7. Colton
Chapter 7
Colton
I slip into the hidden surveillance room, my eyes immediately drawn to the wall of screens flickering with live feeds from around the mansion. There she is; Mary. My breath catches as I watch her move through the hallways, her face a mask of determination. I know I’m stalking her, watching her without her knowledge, let alone her consent, and maybe that makes me more like my twisted father than I’d like.
Yes, I want to control her. But I’m protecting her from him. That makes it different.
Does it? I grit my teeth and shove the thought aside. Of course, I’m different from him. I’m protecting her.
Anyway, she’s different from the others. Stronger. More defiant. I’ve been watching her since she arrived, fascinated by the way she carries herself, the fire in her eyes that refuses to be extinguished. My obsession has only grown with each passing day, and I’m nothing but its victim.
I lean closer to the screen, drinking in every detail of her movements. The way she glances over her shoulder, always alert. There is a slight tremor in her hands as she clutches something to her chest—it’s the folder from earlier.
Interesting.
I watch the way her chest heaves with every frightened breath, my dick hardening at the thought of her trembling with fear like that about me.
Nausea rolls in my throat at the similarities between that desire and my father’s. Fucking hell, will I ever escape him ?
A flicker of movement on another screen catches my attention. My father, Xavier, prowling the halls like the predator he is. My jaw clenches as I watch him, disgust and hatred bubbling up inside me. I know what he’s after. Who he’s after.
“Not this time,” I mutter, my fingers curling into fists. “She’s not for you.”
Memories of past encounters with my father flood my mind. His cruel tests, his manipulation, the way he’d push me to my limits just to see how far I’d bend before breaking. Each recollection fuels the fire of my hatred, reminding me how much I despise this man.
I watch as Mary encounters my father in the hallway. Even through the grainy footage, I can see the fear in her eyes and the way she shrinks back from him. My blood boils as I witness their interaction, his thinly veiled threats and propositions making me want to reach through the screen and throttle him.
But then I appear on the scene, and I watch myself intervene. The memory floods my senses—the acrid taste of adrenaline in my mouth, the tightness in my chest as I approached. I can almost feel the tension radiating from my past self, muscles coiled and ready to spring. The air had felt thick, charged even. I hadn’t realized how close I’d come to losing control; my jaw clenched so tight I still felt the ache. Even now, recalling the scene, my hands instinctively curl into fists, nails biting into my palms.
After Xavier leaves, I see myself warning Mary. On the screen, her face pales, and I can almost feel the rapid beating of her heart. Good. She should be wary. She should know the danger she’s in, not just from my father but also from me.
Because I want her. God, how I want her.
But not in the way he does; I don’t want to use her up and throw her away. I want to possess her, to keep her safe from my father’s clutches. To make her mine in every way possible. To break her.
Mary is different from the others. She has a fire in her eyes, a defiance that both intrigues and infuriates me. I’ve watched countless women come through these halls, all of them eventually broken by my father’s cruelty. But not her. She stands tall, her spirit unbroken despite everything.
I want to be the one to tame that wildness, to see the moment when her walls finally crumble. Not out of cruelty like my father, but because I need to know that she’s mine completely. My obsession grows with every glimpse of her strength, every flash of that hidden vulnerability she tries so hard to conceal.
Breaking her would prove I’m different from my father and can have power. And yet, a part of me fears that in trying to save her from my father, I might become just like him. But I can’t stop. The need to possess Mary, to protect her and control her, consumes me entirely.
I switch to the feed from her room, watching as she examines the contents of the folder she took. My curiosity piques. What has she discovered? What game is she playing?
As she hides the folder in a clever little compartment, I can’t help but admire her ingenuity. She’s smart.
I lean back in my chair, mind racing with possibilities. I need to confront her soon to make her understand that she belongs to me now. But I have to be careful. One wrong move, and she’ll slip through my fingers.
A movement on another screen catches my eye. My father, lurking outside Mary’s door. He leans in close like he can taste her fear through the wood. I tense, ready to spring into action if necessary. But he doesn’t enter. Instead, he stands there, his intentions clear with how he touches himself and the sick grin on his face.
Revulsion washes over me. He’s jerking off to her without her knowing, pressed up against her door so she can probably hear his perverted breathing, his grunts of pleasure.
He finishes, slumping against her door, panting.
Sick fuck.
I watch him leave before rising from my chair, navigating the mansion’s secret passages. I know every hidden corridor, every concealed doorway. This place is as much mine as it is his, maybe more so. But I hate the way I stride down the darkened path, following the same tracks he made.
What makes you so different?
That fucking voice. Challenging me again and again, never letting me rest.
You could free the girl he’s got captive, but you’re too afraid.
I’m not afraid; it’s just not my business.
I ignore the muffled cry of the girl he’d taken, the one he wanted me to fuck in the mouth. I love that I embarrassed him in front of her and refused to do it. I’m sure I’ll pay for that, but knowing my father, he’ll use Mary against me instead.
As I move silently through the darkness, my mind whirls with plans. I need to confront my father to clarify that Mary is off limits. But I know him. He won’t back down easily. If he knows I want her, he will destroy her. I inherited that shitty little trait from him, so I understand it well. This confrontation has been brewing for years, and I’m ready for it to come to a head.
