Chapter 10: A Leash Unseen (Main Character’s Point of View)

I watched him tremble.

It was subtle—just the faintest shudder at the base of his throat, the smallest hitch in his breath—but it was there.

And it was mine.

A lesser man might have collapsed in this moment. Might have given in completely, bent beneath the weight of his own undoing.

But Caspian?

No, he was still fighting.

Clinging to the last remnants of his control, his pride, his dignity—desperately pretending he was still whole when I could see the fractures.

And oh, how I adored it.

How I relished the sight of him standing before me, a man undone yet unwilling to admit it.

So I let him think, for just a moment, that he had won something.

That I would grant him mercy.

That I would let him go.

With deliberate slowness, I withdrew my hand, my fingers tracing the barest ghost of pressure as I pulled away.

And then—

I stepped back.

Not far.

But enough.

Enough to make him feel the absence. Enough to make him miss it.

He exhaled sharply, as if startled by the space between us, as if some unspoken tether had just gone slack and he hadn't realized how tightly it had been wound around his throat.

Good.

I tilted my head, watching him carefully. He did not meet my gaze. Not fully. His hands, once clenched into fists, had loosened—but only slightly, as though he wasn't sure whether to keep fighting or let himself surrender.

He still thought he had a choice.

How quaint.

With a soft hum, I turned away as if nothing had happened, as if I had already dismissed him from my thoughts.

"Such a strange visit," I murmured, stepping toward the terrace railing and resting my hands against the cool stone. "And here I thought you might actually have something to say."

I felt it, then—his hesitation, his fraying restraint.

I heard the breath he sucked in, as if to protest.

But he said nothing.

I smiled.

Because he wanted to.

He wanted to speak. To demand. To grasp at something just out of reach.

But if I had learned anything about Caspian D'Argent—it was that he did not know how to beg.

Not yet.

And so, I let the moment slip from his grasp, let the silence stretch until it was clear—I was finished with him.

Not because I had grown bored.

But because his torment was not yet complete.

Because he was still standing.

And I was not finished with him until he had no choice left but to kneel.