Chapter 22 #3
My fingers curl into fists, nails biting into my palms. He’s been planning this. This isn’t just about taking us; it's about control. Recreating the past, trapping me in it.
Jason leans against the doorway, arms crossed like he’s proud of himself.
I look around. Everything about this house feels fake. Like a dollhouse. A sick, twisted recreation of the life he thought we were supposed to have.
Emma clings tighter to my leg, and Ella’s little fingers dig into my arm. They feel my fear, even if they don’t understand it.
I force my lips to move. “How long?” My voice barely carries. “How long have you been setting this up?”
Jason smiles, slow and indulgent, as if I’ve just asked the stupidest question in the world. “Since the moment you walked away, sweetheart.”
My breath catches.
He gestures toward the hallway, completely at ease, like this is just another night at home. Like he hasn’t stolen us, trapped us here.
“The girls can share the blue room,” he says casually. “I know how they hate sleeping apart.”
Ella makes a tiny whimpering sound.
Ice slides through my veins. He knows. He knows things about them that he shouldn’t.
My pulse thunders in my ears. I swallow hard, keeping my voice even. “You… you’ve been watching them.”
Jason raises a brow, amused. “Of course I have.” His lips curve. “What kind of father wouldn’t?”
Emma stiffens beside me, her small fingers trembling in mine.
The room tilts. No. No, no, no.
I can’t let him claim them. I can’t let him steal them the way he stole my choices.
I push the girls behind me, shielding them as much as I can. My heart is hammering so loud, I feel it in my skull. “They’re not yours.”
Jason sighs, his smile never fading. “You keep saying that,” he muses. “And yet… here we are.”
The walls press in. The pink, the white, the perfectly controlled illusion of home.
He’s going to make us live in this lie.
And no one is coming to save us.
Jason’s voice echoes down the hall. “Settle in. Make yourselves comfortable.”
As if this is just a normal night. As if we belong here.
I press the girls into the bed, wrapping my arms around them like I can shield them from the nightmare we’re trapped in. The pink walls mock me. The white curtains breathe like lungs in the breeze. This isn’t home. It’s a prison disguised as one.
Emma is curled against my chest, her soft breaths warming my skin. Ella is tucked close at my side, her grip never loosening. My fingers tremble as I brush Ella’s hair back, checking for any sign of the drug Jason used on her.
Her breathing is steady, her pupils normal. No sluggishness or other lingering effects.
I exhale, tension bleeding from my shoulders. She’s okay.
“Are we going to be stuck here forever?” Ella’s small voice shatters the silence.
I squeeze them both tighter. No. No, I won’t let that happen.
But I can’t promise that. Not yet.
Before I can answer, Jason’s voice cuts through the heavy air, far too cheerful. Like this is all perfectly normal.
“Hungry?”
My stomach knots. I want to refuse, but the truth is, the girls haven’t eaten since yesterday. Their little bodies need food, no matter who’s offering it.
I swallow my pride. My rage. The fear screaming inside me. I have to keep them alive first. Everything else comes later.
I nod, guiding them to the door.
The dining area is as eerily staged as the rest of the house. The same wooden table I remember from our old place. The same floral placemats. Even the smell—cheesy, buttery warmth—hits me like a gut punch.
Jason stands at the stove, wearing a fucking apron. He stirs a pot, humming to himself like a picture-perfect dad in a Sunday commercial.
Mac and cheese. The girls’ favorite.
I feel their tiny hands squeeze mine as they take in the scene. They know. Even at five years old, they know this isn’t right.
Jason turns, all smiles. “Just in time! I made your favorite, girls.”
Emma and Ella don’t move. Their hands stay tight in mine, their bodies rigid. Smart girls.
I force my feet forward, guiding them to the table. The plates are already set, bright pink plastic bowls filled to the brim.
Everything in its place. Perfect. Controlled.
The girls sit, but their hands find each other under the table, gripping tightly. I stay standing for a beat longer, forcing myself to take the seat across from Jason.
Emma finally speaks, her voice barely above a whisper as she stares at her bowl.
“Secret Agent Damon makes it better.”
Ella’s little foot connects with Emma’s shin under the table. Emma gasps, eyes wide with betrayal, but she clamps her lips shut when she sees my warning look.
Jason stills. The soft clink of the spoon against ceramic stops.
I feel the shift in the air before he even turns around. The tension pulls taut, stretching so thin, I can hear my own pulse hammering in my ears.
His back remains to us as he chuckles, his tone low, amused. “Does he now?”
Ella grips my arm so tight, her nails bite into my skin.
Jason finally faces us, his smile stretching just a little too wide. His eyes flick to me, gleaming with something dangerous. “Well. I guess I’ll have to do better, won’t I?”
