Chapter Five

She stayed in the room longer than she intended. At first, she told herself it was defiance. If he thought he could schedule her movements the way he had scheduled everything else, then she would do the opposite. She would sit on the edge of the bed and let the minutes stretch, let the quiet press in, let the anger burn itself steady instead of sharp.

But as time passed, the anger dulled into something heavier.

Thoughts crept in, not dramatic ones, just small and relentless. Where exactly had her brother gone. Who decided it was urgent. How many conversations had taken place before she ever opened her eyes that morning.

She stood and crossed the room, pausing by the window. The grounds outside were immaculate, gravel paths and trimmed hedges arranged with the kind of order that suggested nothing ever happened here unless someone allowed it.

A knock came at the door, steady and unhurried.

She didn’t answer. After a brief pause, the handle turned anyway.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with the same quiet precision he applied to everything, his gaze moving quickly over her posture, the tension in her shoulders, the untouched glass of water on the bedside table.

“You didn’t come down,” he said.

“I didn’t agree to a schedule,” she replied.

“No,” he said. “You didn’t.”

He remained near the door, giving her space that felt intentional rather than kind.

“You skipped lunch,” he added.

She let out a short breath. “Is that another problem?”

“It already is.”

She turned to face him fully. “You’re acting like my body belongs to you now.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes sharpened. “Your body belongs to you. Your visibility does not.”

She frowned. “What does that even mean?”

“It means if you faint in a hallway, people will talk. If you stop eating, someone will notice. And when they do, they’ll start asking why my wife looks like she’s unraveling.”

Her chest tightened. “So this is about appearances again.”

“It’s about consequences,” he corrected. “Appearances are just how consequences introduce themselves.”

She laughed quietly. “You really believe everything you do is for my good.”

“I believe chaos doesn’t ask permission before it hurts people,” he said.

She studied him, searching for cracks. “You keep saying ‘people’ when you mean yourself.”

He considered it. “I’m included.”

Silence settled between them, heavy and unresolved.

“You could have asked,” she said. “For cooperation.”

“For what?” he asked.

“For trust.”

A faint smile touched his mouth, brief and gone almost immediately. “You don’t offer trust when you feel cornered.”

“And you do?”

“I plan,” he said. “That’s different.”

She turned away, pacing once before stopping. “You talk like this is permanent.”

“It is.”

Her voice dropped. “Then what happens to me?”

He didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his tone was quieter. “You adapt.”

The word sent a chill through her.

“I won’t,” she said. “I won’t become whatever this family expects.”

He stepped closer then, slowly, stopping at a careful distance. “You don’t have to become them.”

“Then what?”

“You become impossible to ignore,” he said. “Which requires restraint before resistance.”

She looked up at him sharply. “You’re teaching me.”

“I’m keeping you alive in a house that would eat you if you showed weakness,” he replied.

Her throat tightened. “You don’t get to decide what weakness looks like.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I recognize it.”

She shook her head. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

His gaze flickered toward the window. “I’ve watched people lose battles they didn’t know they were fighting.”

She hesitated, then asked quietly, “Is that what happened to my brother?”

The air shifted.

“Your brother chose distance,” he said. “That’s all.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re ready for.”

Her hands clenched. “You keep deciding what I can handle.”

“Because right now,” he said evenly, “you’re standing in the middle of a house that already sees you as mine. If you break too soon, they’ll stop pretending you matter.”

Her breath caught. “And you won’t?”

“I won’t,” he said. “That would defeat the purpose.”

She stared at him, heart pounding. “You keep talking like I’m a piece in a larger plan.”

“You are,” he said. “So am I.”

She laughed, bitter. “You don’t sound trapped.”

“No,” he admitted. “I sound responsible.”

The word lingered between them.

“You don’t scare me,” she said suddenly.

“I know,” he replied. “If I did, you’d be quiet.”

The honesty unsettled her all over again.

He glanced at the untouched water. “Drink something.”

She bristled. “There it is again.”

“This time,” he said, “I’m not asking.”

Her eyes flashed. “Or what?”

He held her gaze. “Or I’ll have someone bring soup, and then you’ll really hate me.”

Despite herself, a sound escaped her, half laugh, half disbelief.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“I’ve been told,” he said.

She reached for the glass and took a sip, never breaking eye contact.

“Happy?” she asked.

“Relieved,” he corrected.

She lowered the glass. “You shouldn’t be.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not done fighting,” she said.

His expression softened, just slightly. “I’d be disappointed if you were.”

He turned toward the door, then paused.

“For what it’s worth,” he added, “you did well today.”

“At what?” she asked. “Surviving breakfast?”

“At not giving them what they wanted,” he replied. “Panic would have entertained them.”

She watched him carefully. “You really believe that.”

“Yes.”

He opened the door.

As he stepped out, he spoke without looking back. “Dinner is in two hours. Eat something before then.”

The door closed behind him.

She stood alone in the quiet room, heart racing, thoughts tangled.

For the first time since waking up in that bed, she realized something that unsettled her more than fear ever had. He wasn’t trying to break her, he was trying to shape her. And that meant she would have to decide which one of them learned faster.