TRIANGLE

TAG #IX

The Rosenthal mansion was unnervingly silent that night, its grandeur cloaked in a sinister stillness. Mill sat on her bed, her heart still racing from the confrontation with Veronica earlier. Every nerve in her body screamed to leave, to run far from the oppressive presence that seemed to seep from Veronica herself.

But Mill never made it to the door.

A sharp knock echoed through the room before it creaked open, revealing Veronica standing there in a black silk robe, her expression unreadable but her eyes burning with a cold fire.

“Going somewhere, darling?” Veronica asked, her voice as smooth as honey yet laced with steel.

Mill stiffened, her throat tightening. “Get out of my room,” she managed, though her voice trembled.

Veronica smirked, stepping inside and closing the door behind her with a deliberate click. She leaned against it, her presence dominating the room. “You’re not leaving, Mill. Not tonight. Not ever.”

“What are you talking about?” Mill demanded, her voice rising in panic.

Veronica’s smirk deepened. “I told you, didn’t I? You’re trapped here. And now, I’m going to make sure you understand just how serious I am.”

Before Mill could react, Veronica pressed a button on a remote she had concealed in her robe. The sound of heavy locks sliding into place reverberated through the walls. Mill’s heart dropped.

“You… locked me in?” Mill whispered, horror dawning on her face.

“I’m doing what’s necessary,” Veronica replied coolly, placing the remote on the bedside table. She sauntered toward Mill, her every step deliberate and predatory. “You need to learn your place. And tonight, you will.”

Mill tried to back away, but Veronica was faster, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back toward the bed. She pushed Mill down with a force that was both commanding and unsettlingly intimate.

“Veronica, stop this!” Mill shouted, struggling against her grip.

“Shhh,” Veronica hushed, her fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from Mill’s face. “You’ve caused enough noise for one night.”

Veronica’s methods were psychological as much as they were physical. She began by pacing the room, her words cutting through Mill’s resolve like a blade.

“You think you’re so righteous,” Veronica said, her tone almost mocking. “Always the perfect little girl, the obedient daughter. But you’re weak, Mill. Always have been.”

“I’m not weak,” Mill snapped, but her voice lacked conviction.

Veronica chuckled darkly. “Oh, really? Then why are you trembling?”

Mill glared at her, refusing to give Veronica the satisfaction of seeing her break. But Veronica was relentless.

She circled the bed, her gaze piercing. “You’ve always depended on others to clean up your messes. Edward did it. Your parents did it. Even I have done it. But no more, darling. From now on, you’ll do as I say.”

When Mill didn’t respond, Veronica leaned closer, her breath warm against Mill’s ear. “Do you understand me?”

Mill remained silent, her jaw clenched.

Veronica’s eyes narrowed. “Fine. If you want to play the stubborn game, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

She stood, retrieving a velvet pouch from the dresser. From it, she pulled a pair of metal cuffs, their design ornate but their purpose clear.