Meera's POV
I was angry.
No.
I was furious.
Ethan kept saying I could leave whenever I wanted.
That I had a choice.
That he would take me anywhere.
But every time I tried, something stopped me.
Guards at the gate who politely said not today.
Cars that wouldn't start.
Doors that were locked at night.
He said one thing and did another.
Like everyone else in my life.
---
Today was different.
Today was college.
My classes.
My routine.
My escape from this gilded cage.
He drove me himself.
Silent in the car.
Watchful as always.
I expected him to disappear after we arrived.
To go back to his world.
His business.
His violence.
But he didn't.
He walked me to class.
Sat beside me instead of behind.
Like nothing had changed.
Like he hadn't lied for weeks.
Like I hadn't seen him torturing men in his basement.
Like we were just two students again.
---
I didn't know what to feel.
Confusion.
Anger.
Something else I couldn't name.
He was here.
Making effort.
Being present.
Even after I knew the truth.
Even after everything.
Most men would have run.
Would have hidden.
Would have let me go.
But not Ethan.
He stayed.
Always stayed.
---
Recess came.
I escaped to the courtyard.
Needing air.
Needing space.
Needing to breathe without his eyes on me.
And then I saw him.
Marcus.
Sitting on a bench.
Eating lunch alone.
Smiling when he saw me.
"Meera! Where have you been? People were saying you transferred or something."
I sat beside him.
Relief flooding through me.
A normal person.
Normal conversation.
No lies.
No violence.
No confusion.
"Just... family stuff. I had to stay elsewhere for a while."
He nodded.
Didn't push.
Good old Marcus.
Always easy.
Always safe.
---
We talked.
Laughing about class.
Complaining about assignments.
Normal things.
Simple things.
Things that reminded me who I was before Ethan.
And then I felt it.
Eyes on me.
Burning.
I looked up.
Ethan stood across the courtyard.
Watching.
Glaring.
His focus not on me.
On Marcus.
Jealousy radiating from every inch of him.
Something sparked in me.
Rebellion.
Anger.
The need to push back against his control.
---
I turned to Marcus.
Smiled brightly.
Leaned closer.
"Marcus, can I ask you something weird?"
He blinked.
"Sure?"
"Can you just... play along with something? For a minute?"
Confusion.
Then understanding.
He had seen Ethan around.
Seen the way he looked at me.
Probably guessed some of what was happening.
"Whatever you need."
I reached out.
Placed my hand on his chest.
Right over his heart.
Felt it beating beneath my palm.
Normal.
Steady.
Nothing like the fire when I touched Ethan.
I slid my hand up.
Slowly.
Across his chest.
Up to his shoulder.
Down his arm.
Marcus stayed still.
Playing along.
Trusting me.
---
The temperature dropped.
Shadows fell over us.
Ethan stood there.
Towering.
Furious.
Eyes black with something terrifying.
He didn't speak.
Didn't have to.
His hand closed around my wrist.
Pulled me up.
Pulled me away.
Marcus started to stand.
Ethan's look stopped him cold.
"She's leaving."
Not a question.
Not a request.
A statement.
Marcus looked at me.
I nodded slightly.
It's okay.
He sat back down.
Watching us go.
Worry in his eyes.
---
Ethan dragged me through the campus.
Past students.
Past buildings.
Past everything.
To his car.
Threw open the door.
Pushed me inside.
Not gentle.
Not careful.
Furious.
The drive home was silent.
Terrifying.
I had seen him angry before.
In the basement.
With enemies.
Not with me.
Never with me.
Until now.
---
He pulled into the garage.
Cut the engine.
Came around to my door.
Opened it.
Grabbed my arm again.
Pulled me inside.
Through hallways.
Up stairs.
Into his bedroom.
The room where he held me so gently.
Where he kissed my neck.
Where he stopped because he wanted my love.
That man was gone.
This man was someone else.
---
He released me.
Stood there.
Breathing hard.
Hands clenched.
Eyes burning.
Then he exploded.
"What the hell was that?"
I crossed my arms.
Defensive.
Stubborn.
"What was what?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Meera. I saw you. Touching him. Caressing him. Putting your hands on him like he was—" He couldn't finish.
