---
Moving to a small town had seemed like the perfect escape for Manon. She wanted peace, a place to settle her nerves after the chaos of her past. The town, nestled between rolling hills and ancient trees, had seemed ideal. Quiet, isolated, and quaint. But from the moment she arrived, something felt wrong. The people were too quiet, too fearful, and too eager to stay out of each other’s way.
It wasn’t long before she learned why.
The name passed through hushed conversations, nervous glances over shoulders—**Rody Lamoree**, the town’s carpenter. The mere mention of him sent shivers through the townsfolk, and no one dared speak openly about him. The few words she could piece together from their fearful mutterings painted him as something more than a mere craftsman. Rody was *dangerous*, the kind of man who wielded power over the town not through authority, but through fear.
And there was something even more unsettling—the mayor’s son, Vincent. Wherever Rody went, Vincent was sure to follow, lingering by his side like a shadow. While the town cowered in fear, Vincent seemed utterly unafraid, always trailing behind Rody with a strange devotion in his eyes.
Manon’s curiosity got the better of her. She watched them from a distance. The more she observed, the more twisted things became.
---
The first time she saw Rody up close was in the market. He stood tall and imposing, his green eyes sharp and alert, cutting through the crowd like a predator surveying his prey. His auburn hair, thick and wild, framed a face that seemed both rugged and sharp, his jawline tense with barely concealed aggression. The townspeople parted for him like the Red Sea, avoiding eye contact and hastily finishing their business whenever he appeared.
Vincent was there too, lingering close, as he always did. In contrast to Rody’s raw physicality, Vincent seemed frail. His skin was pale, his dark eyes haunted by sleepless nights, yet there was a softness to him—a kind of tragic beauty. He was quiet, demure, and every so often, Rody’s hand would find its way to the back of his neck, a possessive, almost tender touch. But Manon knew there was something wrong with how Rody treated him. Vincent didn’t seem to notice or care. The affection from Rody was always returned with a look that bordered on worship.
Manon’s skin crawled every time she saw them together, but she couldn’t help but be fascinated. She heard the whispers of what happened to those who crossed Rody. People disappeared. No one dared to stand against him, not even the mayor. In fact, the mayor was the most spineless of them all, terrified of what Rody might do to his son.
Vincent seemed oblivious, as though he lived in a completely different world. Manon couldn’t understand it. How could someone be so blind to the monster standing right beside them?
---
It wasn’t long before the truth hit Manon like a sledgehammer.
It was late one night, and she couldn’t sleep. Restlessness gnawed at her, so she decided to take a walk. The town was eerily silent at night, the only sound being the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. As she passed by the town square, she noticed a light coming from Rody’s workshop, which stood on the outskirts.
Her curiosity got the better of her. She knew she shouldn’t—knew that getting involved would only lead to trouble—but something about the place called to her, as if the answers she sought were hidden inside.
She crept closer, sticking to the shadows, careful not to make any noise. The window was slightly ajar, and through the small crack, she could hear voices. Rody’s deep, gravelly tone was unmistakable, but what caught her attention most was the laughter. Soft, intimate, almost *playful*.
