32. Shadows of Control
CHAPTER 32
Shadows of Control
WREN
The darkroom is ready. Shadows spill from corners, interrupted by the crimson glow of a swinging bulb, painting everything in blood hues. A forgotten basement space now transformed into my haven of precision. Shelves line the walls, each bottle carefully labeled: Developer, stop bath, fixer. The acrid scent of chemicals clings to the air, stinging my nostrils, anchoring me. It feels right.
My fingers glide along the stainless steel counter, cool and smooth beneath my touch. This space is mine, a manifestation of my intent, where my plans will become reality.
The camera equipment lies spread across the table, each piece gleaming under the dim red glow. I pick up the new lens—a telephoto, capable of capturing every detail, every hidden moment, even from a distance.
I need to see it all. The tension in her muscles, the fleeting expressions she tries to hide. Each movement is a piece of the puzzle, and I can't afford to miss any of it.
The click of the lens locking into place echoes in the silence. I lift the camera, imagining her in the viewfinder. My ballerina, her body arching mid-pirouette, sweat glistening on her skin. Her lips parted, her gaze unguarded in those rare moments when she forgets the world is watching.
Lowering the camera, a thrill spikes through me—different from the usual rush that comes with a new game. I’ve never felt like this. More focused, more alive, and it’s because of her.
Because she isn’t like anyone else.
She defies my expectations, she makes everything else fade away. It's like she's the one thing in this world that isn't predictable, and that makes the chase so much sweeter.
I step back and take in the room. Hours have passed, time meaningless in the face of what I’m preparing, but there’s still too much to do, and every detail matters. Tomorrow, everything changes.
The ballroom comes next. Its vast emptiness yawns before me, the polished floor gleaming under the faint light filtering through the windows. There’s a light coating of dust everywhere, but I can see the faint tracks and scuffs her shoes left behind.
I move to position the cameras, high in the corners, hidden amongst the ornate carvings, where they’ll remain invisible, but all-seeing.
The room feels alive in a way it hasn’t for years. A smile tugs at my lips. Soon, she’ll be back. And this time, I’ll capture it all. Every leap, every twist.
Once the ballroom is ready, I move through the house, my laptop balanced on my arm, checking each camera feed. Screens come to life, each one showing a piece of my world—my territory. The ballroom, the darkroom, the hallways, the woods outside. All ready for her.
But there’s more to do.
The chill hits me as I step outside. The woods loom around me, branches thick and tangled, hiding secrets. Perfect for what’s coming. The ground crunches beneath my boots as I secure the cameras in chosen spots. These lenses will catch everything. The way her eyes will widen, the quickening of her breath, the realization that she’s not alone. That she’s being hunted.
The final camera clicks into place, and I step back, surveying the scene. The air is still, the leaves rustling softly overhead, the world holding its breath. It’s perfect. This is where she’ll understand—here, on my grounds, where every step she takes is mine to control.
I close my eyes, imagining her here. The tension in her body, the fire in her gaze dimmed by fear, the way her lips will part when she senses me. The thought settles deep within me, a thrill so visceral it leaves my skin humming.
I turn and head back inside.
Halfway up the stairs, my phone buzzes. The screen lights up with a name I haven't seen in weeks.
Mother.
I hesitate. Ignore it? Answering her means engaging with their world, where appearance and performance matter more than reality. Maybe I should let her wonder where I am, what I’m doing? It’s what they do to me. But habit wins, and I accept the call.
“Darling!” Her face fills the screen, perfectly curated, every hair in place. “Your father and I were just thinking about you.”
“Were you?” My tone is flat as I continue up the stairs. The dark emptiness of the house looms behind me, and I angle the phone to let her see. “That’s new.”
She laughs, the sound hollow, like everything else about her. “Don’t be dramatic, sweetheart. We think about you all the time.”
“Between board meetings and galas?” I push open my bedroom door. “How thoughtful.”
“Now, Wren.” Her voice carries that age-old patience, like I’m a child throwing a tantrum. “You know how important this expansion is for the company. We wouldn’t have left you alone if?—”
“If what? If it wasn’t convenient? If it wasn’t beneficial? You’ve been doing it for years. Why stop now?”
A flicker of annoyance crosses her perfect features. “We’ll be home for Christmas.”
“It’s October.”
“Well, yes, but?—”
“Don’t bother on my account.” I drop onto the edge of my bed. “I’m sure something important will come up.”
She sighs, the sound heavy with forced concern. “Darling, I know it’s difficult?—”
“No, you don’t.” My voice is quiet, cold. “You have no idea.”
“Wren—”
“I find my own entertainment.” The words come out before I can stop them, and her brows draw together, unease flashing in her eyes.
“Entertainment?” Her voice hardens. “You’re not causing trouble again, are you?”
My lips curve into a smile, my mind turning to Ileana. The look in her eyes, the way she trembled when I touched her, the way she’ll dance for me again soon. “Define trouble.”
“Wren—”
“I have to go.” I hang up before she can respond.
She won’t try again, not until she remembers she has a son, months from now, when the guilt sets in. Part of me feels liberated by their absence, the freedom to do as I please without their judgment. But another part, a darker part, can't help but resent the way they've abandoned me, the way they've left me to fend for myself, pretending it's all for my benefit.
One call, one attempt at being a mother, and she’ll think she’s done enough. My father will pat her on the back, tell her she’s trying, and transfer more money into my account.
I stand, and move to the desk where my laptop sits. The feeds are live, every camera showing me my world, my control. I adjust a few angles, ensuring no blind spots, no chance for error.
Tomorrow, I’ll track every breath, every step. I’ll chase her until there’s nowhere left to run.