Adeline did not leave.She stood by the window long after Donovan was gone, staring at the gate he had mentioned—the one she could not see from where she stood but now felt etched into her mind.The gate isn't locked.The words repeated like a taunt.She imagined walking through it. Breathing air that didn't belong to him. Running until her legs burned. Knocking on Rory's door. Crying into familiar arms.Then she imagined the aftermath.Rory's sudden misfortune. The quiet accidents. The way lives shrank under Donovan's attention until there was nothing left but survival.Adeline closed her eyes and made the painful decision She stayed.—The next morning, nothing changed.And that terrified her more than punishment would have.Breakfast arrived. Clean clothes. Silence.It was as if the villa itself was waiting for her to understand something without being told.Ethan came in the afternoon."You didn't leave," he said, not accusing—observing.Adeline didn't look at him. "I wasn't really allowed to."Ethan studied her for a moment. "You were."That hurt more."Then why does it feel like I failed?" she asked quietly.Ethan didn't answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. "Because staying costs more than running."She looked up at him then. "Does it ever stop costing?"Ethan's jaw tightened. "No."—Donovan didn't come that day.Or the next.The distance felt deliberate.Adeline felt it in the way guards watched her more carefully, as if she were no longer fragile—but claimed. In the way servants addressed her with quiet respect instead of indifference.She was no longer a captive.She was kept.The realization made her skin crawl.On the third night, Donovan appeared again.He didn't approach her.He sat across the room, calm, composed, studying her like someone evaluating the outcome of a test."You chose," he said.Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress. "You knew what I would choose.""Yes.""Then why make me decide at all?"Donovan leaned forward slightly. "Because obedience is meaningless. Consent lasts longer."Her breath hitched. "You call this consent?""I call it honesty," he replied. "You stayed knowing the cost."She swallowed. "For someone else.""And that," Donovan said quietly, "is why this worked."Anger flared. "You're proud of this.""I respect it."The word unsettled her."I won't thank you," she said."I don't want gratitude," Donovan replied. "I want understanding."Silence stretched."What happens now?" she asked.Donovan stood."Now," he said, "you stop thinking of yourself as trapped."He stepped closer—not touching, but close enough that she felt his presence like gravity."And start realizing," he added softly, "that you've already crossed the line between prisoner and choice."He left her with that.Adeline sank onto the bed, heart pounding.She had stayed.Not because she loved him.Not because she trusted him.But because walking away would have destroyed someone she loved.And in Donovan's world, that meant something dangerous:She was no longer resisting.She was invested.And deep down, that frightened her more than captivity ever had.
