Chapter Thirty‑Two: The House Was Always a Cage
Loraine woke because the bed was cold.
Not empty—cold.
Jason's side hadn't been disturbed recently. The sheets were smooth, untouched, as if he hadn't been there at all.
Her heart began to race.
She sat up slowly, listening.
The house was silent.
Too silent.
No guards shifting.
No distant footsteps.
No hum of electricity.
Just… stillness.
She wrapped the blanket around herself and stood.
The Absence
She checked the bathroom.
Empty.
She stepped into the hallway barefoot, her breath shallow, every instinct screaming that she should go back.
Then she noticed it.
The west corridor.
The velvet rope was gone.
Again.
Her stomach twisted painfully.
No, she thought. No, no, no.
But her feet moved anyway.
The Door Opens
The locked door was no longer locked.
It stood ajar.
A thin line of red light spilled across the floor.
Loraine's hand trembled as she pushed it open just a little more.
The smell hit her first.
Metallic. Thick. Warm.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The Truth
Jason stood in the center of the room.
Not the man she married.
His back was to her, shoulders bare, skin marked with dark veins that pulsed slowly, unnaturally. His posture was wrong—too still, too predatory.
At his feet lay two bodies.
Lifeless. Pale.
Their necks—
She clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming.
Jason turned.
His eyes were not brown.
They were red.
Not glowing—burning.
And his mouth—
Fangs.
Long. Sharp. Wet.
Blood streaked down his chin.
For one suspended moment, they stared at each other.
Jason's expression shifted—not to rage.
To horror.
"Loraine—"
She ran.
Flight
She didn't scream.
She didn't look back.
She ran down the hallway, her feet slipping, her lungs burning, her mind breaking under the weight of what she had seen.
The bedroom door slammed shut behind her.
She locked it.
Her body slid down against it as she pressed her hands over her ears, shaking violently.
He's not human.
He never was.
The house isn't a home.
It was a cage.
Built for her.
He Comes Back
Hours passed.
Or minutes.
Time meant nothing.
The door unlocked softly.
She felt it before she heard it.
The room filled with his presence.
"Loraine," Jason said quietly.
She didn't turn around.
She couldn't.
The bed dipped as he sat beside her.
He reached for her shoulder.
She flinched violently and began to cry—raw, broken sobs tearing from her chest.
Jason froze.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he said quickly. "Please—look at me."
She shook her head.
Her tears soaked the pillow.
"What happened?" he asked softly, almost desperately. "Talk to me."
She couldn't speak.
If she did, the truth would shatter her completely.
He touched her arm again.
She cried harder.
Jason pulled his hand back as if burned.
Fear Changes Him
"I won't touch you," he whispered. "I swear."
His voice cracked.
"I would never hurt you," he said urgently. "Not you. Never you."
She sobbed uncontrollably.
Jason slid off the bed and knelt beside it.
"You're shaking," he said, panic creeping into his tone. "Please, tell me what you saw."
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Said nothing.
The silence stretched.
Jason exhaled slowly.
When he spoke again, his voice was dangerously calm.
"You weren't supposed to see that yet."
Her heart stopped.
The House Closes In
Jason stood.
He walked to the door and locked it.
The sound echoed through the room like a verdict.
"You're safe," he said softly. "I promise."
She didn't believe him.
"I love you," he added quietly. "Even now."
Her crying slowed—not because she was comforted.
But because she was empty.
Jason sat beside her all night.
Watching.
Waiting.
Questions That Destroy Everything
How long has Jason been hiding his true nature?
Were the people in that room strangers—or sacrifices?
Is the house protecting him… or imprisoning her?
And now that she knows the truth—
will Jason still let her live as his wife?