No escape route

Isabella stood frozen, her gaze unwillingly drawn to the lifeless body of the guard sprawled on the cold marble floor, a pool of blood slowly spreading out beneath him. Her hands trembled at her sides, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and horror that echoed in every inch of her being. She felt trapped, held captive by the cruel display of power Adrian had just unleashed without a hint of remorse.

"Take her upstairs and help her clean up," Adrian ordered, his voice as cold as ever as he called for one of the maids standing nearby. "I want her changed and presentable by the time dinner is ready."

The maid hurried forward, her gaze lowered, her movements brisk and silent. With a quiet nod, she gestured for Isabella to follow, casting a wary glance at Adrian as though she, too, feared the wrath of her master.

Isabella stole one last, horrified glance at the guard's corpse before allowing herself to be led upstairs. Each step felt like it echoed through her bones, the weight of the last hour pressing down on her with an intensity that threatened to suffocate her.

As they reached the bedroom Adrian had designated for her, the maid opened the door and waited for her to step inside. The room was spacious, but its lavish decor felt like a prison, its opulence mocking her every emotion.

"You can wait outside," Isabella murmured softly, unable to look the maid in the eye. She needed a moment alone, a brief reprieve from the watchful eyes and the relentless expectations. The maid nodded silently, slipping out of the room and closing the door behind her, leaving Isabella alone with her anguish.

Her legs gave out as soon as she heard the faint click of the door, and she crumpled to the floor, her hands covering her face as a wave of tears spilled forth, unbidden and uncontrollable. All the emotions she'd kept bottled up, the terror, the despair, the betrayal—all of it rushed over her, consuming her as she sank into herself.

She stumbled to her feet and made her way to the en-suite bathroom, shedding the bloodstained dress with trembling hands. Each piece of fabric that fell to the floor felt like a weight lifted, but the horror of the day clung to her skin, tainting her, suffocating her. As the water poured from the faucet, she stepped into the warmth, hoping it would wash away not only the blood but also the nightmare she now found herself trapped in.

She sobbed, clutching her arms around herself as the water cascaded down, mingling with her tears. Each sob that wracked her body was a release, but the relief was fleeting, replaced instantly by the crushing reality of her situation. She was married to a man who seemed incapable of mercy, bound to a life where her choices and freedom had been stripped from her entirely.

As the minutes passed, Isabella's tears subsided, leaving her feeling drained and hollow. She took a deep breath, attempting to steel herself, and finished washing away the remnants of the day. She had to be strong, to find a way to endure this. She could no longer allow herself the luxury of weakness.

When she was done, Isabella dried off and wrapped herself in a soft robe, stepping out of the bathroom with a deep breath. The maid was still waiting patiently outside, and Isabella called for her to enter, her voice barely above a whisper.

The maid entered with a neatly folded set of clothes and laid them out on the bed. "Dinner will be ready shortly, ma'am," she murmured, her tone respectful but distant. Isabella nodded, quickly changing into the fresh clothes and brushing her damp hair back. She forced herself to calm, to appear composed—even if she felt anything but.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Adrian called for one of his most trusted aides. The man, an imposing figure with a stern demeanor, entered the room without hesitation, his posture respectful as he stood before Adrian.

"Sebastian," Adrian said, his voice flat and devoid of any hint of emotion, "remove the body. I don't want any trace of it left behind. Have the area cleaned thoroughly. Make sure this is handled discreetly."

Sebastian nodded, unfazed by the request. It was evident that this wasn't the first time he'd been tasked with such orders. "Understood, sir."

Adrian's gaze darkened, and his expression remained indifferent. "I want you to keep a close eye on the house. Isabella is weak, and I don't need her bullied by the staff or anyone else. If anything like that happens, handle it."

His voice was calm, emotionless, as if he were discussing the weather rather than the life of the woman he'd just married. But even in his coldness, there was an underlying intensity, a desire to maintain absolute control over every aspect of his life, including his wife's. He expected compliance from Isabella, but she was also a possession he wouldn't allow anyone else to tamper with.

"Understood, sir," Sebastian replied, his voice unwavering. "I'll see to it that she's given the… respect you deem appropriate."

With a final nod, Adrian dismissed him, returning his focus to the glass of whiskey in his hand. He took a long sip, his mind a labyrinth of thoughts, none of which betrayed the slightest hint of warmth or affection. Isabella was a piece on his board, a pawn to be positioned and controlled, and he would ensure that every move she made fell within the boundaries he'd laid out for her.

After a few more moments, Adrian set his drink down, his gaze growing distant as he considered the events of the day. Isabella's trembling form, her barely concealed fear—it pleased him in a way he found difficult to articulate, a satisfaction that came from knowing she was entirely under his control. Yet, he knew that fear alone wouldn't be enough to ensure her obedience. He would need to make his expectations clear, to shape her until she was molded to his liking.

Upstairs, Isabella sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She could feel a cold numbness settling over her, a fragile shield against the storm of emotions that threatened to consume her. She knew dinner was awaiting her, but the thought of facing Adrian again made her stomach churn.

A quiet knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and the maid peeked inside.

"Ma'am, dinner is ready. Mr. Blackwell requests your presence."

Isabella nodded, her voice caught in her throat as she rose to her feet. She followed the maid down the winding staircase and into the grand dining hall, her steps slow and hesitant. Adrian sat at the head of the table, his gaze fixed on her as she entered. He motioned to the seat beside him, his expression unreadable.

"Sit," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She obeyed, lowering herself into the chair with as much composure as she could muster. The dinner table was elegantly set, the polished silverware and fine china a stark contrast to the violence and cruelty she had just witnessed. But the opulence only served as a cruel reminder of her place in this household—she was no more than an adornment, a decoration meant to serve her master's needs.

As the first course was served, Adrian's gaze never wavered from her. She felt the weight of his scrutiny, the icy detachment in his eyes as he studied her every movement. He took a sip of his wine, watching as she picked at her food, her appetite dulled by the overwhelming fear that gnawed at her insides.

After a few moments, he spoke, his tone as cold and unyielding as ever. "You'll find that obedience will make your life here much easier, Isabella. Remember that."

Isabella swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she nodded, knowing that defiance would only bring further suffering.

"Yes, Master," she replied softly, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging within her.

A faint smile flickered across Adrian's lips, a smile that held no warmth, no compassion. To him, this was a game—a game he intended to win at any cost. And Isabella was nothing more than his pawn, a piece to be played, controlled, and discarded as he saw fit.

As the dinner continued in silence, Isabella felt the last fragments of her freedom slipping away, replaced by a growing sense of dread that settled deep in her bones. She was trapped, bound to a man who saw her as little more than an object, a possession to be shaped and used. And as she looked into Adrian's cold, calculating gaze, she knew that escape was no longer an option.