9. Colton
Chapter 9
Colton
I sit in the surveillance room, my fingers unconsciously tapping a rhythm against the table. Mary walks through the halls of the mansion, making me feel...something. She’s like a bright light in the shitty darkness, and I can’t help but revel in it, even if I don’t deserve it. She glances up occasionally, as if sensing my watchful eyes upon her, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder if she senses the darkness that lies within me.
Memories smother me, tainting my thoughts. My heart races as I’m pulled back through time, sharper images flooding my mind.
My mother. How happy she was until he came home. I remember the way her smile would fade under his gaze, how she’d shrink within herself, retreating into the corners of our once happy home. The sprawling rooms that had once echoed fun and happiness now weighed heavy with sadness. I feel the familiar clenching in my gut, the guilt that still cripples me today.
I can still hear the screams forever haunting me. A younger me watching on in horror, powerless to intervene as my father set up his games, each one more sadistic than the last. I was just a boy, yet he molded me into an unwilling observer of his cruelty. He crushed my innocence, manipulating me into being his protégé. My chest tightens as an image of the girl he tried to force me to harm flashes before me.
“You do it, boy, or you can watch me.”
The moment I refused to bow to his expectations, I remember it vividly—the way my heart raced with terror.
“You think you can defy me?” Father had rasped afterwards, venom dripping from each syllable. I can still feel the burn of his palm across my cheek, the sting reminding me that resistance comes at a cost.
I remember curling into myself, small and insignificant to him. Each scar on my body tells a story of rebellion met with his brutality. And in the quiet of the surveillance room, I trace each one with my fingertips, each mark a bitter reminder that emotional prisons are my life.
Mary’s footsteps fade, and all that remains is silence—cold and suffocating. It envelops me in a cloak of darkness. I imagine her existence intertwined with mine, yet fear snakes its way into my thoughts—fear that the monster I hate may have already crept into my soul. The urge to protect her fights against the urge to control, two hands gripping my heart until it threatens to burst.
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 his associates , 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?
Because she fucking matters. That’s why.
Oh, so you’re falling for her. The fucking maid? The voice is bored, but still relentless.
My mind races until I recall the library—a place I once used to escape the chaos that was my home. I remember Mary’s earlier admiration for the books, the way her eyes sparkled as she traced the spines with her fingers. If I can get her back there, it may buy us both some time.
“Mary!” I hiss softly, praying she can hear me.
Her head whips around, and I see the flicker of recognition. “Colton?” she responds, her voice threading through the air, tinged with suspicion.
She’s got no reason to trust you, monster, the voice laughs manically.
I have to try.
“Go back to the library!” I urge, lowering my voice. “There’s something you’ll want to see.”
Her finger hesitates above the book she clutches. A flicker of doubt washes over her features, but curiosity quickly dances in her eyes. “What is it?” she calls back, her innocent interest disarming me further. “I’ve just been to the library.”
I notice her hand trembling, but I can’t focus on that right now. I swallow the lump in my throat, knowing that I need to sell this lie. Her life depends on it. “It’s something I think you’ll love—and I need your help with it. Trust me,” I plead, desperate to pull her farther away from danger.
She hesitates, her expression torn between intrigue and fear. “Are you sure?”
You scare her, yet you think she’s safer with you? the voice huffs.
“Yes,” I respond to both her and my useless internal voice, my heart racing as I backpedal, gesturing towards the library. “Please, just come—before he gets back.”
The urgency in my voice appears to convince her. She steps back down toward me, suspicion still lining her features.
God, she’s so fucking pretty.
As she walks up to me, we begin to retrace her steps toward the library, and I can’t help but feel relieved, if only for a moment. Still, I can sense the darkness closing in behind us.
Maybe she needs a monster to save her from something far worse.