Chapter 10 : A Strength That Fades

Celeste sat at the edge of the bed, her hands gripping the blanket tightly. Her mind raced, searching for any gap, any opening she could use to escape this situation. But the more she tried to think clearly, the more she realized how thoroughly Alistair had sealed every exit.

He had everything—power, wealth, and absolute control over her life.

And the most terrifying part… he had patience.

Alistair knew Celeste would keep resisting, but he also knew when she would grow exhausted. He didn't need to force her into submission—he only needed to wait until she realized that fighting him was pointless.

The bedroom door opened without warning.

Celeste's head snapped up, and there he stood—the man at the center of all her suffering.

Alistair entered with steady, unhurried steps, his expression as unreadable as ever. Yet something in the way he looked at her made Celeste's heart pound harder.

"You seem calmer today." His voice was low, almost like a compliment.

Celeste didn't respond.

Alistair moved closer, lowering himself until he was at her level. His fingers reached out, touching her chin gently.

"Have you started to understand, Celeste?" he asked quietly.

Celeste clenched her fists, trying to suppress the anger burning inside her. "I will never be yours, Alistair."

Alistair merely gave a small smile, as if he found amusement in the defiance still lingering within her. He raised a hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"We'll see."

Then, in a movement so subtle yet unexpected, Alistair pulled Celeste into his arms.

He said nothing, gave no threats, no warnings. He simply held her—firmly, as if to prove that no matter how hard she tried to escape… in the end, she would always end up right here.

Celeste wanted to push him away, to fight back, but her body was too tired. And in that moment, she realized something far more terrifying than Alistair's threats.

The longer she stayed near this man…

The more she lost the strength to resist.

Celeste's heart pounded as Alistair continued to stare at her. His eyes were dark, deep, filled with something she couldn't fully understand—an obsession that felt suffocating.

She knew she should be afraid. She knew she should hate this man.

But why was there a small part of her that hesitated?

Alistair said nothing for a few seconds, simply studying her face as if trying to read her thoughts. Then, slowly, he lifted her hand and placed it against his chest.

"Do you feel it?" he whispered.

Celeste swallowed hard, her fingers unconsciously sensing the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. Warm. Real. As if proving that beneath all his threats, he was still human.

"I'm not the monster you think I am," he continued. "I just don't like sharing what's already mine."

Celeste glared at him. "I am not yours, Alistair."

He gave a small, amused smile, as if her words were nothing more than a joke. "You'll understand soon enough."

He leaned in, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath. "The more you resist, the more you become bound to me, Celeste."

She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it tighter. "Do you know what first drew me to you?" he asked.

Celeste remained silent.

"Your fear."

Her heart dropped.

"But what's even more fascinating is how you try to hide it." His fingers traced her jaw gently, making her entire body tense. "I want to see how long you can keep pretending."

Celeste swallowed, her chest tightening.

She needed to leave. She needed to escape.

But how could she, when this man could read her so easily—like an open book?

"Get some rest," Alistair finally said, releasing her hand. "We'll talk again tomorrow."

Without waiting for a reply, he stood and walked toward the door.

Just when Celeste thought she was free from his presence for the night, he stopped at the doorway and turned back.

His gaze was sharp, filled with certainty.

"Sooner or later, Celeste, you'll stop fighting."

And with that, he left the room—leaving Celeste trapped in her own thoughts, which grew more chaotic with each passing day.

The door closed with a soft click, leaving Celeste in a silence so deafening it nearly crushed her.

Her blood was still rushing, her breathing still heavy. It was as if Alistair's presence lingered in the room, as if his touch still burned on her skin.

Celeste clenched her fists. She had to stay sane. She couldn't fall into his game.

But how?

He didn't need to shout or use violence to break her. He only needed words and the slightest touch to shake her to her core.

She looked down at her own hand—the same hand he had placed against his chest. She had felt it—the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, as if he had never once doubted that everything would end exactly as he wanted.

She wasn't dealing with an ordinary man.

Alistair was someone who did not understand the word no.

And Celeste wasn't sure how much longer she could hold out.

---

That night felt longer than usual. Celeste lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts refusing to settle.

Sleep? Impossible.

The memory of Alistair's gaze haunted her. His words echoed in her mind.

"Sooner or later, Celeste, you'll stop fighting."

Celeste squeezed her eyes shut.

No. She wouldn't let that happen.

She wouldn't lose.

But deep inside, she knew… something within her was starting to break.