I find him in his study, nursing a glass of whiskey. He looks up as I enter, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Ah, Colton. Come to join your old man for a drink?”
I ignore the offered glass, fixing him with a cold stare. The scent of expensive whiskey mingles with my father’s cologne, making my stomach churn. “We need to talk about Mary.”
His eyebrows raise slightly. “Oh? And what about our lovely new maid interests you so much?”
“She’s off limits,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. My pulse quickens, and I can taste the metallic tang of fear in my mouth. “To you. To anyone. She’s mine.”
Father laughs, the sound grating on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “Yours? Boy, nothing in this house is yours. Everything here belongs to me, including that little blonde bitch.”
I step closer, my hands itching to wrap around his throat. Sweat breaks out on my palms, and I can feel my heart hammering against my ribcage. “Not her. Never her. If you so much as look at her wrong, I’ll?—”
“You’ll what?” Father interrupts, his amusement fading to be replaced by cold anger. The temperature in the room seems to drop, and goosebumps rise on my skin. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to, Colton. I made you. I can unmake you just as easily.”
We stare at each other, the air between us thick with tension. I can hear my own ragged breathing, too loud in the sudden silence. I know I’m treading on dangerous ground, but I can’t back down. Not about this. Not about her.
“Stay away from her,” I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper, betraying the tremor I’m desperately trying to hide. “Or you’ll regret it.”
I turn and leave before he can respond, my heart pounding so hard, I fear it might burst from my chest. The room spins slightly as I walk away, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
I’ve done it now. There’s no going back from this confrontation.
As I make my way back to the surveillance room, my resolve hardens. Mary is mine, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe from my father’s clutches, even if it means tearing this whole damn house apart.
Back in front of the screens, I watch her sleep, her face finally peaceful in slumber. I lean forward, tracing the outline of her face on the monitor.
“Soon,” I murmur. “Soon, you’ll understand. You belong here with me. And I’ll never let you go.”
The night moves on, but I remain vigilant, guarding her even from afar. Tomorrow will bring new challenges and new dangers. But I’m ready. For Mary, I’ll face anything—even my own father.
As dawn arrives, I brace myself for what’s to come.
Mary is mine.
Still, a nagging voice bugs me, reminding me that our behavior is similar even if I don’t want to be like him.
Is she yours? What about what she wants?
Fuck what she wants.
You’re no better than your father.
Fuck you. I’m doing this for Mary.
No, you sick fuck, you’re doing it to satisfy your own desire. Otherwise, you’d tell her to leave and never look back. But you want to destroy her. You’re no better than him.
Mother fucker!
I punch the wall, my knuckles splitting apart and pouring with blood. My chest heaves, and I watch the blood trickle through my fingers cascading down my wrists. I lean down and lick it, delighting in the metallic taste. Would hers taste the same? I wonder what hers would taste like mixed with mine? Maybe I should find out and silence that fucking voice once and for all. My knuckles throb with pain, but I let it heal me, enjoying the feeling it forces through me. It makes me real and human, something I need to remember sometimes.
Unlike my cowardly father, who refuses to take any pain. He’s a sadist, but so much more than that. He wouldn’t be able to withstand what I have, the punishments he’s given me repeatedly. I’m immune to pain now, which makes me very different from him. I’m superior—stronger than him. This thought makes me grin, and I lap at the rest of the blood before gazing at the wall.
It's so fucking bland, this wall: cream, basic, and fucking screaming for color.
I’ll give it some color.
I drag my bleeding knuckles along the wall, delighting in the scrape against my open wounds. It doesn’t take long to paint the magnificent M, my tribute to her. I’ll finish her name soon, but maybe when she’s with me, our blood creating a fucking kaleidoscope of reds that dazzle anyone who sees them. It will solidify our bond, the two of us together. Even this, marking her initial on my wall, is a sign of my devotion to her, the first step in our life together.
A fantasy unfurls within the dark recesses of my mind. I imagine Mary broken, not by my father’s cruelty, but by my own hand. The thought of her submissive, her spirit destroyed, sends a thrill of anticipation coursing through my veins. I see her, a shadow of the defiant girl she is now, bound to me not by chains but by the invisible threads of her shattered soul. The power I would wield over her, the control—it’s intoxicating. It mirrors the darkness of my father, yet I would savor it for different reasons. In my fantasy, she looks to me for guidance and protection, her wide eyes filled with fear and reverence. She would be mine, completely and irrevocably, her every breath proof to my control over her. And as she kneels before me, a Queen in my empire of darkness, I would revel in the knowledge that I have tamed the untamable, claiming what my father could not. The thought of it stirs a possessive hunger within me, a desire to see this fantasy made into a reality. But beneath the surface of this daydream, a voice of reason whispers a warning—a reminder that what I crave is not love but ownership and that the line between myself and my father may be thinner than I care to admit.
So?
Let Father try to take her from me. He’ll soon learn I’m not the obedient son he thinks I am. I’m a Blackwood through and through, with all the darkness and determination that comes with the name.
And I’ll protect what’s mine.