The house was alive that evening.
Not with her presence—but with anticipation.
Jason's black suit hugged him like armor, his eyes sharper than the candlelight flickering across the walls.
Loraine followed silently, hand clutching the folds of her dress, stomach twisting with the old fear she thought she had buried.
The Arrival
The mansion beyond the city felt different tonight.
Taller. Darker.
Every shadow seemed to curve toward Jason, bowing in recognition.
"You'll see," he whispered when she asked where they were going.
They entered a long hall, lined with black mirrors, crystal chandeliers reflecting eyes she didn't recognize.
He led her to a grand dining room. A long table stretched endlessly, filled with men and women she had never met—each beautiful in a way that made her uneasy, each watching her.
"These are my… friends," Jason said, voice casual, like revealing a secret she should already know.
Her stomach churned.
She sensed power here.
A predator's calm waiting for a scent.
The Kiss That Broke the Table's Calm
Dinner started with laughter—soft, polite, practiced.
Jason's hand brushed hers across the table.
He leaned closer, lips grazing her ear:
"You belong to me," he whispered.
She flinched.
Just a slight pull back.
Just a hesitation.
And that was all he needed.
His head snapped up; eyes glowing red just enough to terrify her, subtle in the dim light.
"You flinched," he growled, voice low but deadly.
The room went still.
The clinking of silverware paused.
Even the air seemed to freeze.
Jason stood abruptly, chair scraping the floor, every movement sharp as a blade.
He reached her, grip tightening on her wrist.
"You belong here," he said, voice trembling with anger and panic. "Do you understand me?"
She shook, tears pricking at her eyes.
"I—Jason, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
But he didn't let her finish.
He struck her—not to kill, not fully—but to make her fear match his.
The table gasped, but no one dared move.
Control Among His Own
Jason's friends exchanged glances, quiet acknowledgment passing silently between them.
He released her wrist, though his fingers lingered dangerously close.
"You will not flinch again," he whispered, voice low but fierce. "Not here. Not ever."
Her body shuddered under his presence.
Her stomach twisted—part terror, part the strange pull she had learned to feel whenever he touched her.
Jason's lips brushed her hair as he leaned down, whispering into her ear:
"Mine. Always mine."
The Dinner Unfolds
The meal continued, though the tension never left the room.
He introduced her carefully, controlling the conversation like a master puppeteer.
Every question he allowed, every laugh he encouraged, was measured.
She tried to smile.
Tried to blend.
Tried to act as if nothing had happened.
But Jason's hand rested on her thigh under the table—light, but all-consuming.
Every movement of hers was noted. Every glance, recorded. Every flinch remembered.
After the Meal
When they returned to the house, Loraine stumbled slightly, exhausted by the constant watch.
Jason guided her into his private study.
"Do you see?" he whispered, voice trembling with controlled rage and desire. "Even among them, you are mine."
She nodded silently.
"You don't understand yet," he continued, pacing behind her. "You're awakening… but I see it. And it terrifies me."
She tried to speak—"I… I'm not—"
"Shh," he said, voice low, urgent. "Not tonight. Sleep. Tomorrow, we begin again."
Questions That Burn in the Dark
How much longer can Loraine withstand his constant, terrifying presence?
Can she really pretend obedience while Jason's power and possessiveness loom over every step?
And when the world outside their walls becomes visible… will fear or survival guide her first?