The days had become indistinguishable from one another, like an endless loop. Every morning, Elara awoke to the same cold room, the same dark walls, the same suffocating silence. The only thing that ever changed was the weight of Rowan's presence, which seemed to grow heavier each day. He was always there—whether it was watching her from the doorway or following her from room to room like a shadow, he was always near.
Elara's attempts to resist him had only led to deeper isolation. She stopped trying to speak out, to confront him with the fire she had once had. Instead, she kept her head down, played along with his games, and waited for the next moment of defiance to rise within her—if it ever would.
It was late one evening when Rowan appeared at her door again, his knock soft, but unmistakable. Elara knew it was him even before the sound of his footsteps followed the quiet rap. The dark anticipation in the pit of her stomach twisted as she sat up on the edge of her bed, glancing toward the door.
When he entered, there was a strange calm about him. His usual arrogance was muted, replaced by an eerie sense of patience that unnerved her more than anything else.
"Come here," Rowan said, his voice quiet but commanding, as though he were speaking to a pet rather than a person.
Elara hesitated. Her gaze flickered between him and the door, but she knew it was pointless to even entertain the idea of escape. The house felt like a maze, and every attempt to flee had only led her straight back into his grasp.
Reluctantly, she stood up and moved toward him. She didn't look at him as she approached, but she could feel his eyes on her, studying her every movement, as though she were some delicate object he was trying to decipher. It sickened her.
Rowan didn't speak again until she was standing right in front of him. He reached out, his hand gently brushing her hair behind her ear, the touch deceptively tender. His fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary, sending a wave of disgust through her.
"You're so much more beautiful when you don't fight me, Elara," he said, his voice soft, like a lover's whisper, but there was an underlying threat to it. "You've been so tense lately. So resistant. But you don't have to be. You'll find peace, eventually."
Elara clenched her fists at her sides, trying to control the tremble in her hands. "I don't want peace with you," she bit out, her voice shaking with the fury she was still capable of, even if it was getting harder to summon.
Rowan's smile was slow and cruel. "I'm not giving you a choice, Elara. You'll come to see that eventually."
His hand moved to her chin, lifting her face so that she was forced to look him in the eye. The intensity of his gaze was suffocating, as if he were trying to unravel the very fabric of her being. And for a brief moment, Elara almost thought he could.
"You can't keep doing this to me," she said, her voice breaking with emotion. "You can't keep manipulating me. You can't keep pushing me until I don't know where I end and you begin."
Rowan's fingers tightened slightly around her chin, forcing her to hold still. His smile faded, and his expression shifted to one of dark amusement. "Manipulation? Oh, Elara, you misunderstand. I'm not manipulating you. I'm simply making you see the truth. You need me. Without me, you're nothing."
Her breath caught in her throat. The words felt like a physical blow, knocking the wind out of her. She had heard him say this before, but it had never felt so real, so deeply ingrained in her every fiber. Part of her wanted to scream, to tear herself away from him, but she felt rooted to the spot, unable to move.
Rowan's eyes softened just slightly, the change so subtle it was almost imperceptible. "You'll learn to love me, Elara. And when you do, it will be better. I promise you that."
Something in her chest twisted painfully. He wasn't offering her love. He was offering control. And, for some inexplicable reason, she was starting to believe it.
He wasn't letting her go. He was right. She had tried to escape him, tried to fight back, but the walls were too high. The longer she stayed with him, the more she felt like she was losing herself in the process.
Rowan's voice broke through her thoughts again, his words so soft it was as if he were speaking to a child. "You don't have to pretend anymore. You're safe with me, Elara. You're mine, and that's never going to change."
He leaned in then, his lips brushing against her forehead in a gesture that should have been comforting, but only filled her with dread. Elara flinched instinctively, but Rowan didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't care.
He stepped back and gestured to the room. "You're free to move about the house, Elara," he said, as though giving her some kind of freedom, when in reality it was just another form of control. "But remember, you can't leave. Not without me."
The words hung in the air, like a dark promise that threatened to suffocate her. He was still watching her closely, his eyes piercing, as if waiting for her to react. Waiting for her to admit something—something she couldn't even put into words.
Elara remained silent, her gaze hardening as she looked away from him. She wouldn't let him see the struggle inside her. She couldn't.
After a moment, Rowan turned and left the room without another word, the door clicking softly behind him. Elara stood there, her body trembling as the full weight of his words settled in.
He was right, in a way. She couldn't leave. She had tried, and every time, she ended up right back in his arms.
But what did it mean for her now? Was she really trapped? Or was this just a moment of weakness, a crack in the walls she had so carefully built around herself?
The silence in the room was deafening. It echoed in her mind, amplifying the doubts, the fears, the pain.
She wasn't sure how much longer she could fight. The more she tried to hold on to herself, the more she felt herself slipping away.
And with each passing day, she wondered whether there was even anything left of the girl she used to be.