Jason began testing her in small ways.
Too small for anyone else to notice.
He would leave doors unlocked—then watch if she reached for them.
He would step out of the room—then return suddenly, eyes sharp, measuring her breath, her posture, her fear.
Loraine learned quickly.
Stillness kept her alive.
But something inside her—quiet, stubborn—started counting.
The Test
One afternoon, Jason placed his phone on the table and walked away.
It rang.
Her heart jumped.
He did not return immediately.
She stared at the phone, sweat gathering at her palms. Every instinct screamed don't touch it.
But the screen lit up again.
A name flashed.
Ethan.
Her chest tightened so hard she thought she might cry out.
Jason returned just as she pulled her hand back.
He picked up the phone slowly, his thumb hovering over the screen.
Then he looked at her.
"Do you know this person?" he asked softly.
Her voice came out thin. "He… he knew me before."
Jason smiled.
Not warmly.
"Before me?" he asked.
She nodded.
The silence stretched.
Then Jason laughed lightly, like she'd told a joke. "How nostalgic."
He deleted the call log.
Right in front of her.
The Warning That Sounds Like Love
That night, he held her face between his hands.
"You don't need old connections," he murmured. "They confuse you."
She didn't answer.
His thumbs brushed the faint bruises still healing along her jaw.
"I lose control when I think someone else might touch what's mine," he said calmly. "I don't want to lose control again."
Her breath hitched.
"I won't," she whispered.
He kissed her forehead. "Good girl."
Inside her, something flinched.
Her Voice Returns
For the first time in weeks, she cried alone—not loudly, not desperately.
Silently.
Her tears soaked into the pillow, unnoticed.
This isn't love, a voice whispered inside her.
This is possession wearing a smile.
The thought terrified her.
And yet—it stayed.
Jason Feels the Shift
He noticed.
He always noticed.
"You're thinking again," he said one morning, watching her over breakfast. "That's dangerous."
She lowered her gaze.
"I just miss my mother," she lied.
His eyes softened—just enough to confuse her.
"I saved her," he reminded gently. "You belong to me because I saved you."
The words wrapped around her like chains disguised as gratitude.
Ethan's Shadow
That evening, a guard whispered something to Jason.
Jason's expression changed.
He didn't explode.
He didn't rage.
He smiled.
Later, he told her casually, "Someone from your past has been asking questions."
Her blood ran cold.
"Don't worry," he added softly. "I handled it."
She didn't ask how.
She was afraid of the answer.
The New Fear
That night, Jason stood at the foot of the bed, watching her sleep.
"You're mine," he said quietly, almost tender. "And I'll make sure you remember that."
She lay awake, pretending.
For the first time, she wasn't just afraid of him.
She was afraid of how easily he could erase people.
Questions That Refuse to Stay Silent
What did Jason mean when he said he "handled" Ethan?
Why does her silence feel like both survival and surrender?
If her inner voice is waking up… how long before Jason notices completely?
And when he does—
will love still be the mask he wears?