12. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

I wake up in the bed, alone, the sheets cool and heavy like a weight I can't shake. The air around me buzzes with a strange stillness. No Adrian. No sound.

Just quiet.

Too fucking quiet.

I blink, trying to focus. It's afternoon, or at least it should be. The heavy velvet drapes Adrian loves so much have been pulled back. The muted light outside is dim, the world out there a gray, indistinct haze that gives no real hint of what time it is.

My heart pounds in time with the throbbing ache in my cock—still hard after everything Adrian did to me.

After the fucking vacuum bed, the gag, the utter violation of my body, mind, and soul.

And I liked it. Wanted it. Needed it.

Jesus Christ.

And the dark thing in the mirrors watching me. It wasn't just the echoes of the house, not some trick of the light. No, it was there.

It was fucking there.

I glance up, half expecting to see it again in the mirrors above the bed, but they're empty—just reflecting my own disheveled, broken image. Sweaty hair sticks to my forehead, green eyes bloodshot and barely holding on to any resemblance of control.

My body breaks out into a cold sweat.

All those nights as a kid when my childhood home would erupt. The screaming. The silence that followed. That's what this feels like—the moment before something snaps.

I used to hide in my room, organizing my shit, making things neat and tidy while the storm raged outside—a way to grasp at control in the midst of chaos.

But I can't organize my way out now. Whatever's happening in this manor—it isn't something I can clean up.

And lying here, tangled in my thoughts, isn't going to help. I need to move, need to get the fuck out of my head.

I exhale hard, sitting up, and swing my legs over the side of the bed. I stand, rubbing my hands over my face, and take deep, steadying breaths to calm the mess in my head. The cold floor bites into my bare feet, grounding me for a moment, pulling me out of the mental spiral.

I'm not that same scared kid anymore. I'm not powerless.

After getting dressed, I shove open the door of the bedroom and walk out into the hallway. The silence claws at me, more suffocating here than in the room. Downstairs, I wander around hoping to find Adrian.

"Where the fuck is he?"

The kitchen is empty, the living room too. Same with the den and the office.

He's nowhere.

Gone.

I run my fingers through my hair, making my way to the front door. Maybe some fresh air will calm my nerves.

But the manor shifts under my feet, the ground unstable in a way I can't explain. And my duffel bag is gone.

Adrian probably just put it back in the guest room.

Stepping outside, the icy fog wraps around me. I pull up the hood of my sweatshirt and head down a broken cobblestone path covered in ruined weeds, where death and life are tangled up together in a forgotten mess.

It leads to a garden on the east side of the property. The statues lined along the sides loom over me, their faces masked by vines, their frozen embraces both haunting and seductive, a mockery of something beautiful turned rotten.

Everywhere I turn, these broken lovers are consumed by the wildness of the overgrown garden—cracked stone, twisted limbs, dark ivy wrapping around them like it's been growing there for centuries.

Forgotten. Like they never fucking mattered.

Same way I was when my parents screamed across rooms and through walls, their voices somehow bypassing their child curled into a ball upstairs, ears plugged.

I pause in front of one of the statues, my fingers brushing against the cold, cracked stone, and my stomach twists. I'm starting to feel like them, frozen and slowly being devoured by this place, by Adrian, by my own fucking self.

Was it the same for the people in those videos? Did they walk away from the manor, or did it break them so thoroughly they never got the chance?

Shaking my head, I step back from the statue and keep moving. The deeper I go into the garden, the wilder it becomes—like the house itself has spread outward, consuming everything.

I fucking hate this place.

Gravel crunches beneath my boots as I weave through the garden. The fog has thickened, curling around the base of the trees like snakes. A shimmer of black catches my attention. Just beyond the gnarled tree line lies a hidden gem.

A pond—no—not a pond. A lake. Small enough to call it quaint, large enough to seem . . . endless.

The water is dark, black as oil and still as glass. The surface doesn't even ripple. The fog clings to the shoreline like a misty barrier between what's above and whatever's lurking below.

I walk closer, drawn in as if some invisible chain tugs me forward. Forgotten stone benches dot the shore, overgrown with weeds.

The air is also colder here.

Heavier.

This place is wrong. So fucking wrong.

My reflection wavers in the water, distorted like some twisted version of myself. Did I lose that piece to Adrian last night? Or maybe it's been gone longer than that.

He didn't break me. The cracks have always been there—he just showed me.

A shadow flickers just at the edge of the lake, something barely visible in my periphery, vanishing the second I turn my head.

Nope. Not doing this. Not right now.

I step away from the water, ready to bolt back toward the house.

"Enjoying the view?"

I whip around, my heart lurching into my throat. Adrian stands behind me, as if he appeared out of nowhere, wearing yet another tailored suit and his goddamn mask.

Does this asshole own casual clothes?

My eyes narrow as I shove my hands into the front pocket of my sweatshirt. "Where'd you disappear to this morning?"

"Had some business."

"Which requires you to wear your mask? Do you ever take the fucking thing off?"

He steps closer, a soft smile on his lips. "Why does it bother you so much?"

I shrug, not having an answer.

He turns me toward the water, gentle but firm. "It's beautiful, isn't it? So much history here. So many stories buried beneath the surface."

"Stories, huh? Like the ones you don't tell guests before inviting them over?"

His hand slides down the front of my chest, stopping over my heart, pressing in like he owns everything beneath. "There are some things that are better experienced than explained."

I roll my eyes, trying to shake off the tension and the pull of his presence. "Right. Thanks for the cryptic bullshit. So, this place has been in your family for generations? Must've been nice growing up here."

"My association with the manor didn't occur until after my great-grandfather had passed. I hadn't known he knew of my existence . . . being I was a bastard child." Adrian's lips press into a thin line. "The will caused quite a stir, my siblings and father doing what they could to take the place away from me."

"Ah, the mysterious Adrian is human after all."

He turns to me, a slight tilt to his head and a brow quirked. "How so?"

I chuckle. "You know, fucked-up childhood. Just, most of us don't have some secret billionaire great-grandfather gifting us mansions after they die."

Adrian hums. "This place will show you who you really are, if you let it."

Goose bumps break out along my skin, the hairs on the nape of my neck standing on end. I've definitely been forced to confront who I may really be and what I may actually want.

"You're so close, Jasper. Closer than you know."

I swallow thickly as the bite of the chilling air mixes with the heat building inside. His other hand moves lower, brushing over my cock through my jeans.

"It's inside you. You feel it, don't you? The pull. The hunger, deeper than you ever imagined." His voice is smooth, seductive. It slides through me like velvet and ice.

"That's not—"

His grip tightens around my thickening length, and I buck into his palm.

Goddamn it . . .

He leans down, his lips to my ear. "Tonight, after dinner, I'm going to show you how far you can really go."

Fuck.

"And you are going to wear your mask."

My gut churns. I haven't worn it since the club that night. Since I had control, strutting like I owned the fucking world.

But now . . . the thought of putting it back on fills me with a sick sense of foreboding, like I'll disappear the moment it covers my face. And why do I get this feeling that everything we've done before was . . . pretend?

A game.

Some sort of warm-up to whatever Adrian has planned tonight.

"Why?"

"Because it's time, Jasper."

Something in his tone makes my chest tighten. He steps away, withdrawing his hand, and I turn to face the house again. It looms over me, shrouded in mist and shadow. The old walls seem to breathe, waiting, watching as I take the first steps back toward their depths.

"Come, let's go back inside."

I follow, knowing that whatever's coming, there's no running from it. No hiding from who I am.

Or who I'm about to become.