Jailer

Irene Jones POV

I jumped to my feet, heart pounding at the sound of a voice that didn’t belong to the men already inside my apartment.

“Young master.” They bowed in unison. I turned sharply to see who they meant.

Albert stood at the doorway, pushing a wheelchair. In it sat a man in black, fine fabrics covering his frame, a mask hiding his face so completely I couldn’t see his eyes.

“Who are you?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“Your husband. Theodore Myers.”

Goosebumps broke across my skin. Even Cyril had never unsettled me like this.

“Mrs. Myers.” Albert’s tone stayed calm. “I told you before—you needed to move to the mansion. But you ran away. That is why the young master came himself. The guards are here to transfer your belongings.”

So they were all his guards. The air grew heavy around me.

“I…” My throat closed. All I had ever heard was that Theodore was a cripple meant for Misha. And now here he was, masked and gloved, hidden under layers of dark clothing. Cold spread through me.

“Mrs. Myers, it would be better if you come with us. The guards will handle everything,” Albert said.

I blinked hard, trying to steady myself. “No. I will stay in my house.”

At least my makeup held. It always did. I never left my face bare. No one saw the real me.

“What did you say?” Theodore asked.

He didn’t raise his tone or shift in his chair. He didn’t need to. The words froze me where I stood.

“I said I’m staying here.” My voice sounded fragile, already breaking.

Silence pressed in. Then Theodore tilted his head, a small shift of his hand against the armrest. The guards straightened. Albert stiffened. My stomach dropped.

“You misunderstand, Mrs. Myers. You are not being asked.”

Something inside me cracked. My body screamed to run, but I forced myself upright. “You can’t just force me.”

The mask angled toward me. Even without seeing his eyes, I felt the weight of him.

“You are my wife. You will live where I live.”

The certainty of it struck harder than any shout. Albert gave a nod, and two guards walked into my bedroom.

“No!” I lunged forward, but a guard blocked my path without touching me. My nails dug into my palms. “You can’t just take my things—”

“They are not only yours anymore. Everything belongs to me now.”

The statement knocked the air out of me. He didn’t just mean the apartment. He meant me.

You can’t let them do this. Fight back.

The thought tore through me, but my legs wouldn’t move. The guards carried out suitcases and boxes, stripping the place bare as if I had never lived there.

Panic clawed at me, but I swallowed it down. Theodore sat motionless, yet it felt as though he saw every tremor in my body.

Albert stepped closer, hands behind his back. “Mrs. Myers, it would be best if you cooperated. Young master is being patient… for now.”

Patient. The word made my chest ache.

“I didn’t agree to this,” I answered, my voice cracking. “I never agreed to any of it.”

“You did. When you signed the marriage contract.”

“I was forced—” The words burst out, but Theodore cut them short with a light tap of his gloved fingers.

“Irrelevant.”

The single word struck colder than a slap. My life, my choice—none of it mattered.

The last guard came out of the bedroom, giving Albert a signal.

“It is time, Mrs. Myers,” Albert said.

I stumbled back, but the guards had already closed in. Theodore didn’t move, yet everyone obeyed him. Even me.

Because I had no choice.

The truth pressed down. I could fight and be dragged out, or I could walk out and keep a shred of dignity.

My throat burned. Tears gathered, but I refused to let them fall. I turned.

The guards stepped aside, leaving a path. My footsteps carried me out of the only home I had ever known. Behind me, Albert pushed the wheelchair forward, Theodore silent.

For a moment, I almost pitied him. A cripple, mocked and ignored by his family. But he was worse. Or maybe it was simply the Myers way, no different from my own bloodline.

Still, his authority left no doubt. I was the one suffering here. Nothing more.

He never asked why I didn’t want to leave. He didn’t care.

It had taken me years to escape the Jones mansion, and now I was being taken to another place, bound to a man who felt more like a jailer than a husband.

“Stop.”