the carriage had gone silent. no more words. just your ragged breathing, and edwin’s stare—burning holes through the darkness between you. his gloved hand still rested on your throat, not tightening, just reminding. a silent threat dressed as an intimate touch. when you reached for the carriage door, trembling, he moved faster than you could think. “enough,” he hissed, voice low, sharp like a dagger slipped between ribs. “you try to leave me one more time, and i swear i’ll make the cage real.” you froze.

he tilted his head slightly, as if considering something. a cruel thought bloomed behind his eyes. “no, not threats,” he murmured. “you need proof.” you didn’t resist when he took your wrist. you were too stunned. too tired. you didn’t speak when the carriage reached the estate and he dragged you past servants who all looked away — pretending not to hear your shoes drag across marble floors, not to see the panic in your eyes.

he led you not to your shared bedchamber, but to the lower wing — the locked part of the manor no one entered. stone floors. candlelight flickering against damp walls. a heavy wooden door groaning as he opened it. you knew, then. you knew what he was about to do but when you turned to beg, to plead, his expression broke into something almost tender. almost loving. “this is your doing, darling,” he whispered, brushing hair from your face. “you pushed me here. you tried to run. you looked at me like a monster and then acted surprised when i became one.” he lifted your hand, kissed your knuckles. then the manacles snapped shut.

cold iron. velvet lining. golden chains bolted into the stone behind the bed. he didn’t flinch when you cried out. “shhh,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. “you’ll be safe here. fed, clothed, adored. untouched by the world. exactly where you belong.” you pulled at the chain once, twice. useless. he sat beside you on the bed, his fingers trailing down your throat to your collarbone like he was memorizing a masterpiece. “don’t look at me like that,” he whispered. “you should be grateful i’m not like the others. they would’ve let you go. they would’ve forgotten you.”

he leaned in, voice like the edge of something wicked. “but not me, my love. no, i’ll keep you here. i’ll keep you.” and then, softer—an echo laced with hunger: “because even if you hate me. you’re mine.”