Chapter 11 : The Tightening Snare

The morning sun peeked through the large window, its rays slipping past the sheer curtains that swayed gently with the breeze. But for Celeste, there was nothing warm about this morning.

She woke up feeling heavier, her mind still trapped in a labyrinth of fear and confusion.

After a restless night, she had hoped Alistair would give her some space. But she had forgotten—he never let anything slip out of his control.

The bedroom door suddenly swung open.

Celeste instinctively straightened up in bed, her heart leaping to her throat as Alistair stepped inside. He wore a crisp white shirt, the top few buttons undone, his damp hair suggesting he had just taken a shower.

He always looked composed. Calm. In complete control.

The complete opposite of her—growing more unsteady with each passing day.

"You didn't come down for breakfast," Alistair's voice was low, but laced with an unspoken command.

Celeste remained silent.

His eyes narrowed slightly before he stepped closer to the bed, scanning her face with an unreadable expression. "You're not going to start a bad habit, are you?"

She wanted to argue, to tell him she wasn't in the mood to eat. But before she could even part her lips, Alistair had already reached for her wrist, pulling her up to stand.

"I don't like repeating myself, Celeste."

She glared at him, defiant, but Alistair only gave a small smile—as if he enjoyed watching her still try to resist.

"Breakfast. Now."

His grip loosened, but the message was clear—this wasn't a request.

Celeste bit her lip, swallowing the urge to fight back, then stepped out of the room with Alistair following closely behind.

Every step felt like a snare tightening around her.

And the most terrifying part was…

She was starting to grow accustomed to his presence in every corner of her life.

Celeste sat at the dining table—one far too large for just two people.

Across from her, Alistair poured coffee into his cup, his movements smooth yet controlled, as if even the smallest actions were under his command.

A servant arrived, setting down plates of breakfast—warm croissants, soft scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, and a glass of orange juice.

Celeste stared at it blankly. She didn't even feel hungry.

"Eat," Alistair's voice cut through her thoughts.

She didn't move.

Alistair set down his cup, leaning forward in a relaxed posture, yet his gaze held unmistakable authority. "Don't make me feed you, Celeste."

Her hands clenched into fists on her lap. She didn't want to escalate the situation further, so reluctantly, she picked up her fork and began eating.

Alistair watched her in silence, his eyes assessing her every move.

After managing to swallow a few bites, Celeste set her fork down and met his gaze warily. "What is it that you really want, Alistair?"

He gave a small smile, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't the answer obvious?"

"You can't control my life forever."

Alistair exhaled, leaning back against his chair. "Celeste, you still think you have a choice, don't you?"

She stiffened.

"I will never let you go," he continued, his voice calm, as if he were merely discussing the weather. "So stop thinking you can fight this. It will only make things harder for you."

Celeste felt her breath hitch in her throat.

Alistair took another sip of his coffee before setting it down again. "But I can be patient. I'll wait until you come to me on your own."

Her heart pounded. "That will never happen."

Alistair's smirk was subtle, but there was something in his eyes that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. "We'll see."

In this vast, luxurious room, Celeste felt like a bird in a gilded cage.

And Alistair had no intention of ever setting her free.