Chapter 9: The Cold Night
The night was colder than usual—eerily quiet, the kind of silence that presses against your skin and makes every heartbeat sound like a scream.
Vierrah stood by the window, staring at the heavy rain that drenched the garden below. Her reflection in the glass looked ghostly pale, her eyes hollow. She had spent hours replaying Lucas's confession in her mind—his voice, the way he said he'd watched her for five years, the madness that had sounded so much like devotion.
She couldn't take it anymore.
Not the cameras.
Not the endless control.
Not the illusion of love that felt like a cage wrapped in silk.
So when the mansion grew silent—when she was sure Lucas had gone to his study—Vierrah made her move.
She changed into a simple coat, slipped on her shoes, and quietly opened the drawer where she had hidden the car key weeks ago. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.
"Just breathe," she whispered. "You can do this."
She moved carefully down the hallway, each creak of the floor echoing like thunder in her ears. She passed by the living room where the soft hum of the surveillance screens filled the air—screens she knew displayed her every move. But she prayed, desperately, that he wasn't watching tonight.
When she finally reached the back door, she gripped the handle tightly. The air outside smelled like rain and freedom.
Her eyes burned with tears. She could almost taste it—escape.
But just as she turned the handle—
"Going somewhere, my love?"
Her entire body froze.
Lucas's voice came from behind her—quiet, almost gentle—but that calm tone was far more terrifying than a shout.
She turned slowly. He stood there, barefoot, wearing his black silk shirt half unbuttoned, his hair slightly disheveled as if he'd just woken up. But his eyes… his eyes were cold.
"Lucas…" she whispered. "I—I just needed some air."
He tilted his head, studying her like a fragile puzzle. "Air? At two in the morning? With a packed bag?"
Her chest tightened. She didn't realize he could see the small tote she'd dropped to the floor.
"I—" she started, but her voice broke.
Lucas stepped closer, each movement calm, deliberate. "You were going to leave me."
His words weren't angry—they were empty. Hollow.
"Lucas, please, just listen—"
"After everything I've done," he said quietly, cutting her off. "After all I've given you, you were still going to run."
The storm outside roared, thunder shaking the glass windows, but nothing was louder than the silence between them.
She felt tears spill down her cheeks. "You can't keep me here forever. I can't live like this!"
Lucas's jaw clenched, but he didn't raise his voice. Instead, he stepped closer until there was barely a breath between them. His calmness was terrifying.
"You think the world out there will protect you?" he whispered. "Do you think anyone will love you like I do? Do you think you can hide from me?"
She tried to move away, but he caught her wrist—not tightly, just enough to make her still.
"Let me go," she said, trembling.
His eyes softened, but his voice stayed deadly calm. "I'm trying to, Vierrah. I'm trying to let you live freely. But you keep running from me. And I can't—" he broke off, his tone cracking, "—I can't lose you again."
Her heart ached. "Lucas, this isn't love anymore."
He smiled faintly. "It's the only kind of love I know."
Then, quietly, almost lovingly, he took the bag from her trembling hands and set it aside.
"Come," he said. "It's late."
"Lucas—"
He reached out, brushing away her tears. His touch was gentle, but there was no warmth in it. "You're cold. You shouldn't be out here."
When she didn't move, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and guided her up the stairs. She didn't resist—she was too scared, too numb.
The mansion's halls felt longer tonight, stretching endlessly as he led her back to their room.
When he opened the bedroom door, she hesitated.
"Lucas, please," she whispered. "Don't do this."
He looked at her with that same quiet, broken smile. "I have to, love. For your safety."
He guided her inside, kissed her forehead softly, and then—she heard it.
The lock click.
She rushed to the door, twisting the knob, but it wouldn't budge.
"Lucas!" she cried, pounding her fists against it. "Lucas, open the door!"
His voice came through, calm and steady. "Sleep, Vierrah. We'll talk in the morning."
"Please, don't do this!"
Silence.
She pressed her forehead to the door, tears spilling freely now. "Lucas…" she whispered. "Please…"
But he didn't answer.
Outside, the storm continued to rage, and inside the cold, golden bedroom, Vierrah sank to the floor.
The air felt heavy, pressing down on her chest until she could barely breathe.
She looked around—the soft sheets, the elegant furniture, the faint scent of his cologne on the pillow—and she realized something that broke her completely.
Every luxury in this mansion was a chain.
Every touch, every kiss, every sweet word was another lock.
She was his love.
His treasure.
His prisoner.
And as the night dragged on, she hugged her knees to her chest, whispering to herself between sobs, "He didn't even need to shout… he just needed to smile."
Outside the door, Lucas stood silently, his forehead resting against the wood, his eyes closed.
He whispered to himself, voice breaking,
"I just want to keep you safe, Vierrah. That's all."
But as he walked away, even he knew—
safety wasn't what he was giving her.
It was captivity disguised as care.
And that night, for both of them, love had never felt colder.
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