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The days had become a haze—a never-ending cycle of submission and resistance, each one indistinguishable from the last. Elara had tried so hard to fight against the dark grip of Rowan's control, but each time she thought she could stand on her own, he pulled her back, suffocating her with his presence. The harder she fought, the more she found herself retreating into a fragile shell of herself, too afraid to look too deeply at the cracks forming within.
Rowan's presence felt like a shadow she couldn't escape. His words haunted her, repeated over and over in her mind. You're mine. You'll always be mine. No matter how much she tried to push them away, they seeped into her consciousness, filling every empty space.
There was no escaping him. No escaping the life he had forced her into.
One evening, Rowan appeared at her door again, his usual cold smile playing at the corners of his lips. But tonight, something felt different—his eyes, normally dark and calculating, seemed softer, like he was waiting for something. His gaze lingered on her longer than usual, as if searching for something beneath the surface.
"Elara," he began, his voice oddly gentle, "I've been thinking about you. About us."
Elara didn't respond. She had stopped trying to find the words to fight him. The more she spoke, the more it seemed to feed into his control. He didn't need her words. He only needed her obedience.
"I've given you everything," Rowan continued, stepping closer. "And all I want in return is you—completely. I don't want your resistance. It only makes things harder."
Her heart thundered in her chest. She knew exactly where this conversation was going. Rowan was never content with just having her physically; he wanted her mind, her soul. He wanted complete and utter submission.
"I'm not yours to control," Elara said, her voice hollow, but the words had no weight. It felt more like a desperate plea than a defiant declaration.
Rowan's smile faltered for a brief moment, and that small crack in his composure sent a cold shiver down her spine. It was fleeting, gone as quickly as it appeared, but it unsettled her.
"Of course you're mine, Elara," he said softly, almost tenderly, as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face. "I gave you a place here. I gave you a life you could never have had without me. I gave you everything you wanted. And you gave yourself to me. Don't you remember?"
Elara recoiled at the words. The guilt that rose within her was almost unbearable. Had she? Had she given herself to him, or had she simply been trapped into submission by his twisted form of affection?
"I didn't ask for this," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I didn't ask for you."
Rowan's expression darkened, and for the first time, Elara saw a flash of something that made her blood run cold. It was anger—cold, simmering anger that he had kept buried for so long. But instead of lashing out physically, as he so often did when provoked, he took a step back, his hands clenching at his sides.
"You're wrong," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "You did ask for me. You just don't remember it yet. But you will. One day, you'll realize how much you need me."
Rowan turned abruptly, walking toward the window and staring out into the night. The silence between them was thick, almost suffocating. Elara could feel the pressure of it in the air, like a storm ready to break.
"You're not alone anymore, Elara," he said after a long pause, his back still to her. "You've never been alone. I'll make sure of that."
Something in his words, the eerie calmness with which he spoke, set off alarm bells in Elara's mind. She couldn't help but wonder—had he been planning this all along? Was this a game to him? Was he slowly, deliberately breaking her down so she would finally, completely, surrender?
"I don't want you to control me," Elara said quietly, but this time, her words felt more solid, more real. It was a small victory, but it was something.
Rowan turned back to her, and for the first time in days, Elara saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. The mask slipped, just slightly, and she saw something raw, something unguarded. But the moment passed in an instant, and his usual coldness returned, as if he had never wavered.
"You'll come to understand, Elara," he said, his voice low, almost predatory. "You can't fight this. You can't fight me. I'm the only one who truly knows you."
With those words, he left, leaving Elara standing there, her mind reeling. She had no idea if he believed what he said or if he was simply using her for his own twisted needs. But for the first time in a long while, she felt a flicker of something—something she hadn't felt in so long: doubt.
What if he was right? What if she couldn't escape him?
The thought sent a chill down her spine.
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The following days passed in a haze. Rowan's presence in her life was inescapable, like the air she breathed. She couldn't think clearly anymore. There was a constant tugging at her mind, a whisper that never seemed to quiet. You're his. You'll always be his.
Elara hated herself for how easily those words slipped into her thoughts. She couldn't help it. The more Rowan manipulated her, the more she felt herself fraying at the edges.
But there were moments—rare, fleeting moments—when she felt something else, something stronger. A tiny flicker of her former self, the girl who had fought against everything he represented. And those moments were enough to keep her going. They were the only thing that kept her from slipping completely into the void of his control.
One evening, Elara sat by the window, looking out into the darkened landscape. The moonlight bathed the world in silver, casting long shadows on the ground. For a moment, it felt like the world outside still existed, that there was something beyond the walls that held her captive.
And then, as if in answer to her silent prayer, a sound reached her ears—a soft, almost imperceptible knock at the door.
Her heart skipped a beat.
It was too quiet. Too still. But the knock was there, unmistakable.
Elara stood, her legs trembling as she crossed the room to the door. She hesitated for just a second before reaching for the handle. She didn't know what she expected to find on the other side, but she opened the door anyway.
And there, standing in the doorway, was a figure that made her breath catch in her throat.
It wasn't Rowan.
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