his work. "This is always the first stage."
I shook my head violently. "Lem m-me goh,"my voice muffled against the gag.
He crouched in front of me, gripping my chin hard enough to make my jaw ache. "Submission," he said, voice flat. "I take it first. Slowly. Until there's nothing left but obedience."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
He stood and tore at my outer clothes—not in hunger, not in desire, but with cruelty, stripping away layers like removing armor. Fabric ripped. Cold air hit my skin. I felt exposed, small, reduced to nothing but a captive body.
"This," he continued, circling me, "is when most of them stop fighting."
I didn't.
I pulled against the chains until my wrists burned. My breath came fast, uneven, but finally the gag fell.
"I won't submit," I said hoarsely.
He paused.
Then he smiled—slow, unsettling.
"That's what makes you different," he replied. "That's why I'll enjoy breaking you before I kill you. Just like the others."
The chains clinked softly as I trembled—not in surrender, but in fury.
Because as long as I was still fighting—
I wasn't finished yet.
_______
From the noise,i guessed it's a cane.The cane scraped softly against the floor before it ever touched me.
That sound alone made my stomach knot.
He was taking his time—letting the silence stretch, letting my breathing give me away. I pulled uselessly against the chains, wrists burning, metal biting into skin.
"This," he said calmly, "is how I teach stillness."
The first strike came out of nowhere.
Pain tore through my side, sharp and blinding. A cry ripped out of me before I could stop it. My body jerked hard against the chains, the clatter echoing too loudly in the room.
I gasped, chest heaving.
He didn't hit me again right away.
He walked.
Slow footsteps. Measured. Every step made my pulse race faster than the last.
Then the cane struck again—my shoulder this time. Fire shot down my arm. Another blow followed, lower, leaving me shaking, breath breaking apart.
I tried to curl in on myself, but the chains kept me upright, exposed, helpless.
"Submission," he said coldly, "is when the body stops believing escape is possible."
My vision blurred. Tears burned, but I forced my head up anyway.
"I won't," I rasped, my voice barely holding together.Because I knew,he would made this worse even after submission.
The cane paused midair.
For the first time, I felt his attention sharpen—not pleasure, not hunger—annoyance.
"Stubborn," he muttered.
My body trembled uncontrollably, pain pulsing everywhere at once—but something inside me stayed awake. Alert.
I realized then he wasn't just hurting me to hurt me.
He needed my fear. My collapse. My surrender.
And as long as I was still fighting—still refusing to give him that—
I wasn't finished.
Not yet.