His Control, Her Silence

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Emma looked up, startled, just as Dexter froze and turned toward the source of the voice.

"We weren’t doing anything!" Emma said quickly, snatching her arm back and adjusting her clothes, which were still partly caught in Dexter’s grip.

Grayson’s eyes narrowed, his voice cold.  

“Grayson, why would you make Emma stand here for so long? Can’t you see she’s injured?” Dexter asked, stepping protectively in front of her.

Grayson scoffed, folding his arms.  

“So what if she’s injured? She’s my servant, not yours. Don’t meddle in what doesn’t concern you.”

Dexter’s fists clenched, but he knew better than to argue head-on. Instead, he gently grabbed Emma’s wrist.  

“Come on, Emma. You’re coming with me.”

Emma didn’t move. She stood frozen, her gaze cast to the ground, her lips trembling.

“What’s wrong with you, Emma? Let’s go,” Dexter said more firmly, confusion flashing in his eyes.

“Dexter, leave,” Grayson said sharply. “Don’t interfere with my business.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Dexter snapped, stepping closer to Grayson.

A tense silence filled the room. Grayson’s calm voice returned, but it carried a dangerous edge.

“Get the hell out of here, Dexter.”

Dexter turned to Emma, whose head was still bowed. Her body trembled slightly, but she didn’t speak. His heart ached at the sight of her helplessness. He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, but she flinched.

Grayson’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening.

“You’re scaring her,” Dexter said softly, glaring at Grayson.

“I don’t need a lecture from you,” Grayson muttered.

Just then, Butler Harry entered, clearly sensing the tension. “Young Master, your guests are waiting,” he said cautiously.

Dexter stared at Grayson for a long moment. “You’re going to regret this.” he said before leaving 

Grayson didn’t reply. But behind the indifference in his eyes, something unreadable flickered.

As soon as Dexter stepped out of the dining room, Grayson shifted his gaze to Emma and let out a low, bitter laugh.

“So, you really think you can seduce my friends with that body of yours?” he sneered, his tone laced with mockery.

Emma didn’t respond, but inside, she scoffed. 

"What's wrong with my body?she thought bitterly. If it wasn't appealing, would you have kept crawling into my bed?

But she didn’t dare voice those words. She stood silently, her eyes on the floor.

Grayson’s irritation flared at her quiet defiance. The silence from her felt louder than any insult. Slowly, he walked up to her, his steps deliberate. Without warning, he grabbed her by the neck and forced her to look up at him.

“I asked you a question,” he said through clenched teeth. “Do you think you can seduce them?”

“I didn’t...” Emma choked out, her words barely coherent as his grip tightened around her throat.

She clawed at his wrist, gasping for air, but his grasp remained firm. Panic surged through her as her vision blurred. Just when she thought she might black out, he let go abruptly.

She collapsed to her knees, coughing, struggling to breathe. Grayson stood over her, his face unreadable, the coldness in his eyes deeper than before.

“It’s good that you don’t,” he said quietly. “Because if you did...”

He let the threat hang in the air and walked away without finishing his sentence.

Emma remained on the floor, trembling. Her fingers grazed her sore neck as she fought the tears burning in her eyes. She heard the distant sound of laughter from the living room—the world moving on as if nothing had happened.

As she tried to stand, a soft rustle came from the hallway. One of the maids had seen everything, her expression stricken, but she quickly disappeared.

Emma leaned on the wall for support. She wasn’t sure what hurt more—Grayson's cruelty or her own silence.

Emma coughed violently as she struggled to regain her breath. Her hand clutched her neck, still sore from Grayson's grip. She stared at his retreating figure, the pain in her throat no match for the ache building in her chest.

…

*In the living room*

Grayson and Dexter returned, the room's atmosphere subtly shifting the moment they entered. The playful chatter among friends faltered.

“Dexter, Grayson, why are your expressions so dark?” Niles, one of their friends, asked with a raised brow.

His question drew everyone's attention.

“No reason,” Dexter replied calmly, masking his irritation as he walked over to the sofa and sat. Grayson followed, his face like stone.

The room fell into an awkward silence before conversation hesitantly resumed, though the tension lingered. Leah watched them closely. Her fingers tightened around the cushion in her lap.

She didn't need to ask to know the reason behind Grayson’s mood. It was always Emma.

The knowledge clawed at her—how a lowly servant could stir Grayson’s emotions when Leah, despite all her efforts, couldn't. The jealousy burned beneath her skin, and her smile tightened as she glanced toward the dining area, where Emma was likely still recovering.

A servant entered the room and bowed respectfully. “Young Master, lunch is ready.”

“Thank God, I’m already starving,” one of the guys joked, trying to lighten the mood.

A few others laughed, easing the tension slightly, but Leah’s eyes didn’t leave Grayson. She studied the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers curled slightly on his knee. He was brooding—and it was because of her. Emma.

She leaned over and whispered, “Grayson, are you alright?”

Grayson didn’t look at her. “Do I look alright?”

Leah sat back, stunned by the coldness in his voice.

As the group stood to move toward the dining table, Dexter lingered behind. His eyes drifted toward the corridor, his mind still on Emma.

Back in the hallway, Emma slowly straightened her posture, wiping her tears before walking back toward the kitchen, determined to hold herself together.

.......

Everyone walked to the dining room for lunch. Dexter subtly glanced around, searching for Emma the moment he sat down. But she was gone. The corner where she had stood earlier was empty. His shoulders slumped, and he lowered his head, disappointment flickering across his face.

Grayson, who sat a few seats away, noticed every gesture. He watched Dexter’s reaction through narrowed eyes but kept his face blank, pretending he hadn’t seen a thing.

Lunch passed with idle chatter and laughter, though a quiet tension hung over the table. After eating, the group lounged in the living room, sipping drinks and discussing random topics.

"Let’s head to the bar, I feel like partying tonight," one of the guys suggested.

Grayson, who hadn't spoken much, shrugged. “Sure. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Dexter hesitated for a moment but eventually agreed. Wherever Grayson went, Leah was right behind. She latched onto his arm like a shadow as the group made their way out.

That night, Grayson returned home drunk. He staggered through the front door, reeking of alcohol and bitterness. The servants hurried to assist him, but he shoved them away.

“Don’t touch me,” he slurred, eyes glassy. “I’m not dead."

He stumbled down the hallway, muttering under his breath, and collapsed on the couch instead of heading to his bedroom.

…

*Meanwhile, in the dark storage room*

Emma lay curled up on a thin mattress, her body aching. Her sleep was restless, plagued by pain and silent tears. A faint creak at the door jolted her eyes open.

She sat up slowly, heart pounding in her chest.

A shadowy figure stood in the doorway

Before she could scream, a hand clamped over her mouth.

“Shhh… it’s me,” the voice whispered urgently

Her eyes widened as she recognized the figure—but before she could react, he lifted her gently into his arms and carried her out of the room.