Silken Chains

chapters 19

Chapter Nineteen: Strings

Viktor sat at the edge of the bed, the bowl of soup in his hands. He scooped a spoonful and blew on it gently, cooling the steaming liquid. The room was eerily quiet, except for the sound of Viktor's steady breaths and the occasional clink of the spoon against the bowl.

"Here," Viktor murmured, bringing the spoon to Alex's lips.

Alex’s body responded before his mind caught up, his lips parting instinctively, opening like a puppet bound to invisible strings. His eyes widened as the spoon passed his lips, the warm broth sliding down his throat. It was automatic—something he had done so many times, a routine drilled into him by Viktor’s constant care.

But as the warm liquid hit his stomach, the realization struck. Shame flooded through him. What am I doing? His thoughts screamed in protest, but his body had already obeyed.

He felt pathetic—so accustomed to Viktor’s commands, so conditioned by his presence, that he acted without thinking. The shame was unbearable. How long had he been like this, following orders without resistance? How long had he let Viktor mold him into something so… compliant?

His body moved on its own, betraying his will. He felt utterly disgusted with himself.

No. Not this time.

"I don’t want it," Alex said, his voice trembling as he turned his head away. The words felt foreign on his tongue, and he immediately regretted saying them. His heart pounded in his chest, the defiance making him feel exposed. He couldn’t look Viktor in the eyes.

The atmosphere shifted instantly. Viktor’s gaze darkened, cold and calculating. Gone was the soft smile, replaced by a chilling stare that sent a shiver down Alex’s spine. It felt like the temperature in the room had dropped. Viktor tilted his head slightly, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper.

"If you don’t want to eat, that’s fine," Viktor said, his tone unnervingly calm. "We can always use a syringe to get the soup into your stomach. Your choice."

Alex froze, his breath hitching as Viktor’s words sank in. He shuddered, feeling a wave of fear ripple through him. The coldness in Viktor’s voice, the way he said it so casually, like it was no big deal—like forcing the soup down his throat was just another part of the routine.

He had no choice.

Viktor lifted the spoon again, placing it in front of Alex’s lips, his eyes never leaving Alex’s face. The silent threat lingered in the air. Alex’s hands trembled, his mind racing with fear. Reluctantly, he opened his mouth again, accepting the soup. The taste was no longer warm or comforting—it was bitter, heavy with the weight of his submission.

"Good boy," Viktor murmured, his hand reaching out to gently rub Alex’s head. The touch was soft, almost affectionate, but it made Alex flinch inside. Viktor smiled, that same soft, calm smile as before, as though nothing had happened. As if the threat, the coldness, the shift in his demeanor—none of it had occurred.

It frightened Alex more than anything. This persona, this calm, collected act Viktor played—it was terrifying. He could switch from cold cruelty to gentle affection in an instant, as though one was no different from the other.

Alex’s heart sank deeper, trapped in the ever-tightening web of Viktor’s control.