Chapter 9 THE DARK GAME
Eli’s POV
The blackout hit like a breath being held too long. One second, the penthouse was glowing with quiet, expensive light; the next, absolute black.
No hum from the air system. No screen light. No city reflection cutting through the curtains.
Just… silence.
I stand still, pulse loud in my ears. The air feels thicker, like the room itself is listening.
“Julian?” My voice comes out smaller than I meant it to.
Nothing.
I reach for my phone on the counter, but it's dead. Of course. The charger’s red light is off too. I tried the switch. Nothing. I find my way to the door and try the handle. Locked.
A faint, cool voice floats through the dark… close. Too close.
“You really should control your temper.”
My blood freezes.
He’s here.
“Julian?”
No answer. Just the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps circling the space.
“Left hand’s shaking,” he says quietly. “You’re looking for light, not realizing you’re the only bright thing in here.”
My stomach twists. “You’re sick.”
“No,” he says smoothly. “I’m attentive. There’s a difference.”
He moves again, or maybe he never moved. I can’t tell. Every sound stretches, distorted by the dark.
“You wanted freedom,” he continues, tone patient, clinical. “I wanted quiet. Now we both get what we wanted.”
“You call this freedom?”
“Perspective,” he corrects. “It’s funny how people beg for it until they’re given too much.”
Something taps softly, metal against glass. I flinch before realizing he’s holding the bracelet.
“Still refusing it?” he murmurs. “Admirable.”
My throat feels dry. “I’m not wearing your leash.”
I took a step back, and bumped right into him. His breath brushes my neck, warm and steady.
“You see?” His whisper slides through the dark. “The body doesn’t lie, even when the mouth does.”
I jerk forward, out of reach, my heart hammering.
“Tell me, Eli,” he asks quietly, almost curious. “Which scares you more… not knowing where I am, or knowing I’m right here?”
“Neither,” I lied.
He chuckles softly. It echoes from somewhere else now, behind me, maybe near the window.
“You think anger hides fear. It doesn’t. It just perfumes it.”
I grab the nearest thing I can feel; a pillow, I think, and throw it. It lands uselessly on the floor.
“Show yourself!”
“Why ruin the lesson?”
His voice comes from another direction again, farther this time. I can’t tell where. The disorientation claws at me, and for a moment, I’m not sure if I’m standing still or spinning.
“You mistake control for safety,” Julian says quietly. “I’m teaching you the difference.”
My throat tightens. “What do you want from me?”
There's a pause. Then, softly —
“Honesty. Still waiting for it.”
Something in me snaps. “You don’t want honesty; you want obedience!”
The silence that follows is worse than any answer.
Then I feel his hand, steady and deliberate, against my back. I don’t hear him move. He’s just there.
My body stiffens, but I don’t move.
“You tremble so easily,” he murmurs. “It’s almost… beautiful.”
His tone isn’t cruel this time. It’s too calm, too quiet, too real.
I don’t reply. I just focus on breathing.
He brushes my hair back, the touch almost careful.
“See? You’re calmer already,” he says. “Darkness makes honesty easier.”
I turn my head slightly, but he moves before I can.
“You broke something expensive tonight,” he says.
My voice is hoarse. “Then call your lawyers.”
“Why would I? I have a better way to teach value.”
He moves before I can react, there's a shift of air, then hands around my waist, strong and unyielding.
“Julian—don’t—”
“It’s not punishment,” he says simply. “It’s precaution.”
I struggle, but it’s useless. He lifts me as if I weigh nothing, carrying me through the dark like he knows every inch of the place.
The door opens with a quiet click, and the faintest glow from the city filters through the bedroom curtains.
He sets me down on the bed, the sheets cool against my skin. Metal clinks softly — the cuffs.
“You can’t—”
“I can,” he interrupts. “And I will.”
Cold steel snaps around my wrist. I jerk against it, but it holds.
“You break,” he says quietly, “I fix. That’s how this works.”
For a moment, there’s nothing but our breathing. Then he leans closer — not touching this time, just presence.
“Sleep,” he says softly. “You’ll need your strength.”
The sound of the lock clicks again as he steps away.
The room falls silent, except for one final whisper that seems to come from eve
rywhere at once —
“You’ll thank me when you finally stop fighting.”
The lights flicker once. Then the world goes black again.