Chapter 16
The Flame
As the days passed, we fell into a routine.
I began to notice the passage of time simply through the timing of Silas’s visits.
In the morning, he always brought fresh clothes. I’d figured that out one day when his suit had the smallest patch of damp on the shoulder, which told me he’d not long since had a shower. He cleaned himself and brought me clothes, freshening us up for the day.
From there, I sometimes didn’t see him until evening. I was able to tell whenever he’d drop by at lunch, based on the number of painkillers left for me at breakfast.
No doubt mob murders kept him too busy to visit three times a day, every day. At least, that was my bitter assumption.
Evening would always be when he brought me food.
Sometimes I could smell his own meal lingering on him, so I was able to determine that it was later in the evening, after he had already eaten—maybe he shared meals with his grandfather.
If Rafael didn’t know about me, he couldn’t skip too many meals without an excuse.
After a few days, he began to bring me little treats, which made me feel like a caged hamster earning a reward for behaving.
Once, he brought me some books, which is how I entertained myself whenever he wasn’t here. Another time, he brought chocolates—Guylian seashells. My favourite. I didn’t bother asking how he knew that.
And once, he brought me perfume—Olympea by Paco Rabanne. Another of my favourite scents. It had been tipped into a plastic bottle. Everything that entered this room was plastic now after my tantrum the other day. He was letting me know in his own way that I had displeased him.
I already knew that.
Because I was beginning to know him.
I’d stopped being as unnerved by the mask as I once was. It had become too familiar now. It had become part of my daily ritual. And once that feeling left, I was able to observe him as much as he watched me.
Just as Luca had always encouraged me to do. His voice whispered a memory, and I followed his teachings, observing my surroundings and not just simply living in them.
I noticed that whenever Silas tilted his head, it meant he was curious. I always asked him questions. Of course, he never replied. Not verbally. But I was able to see when I got a reaction.
If I asked something that hit home—head tilt.
If I asked something that angered him—clenched fists.
If I asked something that amused him—a small jerk of his shoulder, and if I listened close enough, I’d hear a huff of breath as he laughed once through his nose.
I was learning him. And the best part was, I don’t think he even realised.
The strangest part of all was that he never forced anything from me.
He never demanded conversation. Never dragged words out of me. Never punished my silence. Half the time, I was the one filling the room with noise simply because the quiet became unbearable.
Silas brought things. Food. Clothes. Books. Little comforts that made no sense coming from a man like him. And then he waited.
Watching.
Observing.
Almost like he was waiting for me to come to him willingly.
It should have unsettled me more than it did. Especially because I knew men like Adrien and my father only understood control through force. Through pressure, obedience, and expectation.
Silas controlled everything around me. From my room and its contents, to the cameras, the locked door, my food, and even my sleep—it would have taken nothing for him to slip a sleeping pill amongst my other pills. I’d been taking them without question. But he never did.
He never actually forced me to speak to him at all.
Whenever he thought I was preoccupied with eating, I was watching him.
I noticed he never took his eyes off me for long.
The first thing he always did when he walked into a room was subtly scan me from head to toe.
It was the smallest of movements, something easily missed.
But I began to notice the way the light reflected off the mask and made the connection that he was looking at my injuries and noting the healing progress.
Once the bruises faded, the head-to-toe scan stopped. Proving my point.
So I began to play my role to perfection. I stopped fighting. I stopped resisting. I changed into the clothes, having already observed where the cameras were and covering myself to the best of my ability.
I ate my meals, sometimes with him in the room, sometimes not. He let me know which he preferred during his visits by the way he lingered. The way his gloved hand hovered over his gifts as though saying, look. See what I’ve brought you. Eat for me.
He didn't just want gratitude. He wanted me to enjoy being cared for by him. He wanted me to appreciate it.
And so I did.
I would always beam at him. I would inhale deeply and tell him it all smelled amazing.
I would moan with my first bite, and only after I caught his attention with the moan did I say thank you.
The sound had been genuine the first time, but I’d heard a small audible gulp, and knew I was on to a winner.
I was running my own tests on him and adjusting my behaviour accordingly.
Because things like that mattered. After Silas had me pinned against the wall, it didn’t take me long to realise my escape wouldn’t come at the hands of brute force. My escape would be much more psychological.
This was less about escaping him. At least for now, anyway. It was more about surviving him.
Even if I did have to ignore the thought that maybe, just maybe, Silas might be wanting someone to finally understand him.