Page 20 of Colton
My breathing quickens, the conflict raging inside me, muffling the world outside the screens.
I won’t become him. I can’t.
But why does it feel easier to succumb? Just as the darkness begins to swallow me whole, I catch a glimpse of Mary again, and something inside me flickers—a spark of resolve fighting to light up the darkness.
In that moment, I make a silent vow, a promise that resonates through my being. I’ll do whatever it takes to shield her from him.
Then I stiffen, watching as Mary slips into the library. It could be innocent, but I know what’s in there.
The question is, does she?
But she’s just cleaning, her throat bobbing as she hums to herself.
I have to keep her safe from my father. Speaking of which, where is he?
I spot my father on the monitors, his focus sharp as he talks. The way he talks, full of confidence, sends a chill down my spine. I can’t shake the knot tightening in my stomach as I watch him manipulate the conversation, strategizing and plotting. Each word he speaks is calculated. It’s as if he’s painting a future that doesn’t include me, and the realization makes the decision to intervene before it’s too late easier. Suddenly, the door to the library creaks open wider, and I lean forward, my heart pounding against my ribs like a caged bird desperate for freedom. I can’t let her remain in that space alone. A hundred scenarios race through my mind, each darker than the last, conjuring images of what my father might do—to Mary.
I suppress the instinct to rise from my seat. My limbs feel heavy, as if weighed down by my own cowardice. This is the moment of truth; the crossroads where my potential actions will define what I am—and what I’m willing to fight against. The thought of doing nothing claws at my insides.
Mary lifts a book from the shelf, her delicate fingers brushing the spine as if it were something sacred. I can’t breathe. The sight of her innocence against the backdrop of this house brimming with darkness almost hurts. Every fiber of my being screams to run to her, but I know I need a plan—a way to move through the layers of my father’s influence without drawing his attention.
I glance back at the monitor where my father is wrapping up his conversation with hisassociates, their expressions as calculating as his own.
Bastards.
The air in the room shifts and thickens, wrapping me in dread as I realize the danger isn’t just creeping toward Mary—it’s already here.
But amidst my fear, a flicker of anger catches hold—a fire igniting in my heart.How dare he think of using her in his games?She is the very reason I can’t succumb to the grasp of the darkness.
My hand clenches into a fist, and I force myself to breathe slowly. I take my phone from the table, a lifeline to the outside world. I need to create a diversion, to keep Mary away from whatever he has planned. But what can I say that will keep her safe without revealing the true danger she’s in?
As I craft a message, the sound of the library door closing jolts me from my thoughts. I shift my focus back to the screen, my heart racing again. Mary’s moving, out of the library and down the hall. She carries the book, a perplexed expression spilling over her features as she flips through its pages.
“Mary, don’t!” I whisper urgently to the screen, as if my words can reach her, as if they can pull her back from the brink of danger.
But she doesn’t hear me. Instead, she heads towards the staircase, oblivious to the predator lurking in the shadows. I inch closer to the edge of my chair, the impulse to shout overwhelming.
“You’re no hero,” my voice inside sneers,“You’re just like him, and you know it.”
In that moment of desperation, I realize I can’t just watch. I have to do something—before she walks straight into his evil plans.
My father will not get away with this.
I stand abruptly, the chair clattering to the floor as adrenaline surges through me. I can’t watch him hurt her. Not her.
I slip out of the surveillance room, my heart thumping as I navigate the darkened hallways.
“Leave her to him. You’ve watched it many times before. Why is she different?”the voice taunts me, and a growl leaves my lips.
She just fucking is.
With a desperate plan forming in my mind, I stride ahead, determined to get to Mary before she reaches him. My legs carry me through the mansion, a mix of anger and fear propelling me forward.
As I approach the staircase, I spot Mary halfway up, her white blonde hair catching the light in a way that momentarily blinds me. Panic surges as I see her turn, her brow furrowed in concentration, unaware of the lurking monster that’s inching closer to her. My instinct is to call out to her, but hesitation grips me; I can’t tip my father off to my knowledge of his sadistic plans.
I take a breath. “Think,” I tell myself urgently. There has to be a way to get her to come with me.
How many times have I charmed girls? Too fucking many. So why is this any different?
