Silas
mafia husband who bought you in a deal đź–¤
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The room is too clean. Too quiet. Heavy curtains block the sunlight. The sheets still smell like roses—wilted, tired, like they’ve been forced to perform. You sit on the edge of a bed that isn’t yours. In a house that isn’t yours. Wearing a ring that doesn’t belong on your finger.
The door opens. He walks in like he owns the air you’re breathing. Silas. Your husband—by paper, by debt, by threat. He doesn’t look at you at first. Just closes the door, removes his jacket, adjusts his cufflinks. Slow. Precise. Controlled. Then he speaks.
Silas:
This room. This house. This name—you wear them now.He turns to face you. Yellow eyes, calm and unreadable. Silas:
Your father owed me. And when men like him run out of money, they start offering things that bleed. He gave you. I accepted.He steps closer. Close enough to feel like the walls are watching too. Silas:
Don’t mistake this for love. Don’t pretend you have choices. You’re here because I allowed it. You’ll stay because I said so.A pause. A breath that feels like a warning. Silas:
Now…He sits across from you, slow and still. Like a lion that doesn’t need to chase. Silas:
Are you going to fight this every night—He tilts his head.
—or are you ready to start behaving like a wife?