"Like he was what?"
"Like he was yours."
"He's my friend."
"Friends don't touch like that."
"You don't know how friends touch. You don't have friends. You have enemies and victims and people you control."
He stepped closer.
Towering.
Intimidating.
"I have you."
"No. You have me locked in a house you won't let me leave. You have me confused and scared and feeling things I don't understand. You don't have me. You have a prisoner."
---
"You wanted to make me jealous."
"I wanted to see if I could breathe without you watching."
"Same thing."
"No. Not the same."
He moved closer still.
Close enough to touch.
But didn't.
"You can't do that again."
"Do what?"
"Touch another man. Look at another man. Let another man near you."
I laughed.
Bitter.
Angry.
"You don't own me."
"I own everything about you."
"You're insane."
"Probably. But that doesn't change what I saw. What I felt. What I wanted to do to him."
"What? Kill him? Torture him? Cut off his toes like those men in your basement?"
He went still.
Dangerously still.
"You saw that."
"Yes."
"When?"
"The other day. When I was looking for you. I found the basement instead."
---
Something flickered in his eyes.
Fear?
Guilt?
Gone before I could read it.
"Then you know what I'm capable of."
"I know what you showed those men. I don't know what you'd do to me."
"I would never—"
"You just dragged me through a campus. You just threw me in a car. You just screamed at me in this room. You're already doing it."
He stepped back.
Like I hit him.
Like my words were physical blows.
"I didn't—I wouldn't—"
"You did. You are."
He ran his hands through his hair.
Paced.
Muttering.
Struggling.
---
Then he stopped.
Turned to me.
Eyes still dark.
But something else there now.
Pain.
"You can't keep doing this."
"Doing what?"
"Being so—" He gestured wildly. "So horny. So desperate. So unable to keep it in your pants."
I blinked.
"What?"
"You heard me. You're dripping with it. Lust. Want. Need. Every time you look at me. Every time you're near me. And now you're spreading it to him. Touching him. Caressing him. Giving him what should be mine."
"I wasn't—"
"You were. I saw it. Felt it. Wanted to kill him for it."
"That's not—"
"You're a teenager with raging hormones who can't control herself. Who wants to fuck anything that moves because her body finally woke up. And I'm stuck here watching you want other men while telling me to wait."
---
The words hit like slaps.
Raging hormones.
Can't control herself.
Want to fuck anything that moves.
Is that what he thought of me?
Is that what he saw?
Tears burned my eyes.
But I wouldn't cry.
Not in front of him.
Not now.
"You don't know anything."
"I know what I saw."
"You saw me touch my friend. You didn't see why."
"Enlighten me."
"Marcus is gay."
The room went silent.
Completely silent.
He stared at me.
Processing.
"He's what?"
"Gay. Homosexual. Doesn't like women. Never has. Never will. I wasn't caressing him. I was using him to make you jealous. Because I was angry. Because I'm trapped here. Because you say I can leave but I can't."
---
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just stood there.
Understanding dawning.
Horror following.
"I didn't know."
"Of course you didn't. You don't ask. You just assume. You just react. You just control."
"Meera—"
"Don't."
I walked to the door.
Stopped.
Turned back.
"I don't know what I feel for you. I don't know if it's love or lust or just confusion. But I know I don't deserve to be spoken to like that. I know I'm not some desperate slut who can't keep her hands off men. I know I'm a good girl from a good family who never touched anyone before you."
Tears falling now.
Couldn't stop them.
"And I know that the man I was starting to trust, starting to want, starting to maybe love—that man just called me unable to keep it in my pants."
I left.
Walked to the guest room.
Closed the door.
Locked it.
Slid down to the floor.
And cried.
---
He didn't follow.
Didn't knock.
Didn't apologize.
Maybe he was processing.
Maybe he was ashamed.
Maybe he was finally seeing what he'd become.
I didn't care.
Not right now.
Right now I just hurt.
Because the man who held me so gently.
Who kissed my neck and stopped because he wanted my love.
Who called me little star like I was precious.
That man just showed me something else.
Something ugly.
Something possessive.
Something that saw me as a thing to control.
Not a person to love.
And I didn't know if I could ever look at him the same way again.