The house had never felt so quiet, so suffocating.
Loraine walked through the halls with a careful smile, each step measured, each word chosen. Every glance she gave Jason was soft, obedient—exactly what he wanted to see.
Inside, she counted doors. Windows. Guards. Their patterns. Every corridor. Every corner. She memorized what he overlooked: the small gaps, the moments when he relaxed, the seconds where his eyes weren't on her.
She appeared tame. Silent. Compliant.
But inside, a storm raged.
The Facade
"Dinner is ready," Jason said, voice light, almost affectionate.
"Thank you, mine," she replied, bowing her head slightly.
He smiled, and she swallowed the lump in her throat.
He didn't know that each smile, each nod, was a lie. A tool to keep him calm, to keep herself safe. Every day she learned more about him—the subtleties, the patterns, the fragile moments between rages—and she stored them carefully, planning, preparing.
Jason's Breaking Point
That night, a minor incident shattered the fragile calm.
A vase tipped over. She hadn't done it—it was a guard moving past too quickly—but Jason didn't see that.
"Why is it always chaos with you?" he shouted, voice bouncing off the walls like thunder.
"I… I didn't—" Loraine began, but he cut her off.
"Silence!" he yelled, his eyes red and wild. "Do you think this is acceptable?"
He grabbed her wrist and shook her, hard enough that her bruised arm throbbed painfully.
"I can't… I can't control myself when you push me like this," he hissed, voice breaking between rage and desperation. "You belong to me! Do you understand?! You are mine!"
She flinched but didn't respond. She forced a nod, tears streaming, voice silent.
Violence and Obsession
He stepped back, breathing heavily, fists clenched, pacing.
"You think I don't see? You think I don't notice the way your eyes wander, the way you hide your thoughts?" he spat. "Every movement… every glance… I feel it! You're pretending to obey me!"
She stayed still, forcing herself to look small and fragile.
"Mine," he growled, grabbing her shoulders. "Look at me. Look at me and tell me it's true. Tell me you won't run again. Tell me you're mine."
"I… I'm yours," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He froze. A storm passed over his face. Relief, desire, rage, and obsession all mixed into something terrifying.
"You better be," he said softly, brushing her hair back roughly. "Because if you're not… if you ever try again…" His fingers clenched tight enough to leave marks. "I'll find out. And there will be consequences."
She flinched inwardly, but outwardly nodded. "Yes… mine."
The Strategy
For the next days, she became the perfect wife on the surface. Polite. Smiling. Obedient. She spoke only when spoken to, stayed close to him, laughed when he laughed. She played the role Jason demanded, while secretly observing everything—the guards' routines, the timings of the doors, the sound of keys in locks.
Every gentle touch, every soft whisper, every gift he gave her was cataloged and stored, because the moment she had a chance, she would move.
Questions That Press Hard
How much longer can she keep up the act?
If Jason senses even a flicker of deceit, what will he do next?
How much violence can he unleash before he truly loses control?
And when the perfect moment to escape finally comes—will she survive the storm he's building around her?