The smell of artificial cheese sauce fills the air, clinging to my skin like something rotten. The girls love mac and cheese, but neither reaches for their spoons. Their hands stay wrapped in mine beneath the table, small, warm fingers clutching tight.
I squeeze back. I don’t know if I’m reassuring them or stealing their strength.
Jason sets the bowl in front of them with a flourish. “There we go, princesses. Just like Mom used to make.”
Jason watches the twins eat like a proud father, as if he’s actually done something to deserve their trust. As if he hasn’t ripped them away from their home. Drugged them, stolen them.
The worst part is, he’s enjoying this. The control. The compliance. The power.
I force myself to take another bite, if only to keep him from noticing the way my hands shake. The girls mimic me, lifting their spoons in sync, their movements slow, careful.
Jason leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, his gaze pinning me down. “You’ve done a good job with them.”
I swallow against the bile rising in my throat.
“They’re polite. Obedient.” He tilts his head. “You trained them well.”
I grip Emmas knee under the table, keeping her from reacting. If she snaps back at him, if she shows him that she’s not the docile little girl he wants her to be, I don’t know how he’ll react.
“They’re strong,” I correct, my voice even. “Stronger than you’ll ever be.”
His smile doesn’t waver, but something flickers behind his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”
The girls shrink closer to me.
Jason sighs, shaking his head. “Mia, Mia, Mia… always so combative.” He gestures toward my plate. “Eat more. You’re going to need your strength.”
I force down another bite. Not because I want to, but because I need to stay ahead of him. If I fight him on something small, he’ll push back harder on something bigger.
“Good girl,” he says.
My fingers curl into a fist under the table.
Jason reaches for his glass of wine, taking a slow sip, watching me over the rim. “Tomorrow, we start fresh. I think it’s time the girls get used to their new life, don’t you?”
Their new life. My heart slams against my ribs. I don’t know what he means by that, but I know it’s not good.
I keep my face blank, my voice neutral. “What do you mean?”
Jason smirks, but doesn’t answer. Instead, he lifts his glass in a silent toast. “To new beginnings.”
Emma flinches, and Ella squeezes my hand. I stay silent, throat burning with all the things I can’t say.
Tomorrow.
I have until tomorrow.
I don’t care what it takes—I have to get my daughters out of here. Before it’s too late.
I observe Jason. There’s something off about him. And that’s when I realize what it is.
The way Jason watches them. The way he holds himself, the way he mimics Damon’s head tilt, Zane’s watchful stance, even Asher’s playful lilt when he talks to the girls. He’s been studying them. Learning.
Not just how to replace them. How to destroy them.
I tuck the twins into bed, smoothing Emma’s curls and brushing a kiss over Ella’s forehead. They’ve stopped asking when we’re going home.
And that’s what terrifies me the most.
I whisper soft reassurances, empty promises. I can’t let them see how much my hands shake as I pull the blanket over them. I have to keep them calm. If I fall apart, they will, too.
By the time I step into the hallway, Jason is already there. Waiting.
“You should thank me,” he says smoothly, blocking my path. “I saved you from making a fool of yourself.”
I don’t respond.
He leans in. “Three men, Mia?” His lips pull into a smirk. “I know you’re desperate for attention, but that’s just sloppy.”
I don’t flinch. I don’t let him see the way his words scrape against something raw inside me.
“Damon. Zane. Asher.” He says their names like a curse. Like he’s tasted them on his tongue and found them bitter. “They think they can take what’s mine and just walk away?” His lips curl. “I bet they don’t even know about each other.”
I swallow hard.
“Oh, that’s interesting.” Jason tilts his head, reading the way my breath catches. “They do, don’t they?” His grin is sharp. Cruel. “That’s rich. A whole security firm tangled up over you? Now that’s a first.”
I grit my teeth, my pulse hammering.
“You always did like playing house,” he continues.
“Did you pretend with them, too? Let them think they could keep you?” His hand slides to my wrist, squeezing just enough to make me feel small.
“You don’t belong to them, Mia.” His lips brush against my temple, a ghost of a touch that makes my skin crawl. “You belong to me.”
I fight the shiver that races down my spine. “You don’t own me anymore,” I say
Jason tuts, reaching out to brush a finger along my cheek. “No?” His breath is warm. “I own this moment.” His hand slides lower, fingers pressing against my pulse. “And the next.” His grip tightens, just enough to remind me he can.
My breath catches, and Jason smiles.
“And every moment until they come for you.” His eyes gleam with something dark, something eager. “Because they will. And that’s what I’m counting on.”
My stomach turns. I finally understand. This isn’t just about punishing me. It’s not even about possessing me.
It’s about them. Jason wants them to come. He wants to watch them burn.
I can’t let that happen.
I won’t.