The Silence Of His Vows のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 101 - チャプター 110

The chain was unlocked at six in the morning.I knew this because I'd learned to tell time by the quality of darkness outside the window. By the way the wind changed. By the weight of silence in the house before the staff began moving through the halls.I sat up on the rug, my body moving automatically. Reach for the key. Unlock the cuff. Stand. Smooth the dress. Wait.This was the pattern now.Wake. Unlock. Work. Eat if they remembered. Sleep on the rug. Repeat.The days had blurred into a single continuous loop. Polishing silver in the dining hall. Dusting shelves in the library. Folding linens in the laundry room under the watchful eye of the housekeeper who wasn't Carmina. Scrubbing floors that were already clean.No one hit me anymore.Carmina had disappeared after that day with the laundry press. I didn't know where she'd gone. Maybe Killian had sent her away. Maybe she'd gotten bored.It didn't matter.The work continued. The chain continued. The silence continued.I existed in

The room had a window.I stood in front of it, my fingertips pressed against the glass. Outside, trees swayed in the wind. Real trees. Green leaves catching afternoon light.I could see sky.I lifted my right hand and placed it against the glass beside my left. The gauze was gone now. The bandage removed weeks ago. The scar tissue was pink and shiny, pulled tight across my palm like melted wax.Three months.It had been three months since the white room.I knew because I'd counted. I counted everything now. Days. Meals. The bars on this window. Twelve bars. Ninety-three days.My reflection stared back at me from the glass. Short hair, growing back in uneven patches. Hazel eyes with dark circles underneath. The gray dress hung looser now - they'd given me new clothes two weeks ago. Clean. Soft.I looked different.I looked... alive.I pressed my scarred palm harder against the glass, watching the white tissue compress and turn red with pressure.How did I get here?Three months agoThe

I was lying on the bed when I heard it.Not the slot opening. Not the familiar scrape of a tray sliding across metal.The lock.The actual lock turning.I sat up, my heart suddenly pounding against my ribs.No one opened that door. The meals came through the slot. Everything came through the slot. The doctor had been the only person to actually step inside this room, and that had been weeks ago. Maybe months.But the lock was turning.The handle moved downward.The door opened.Marco stood in the doorway holding a tray. Dinner. I could see the covered plate, the glass of water, the small paper cup with my nightly pill.He stepped inside.The first person to step inside my room in so long I'd lost count of the days.I scrambled off the bed. I didn't mean to move so fast. My body just reacted, propelled by something desperate and animal.Marco walked to the small table by the chair. He set the tray down carefully. The dishes clinked softly against the wood, the sound too loud in the sil

Seven days.Seven days of the garden.By the third day, I started feeling it.I was kneeling beside the roses, touching the soft petals, when the sensation crawled up the back of my neck.Being watched.I lifted my head slowly. I looked around.Marco stood by the door. Same spot as always. Arms crossed. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the grounds beyond the garden.The hedges were still. The path was empty.Nothing.But the feeling didn't go away.It pressed against my spine. Heavy. Constant.I stood up. I walked down the path, looking at the house.Rows of windows. Most with curtains drawn.I scanned each one.Nothing moved.But I could feel it. Eyes on me.On the fourth day, it was stronger.I tried to ignore it. I sat on the stone bench and tilted my face to the sun.But that weight on my neck wouldn't leave.I opened my eyes. I looked at the house again.Still nothing.I turned back to the roses. I touched the grass. I breathed the air.But the sensation followed me the

I took the pill.Swallowed it dry. Lay down. Pulled the blanket to my chin.The ceiling stared back at me. Blank. Cream-colored. No cracks.I thought about dinner. About serving him. About the wine bottle in my shaking hands.About the moment our eyes met.Five seconds.What did that look mean?My thoughts started to blur. The pill was working.My limbs grew heavy. My breathing slowed.I closed my eyes.The darkness swallowed me whole.I was somewhere between sleep and waking.That strange space where my body was dead weight but my mind was alert. Hyperaware.I knew I was asleep. I had to be.But I could hear things.The lock.Soft. Deliberate. Metal sliding against metal.The door opening. Hinges creaking.No.This is a dream.The pill does this. Creates false sensations. Makes you think you're awake when you're not.But the footsteps sounded real.Slow. Measured. Crossing the room.Coming closer.I tried to move. To lift my hand. To open my eyes.Nothing responded.The drug had me l