Chapter 38

It’s been a week since the incident. A week since Adrik let me out of the cell.

He hasn’t been around—off on some business trip to Greece—and I’ve been savoring every second of his absence. The silence. The space to breathe without his suffocating presence pressing down on me. But even in his absence, his control lingers like an iron chain wrapped around my throat.

Before he left, he made sure I understood the consequences of disobedience. “Do not leave the house, Joy. If you do, I will find you, and I will cut off your legs myself.” He said it so casually, like a man discussing the weather. I knew he meant it.

The walls of this house feel different without him here. Bigger, emptier, but never truly safe. I’ve noticed new maids in the house, a quiet shift in staff that unsettles me. They avoid me at all costs. Some of them freeze when I enter a room. Others flee, heads down, hands trembling, as if my presence alone is a sickness they don’t want to catch. They don’t look at me. As if I’m something cursed. Something untouchable.

But I don’t care. As long as they leave me alone, I’m fine.

I’ve become something other in this house. Something untouchable. A ghost haunting the hallways.

But it doesn’t matter. I don’t need them.

Elsa has been my only comfort—my only source of warmth in this cold, gilded prison. She’s small, fragile, yet full of life, hopping around and nudging at my hands until I give her attention. I talk to her sometimes, whispering my thoughts into her soft fur. She doesn’t judge. She doesn’t run from me. She’s the only living thing in this house that doesn’t flinch at my touch, the only thing that offers warmth without expectation. I hold her close at night, her small, delicate body a reminder that softness still exists somewhere in this world.

I’ve been in touch with my mom too. She tells me she’s fine, but I know she’s lying. I hear the hesitation in her voice, the way she forces the words out too quickly, like she’s trying to outrun the truth. But I don’t push. I can’t. If I let myself think too much about her, about the life I used to have, the weight of it might crush me.

Every morning, before anyone stirs, I sneak into the garden to take the birth control pills I managed to stash away. The thought of carrying Adrik’s child, of being permanently tied to him in that way, is enough to make bile rise in my throat. I’ll do anything—anything—to prevent that from happening.

Adrik still calls me every night before bed. A cruel ritual. His voice, smooth and patient, slips through the receiver like a warning. A reminder that he’s always watching, always thinking of me. I respond in clipped words, never giving too much, never letting him hear the hatred bubbling beneath my skin.

But sleep doesn’t come easily.

Every night, I wake up gasping, heart racing, sweat cold against my skin. The nightmares are relentless. Twisted shadows, cold hands, the phantom press of his touch. I jolt awake, pulse hammering, the weight of his presence still lingering like a stain I can’t scrub off.

The morning light was deceptive.

It painted the dining room in soft gold, made everything seem warm, gentle—like I was waking up to a life that wasn’t mine. But the illusion never lasted.

I sat at the long, polished table, alone except for the quiet hum of movement around me. The maids never spoke, never lingered longer than necessary. They moved like shadows, silent and efficient, their eyes lowered as they placed dishes before me.

One of the newer maids approached, setting down a plate of eggs, toast, and fruit. Her hands trembled slightly as she withdrew, but she was careful to keep her face blank. She must have been warned. Do not look at her. Do not speak to her. Do not acknowledge her unless necessary.

After breakfast, I retreated to the large living room, where the heavy curtains kept the sunlight at bay, casting the room in a muted, suffocating darkness. It was a familiar feeling, one that seemed to follow me wherever I went in this house—this heavy weight of always being watched, always being reminded of my place.

But then it clicked—I had to feed Elsa. My heart skipped a beat, and panic gripped me. Where was she?

I rushed through the house, my footsteps echoing in the empty halls, a familiar dread creeping up my spine. Elsa was my only source of comfort, my small reprieve from the hell Adrik had cast me into. If I lost her, I didn’t know what I’d do. She was all I had left.

I hurried to her little enclosure in the corner of the house, where I’d placed her for safekeeping. The soft hay she nested in was untouched, and the small dish of water I’d left earlier was still full. But Elsa wasn’t there. Panic surged through me, my mind racing.

I called out for her, my voice trembling, but there was no answer, no soft thump of her tiny feet against the floor. My throat tightened as I stepped further into the room, looking under the furniture, behind every corner.

Nothing.

My chest felt tight, my breaths shallow. Where the hell was she? Did someone take her?

In a surge of desperation, I ran down the hallway, the house suddenly feeling far too big. The walls felt oppressive, closing in as I sprinted, each step echoing in the silence. I couldn’t think straight; only one thought ran through my mind—Elsa.

And then, from behind a closed door, I heard a soft rustle. I froze, my heart racing. I pushed the door open, and there she was, sitting quietly in the corner of the room, nibbling on some fresh vegetables.

The relief that flooded me was almost overwhelming, but there was still a sense of unease hanging in the air. She was safe, but the terror, the anxiety, hadn’t gone away.

I knelt down, scooping her up into my arms, burying my face in her soft fur for a moment. For that brief instant, everything felt okay again. Elsa didn’t judge me, didn’t know the darkness that surrounded us. She was just a rabbit, content in her little world.

I whispered softly to Elsa as I fed her, my mind already drifting to the inevitable.