The morning after the anniversary was a cold awakening. Seraphina stood in the center of the master bedroom, watching the dust motes dance in the streaks of grey light. Her body felt like a map of Silas's possession—bruises she couldn't see but could feel with every breath. She had tried to run, but Silas hadn't just closed the door; he had dismantled the very idea of an exit.
By noon, she was in the city, her heart hammering against her ribs as she walked into a high-end design firm for an interview. She needed a job. She needed a paycheck that didn't have the Sterling lion embossed on it. But as she sat across from the creative director, a man who had praised her portfolio just two days ago, she saw the change in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Sterling," the man said, not meeting her gaze. "We've decided to go in a different direction. It's... a corporate decision."
Seraphina froze. "Is it a corporate decision, or a Sterling decision?"
The man looked up, pity flashing in his eyes before he looked away. "In this city, there is no difference."
She walked out into the biting Manhattan wind, realized that Silas had salted the earth. He didn't just want her in his house; he wanted her to have nowhere else to stand.
That evening, Silas insisted on her attendance at a private club in the Upper East Side. It was a place where old money went to die and new money went to kill. Seraphina was draped in a dress of midnight silk, its high neckline hiding the marks Silas had left on her throat—marks that felt like a permanent collar.
The atmosphere was thick with the scent of expensive cigars and the sharp, acidic tang of gossip. Silas stood at the center of the room, the sun around which the sycophants orbited. He held a glass of crystal-clear gin, his eyes tracking Seraphina's every move with the intensity of a sniper.
"You look pale, Seraphina," Aunt Beatrice remarked, gliding toward them like a shark in pearls. "Perhaps the strain of maintaining a marriage you clearly didn't want is starting to show. Or perhaps Silas has finally realized that beauty without utility is just a wasted investment."
The small circle of socialites tittered. Seraphina felt her face burn. She looked at Silas, expecting the cold silence he usually reserved for her. But Silas didn't ignore her. He stepped forward, the air around him turning freezing.
"Utility, Beatrice?" Silas's voice was a low, dangerous purr. He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Seraphina's ear, his touch lingering just a second too long on her temple. "My wife is not a tool. She is the crown of this house. If you find her presence straining, perhaps it's because she reminds you of everything you've spent forty years failing to achieve."
The room went silent. Beatrice's mouth opened and closed, her face turning a mottled purple.
"We're leaving," Silas commanded, his hand moving to the small of Seraphina's back.
He didn't lead her; he marched her. The moment they were inside the elevator, the facade of the protective husband shattered. He slammed his hand against the button for the penthouse, his breathing heavy and ragged.
"You think I did that for you?" he hissed, pinning her against the mirrored wall. "I did it because you are my property. And nobody—nobody—disrespects what belongs to me."
"Then why do you do it, Silas?" she whispered, her eyes brimming with a tired defiance. "You treat me worse than they ever could."
"Because I'm the only one with the right," he growled, his lips crashing onto hers in a kiss that tasted of mint and possessive fury.
The true storm broke when they returned home.
Silas headed straight for the dressing room, his movements fueled by a dark, restless energy. He was looking for something. Seraphina watched from the doorway, her heart sinking as he began to rummage through her vanity drawers.
He found it. A small, crumpled foil packet hidden at the back of a velvet jewelry box.
"What is this?" he roared, holding the empty blister pack of birth control pills in the air as if it were a smoking gun.
"It's an old one, Silas—"
"Don't lie to me!" He was across the room in a blur, his hand wrapping around her wrist, pulling her toward him until she was forced to look into the manic fire of his eyes. "You've been taking these. Every morning while I was at work, every night after I touched you. You've been poisoning the legacy I'm trying to build."
"I don't want your legacy!" she screamed, her voice breaking. "I don't want a child who will grow up to be a monster like you! I don't want to be tied to you for another twenty years!"
Silas's face contorted into something demonic. He threw the foil packet into the fireplace, then turned back to her, his grip on her wrist tightening until she gasped in pain.
"You think you have a choice?" he whispered, his voice dropping to a terrifying, guttural level. "You are a Sterling. Your only purpose is to carry what belongs to me. If I find out you're still taking these, Seraphina, I will lock you in this room. I will have a guard at the door and a doctor at your bedside. I will make sure you are nothing but a vessel for my blood."
"You can't do that," she sobbed.
"I can do whatever I want," he countered, pushing her toward the bed. "I bought your family. I bought your father's freedom. And tonight, I'm going to make sure you remember the price."
He didn't use the lights. In the darkness of the bedroom, Silas reclaimed her with a desperation that was almost frantic. He wanted to drown out her defiance, to fill her with his presence until there was no room left for her own thoughts. He wanted to make her pregnant, not because he wanted a child, but because he wanted a permanent anchor—a weight that would keep his "ghost" from ever drifting away.
As the moonlight filtered through the silk curtains, Silas looked down at her sleeping form. Her face was tear-stained, her breathing shallow. He felt a sharp, agonizing twist in his chest—a feeling he refused to name. He reached out to touch her cheek, but pulled his hand back at the last second.
He had won. He had her trapped, her family silenced, and her body under his thumb. But as he stood there in the silence of his empire, Silas Sterling realized that the more he broke her, the less there was of her to hold.