Loraine stopped speaking.
Not suddenly.
Not dramatically.
Her voice simply… left her.
Jason noticed it the first morning after the truth.
"Good morning," he said softly, sitting at the edge of the bed.
She stared at the wall.
"Did you sleep?" he asked.
Nothing.
He waited. Smiled gently. Reached out to brush her hair from her face.
She flinched.
Jason pulled his hand back slowly, like a man approaching a wild animal.
A House That Watches
After that night, she was never alone again.
If Jason was not beside her, someone else was nearby. Guards stood at a distance that felt polite but never left her sight. Maids moved silently, eyes lowered, afraid of both of them.
The windows no longer opened.
The curtains were always drawn at night.
Jason began locking the bedroom door from the outside when he left.
"For your safety," he said calmly.
She did not respond.
He Tries to Reach Her
He tried everything.
He brought her favorite foods.
Played music she once hummed to.
Sat beside her for hours, speaking softly about nothing.
"I know you're scared," he said one evening. "Anyone would be."
She didn't look at him.
"I wanted to tell you," he continued. "But I needed you to love me first."
Her fingers tightened around the bedsheet.
Jason noticed.
"I am still me," he said urgently. "I haven't changed."
She turned her face away.
That hurt him more than screams ever could.
When He Touches, She Breaks
One night, unable to stand the distance, he reached for her again.
Just her hand.
Just her fingers.
The moment his skin touched hers, she collapsed into sobs—violent, gasping cries that shook her whole body.
Jason froze.
"No," he whispered. "No, no—please."
She curled inward, crying like something wounded beyond repair.
Jason backed away, hands raised.
"I won't," he said desperately. "I swear I won't touch you."
He slid down to the floor instead, sitting there all night with his back against the bed.
Listening to her cry herself into exhausted sleep.
Her Silence Terrifies Him
Days passed.
She did not speak.
She nodded when told to eat.
Stood when asked to stand.
Lay down when directed.
But her eyes—
Her eyes were gone.
"You used to argue with me," Jason said quietly one afternoon. "You used to ask questions."
She stared past him.
"I need you to look at me," he said, his voice tightening.
Nothing.
Jason's calm began to fracture.
"I saved your mother," he said sharply. "I gave you everything."
Still nothing.
His jaw clenched.
"Say something," he demanded.
Her silence echoed louder than any scream.
Watching Her
After that, he watched her constantly.
When she slept.
When she ate.
When she bathed.
Not with desire.
With fear.
Like a man afraid his possession might vanish if he blinked.
At night, he whispered to her sleeping form.
"You're still mine," he said. "Even if you don't say it."
Her face remained still.
The Change in Him
Jason became colder.
Not cruel.
Controlled.
The warmth he once used to manipulate her was gone, replaced by something darker—calculating.
"She doesn't need to speak," he told the staff. "She needs time."
But his eyes never left her.
And when they passed the west corridor, he positioned his body between her and the door without thinking.
She noticed.
The House Tightens Its Grip
One evening, as she sat by the window, she noticed bars.
Thin. Elegant.
New.
Her heart sank.
Jason followed her gaze.
"This house is dangerous," he said softly. "I won't risk losing you."
She finally reacted.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Jason inhaled sharply, like it physically hurt him.
"Please," he whispered. "Don't shut me out. I can fix this."
She wiped the tear away.
Said nothing.
Questions That No Longer Need Answers
How do you survive when silence is your only shield?
What happens when a monster is afraid of losing you?
Is her quiet obedience protecting her—or sealing her fate?
And if Jason realizes silence won't bring her back…
what will he do next?