𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 || 𝐉𝐉𝐊

chapter 50

—#[continuation of y/n’s pov]: 

My eyes kept drifting back to him, every now and then, a nervous tic I couldn’t control. The food on the porcelain plate in front of me might as well have been painted on. 

It was untouched. 

A beautiful, pointless still-life.

I couldn't make myself eat. Not with this churning in my gut, this frantic, screaming need to understand. 

Why was he doing this? The bath, the ointment, the carrying… it was all a performance. 

It had to be. 

But for whose benefit? 

He was acting like he gave a damn. Like I was something more than a possession, a toy he will someday get bored of breaking. What was the point? What was he trying to prove?

I dropped my gaze to the plate, my focus blurring until the seared salmon and asparagus became a smear of color. My brow was furrowed, a deep line of trouble etched between my eyes. The questions were a swarm in my head, too loud, too frantic.

Then his voice cut through the static, sharp and cool as a shard of ice.

“Eat.”

My head snapped up, my eyes finding his across the vast, polished expanse of the table. His gaze was a physical weight. That voice—that cool, flat, utterly controlled tone—could freeze the blood in your veins. Even a single, mundane word like “eat” wasn’t a suggestion. 

It was more like a command. A decree. And you? You can't just defy…command’s. Not if they are coming from a man like…him. 

A cold shiver traced my spine. I looked away, my gaze falling back to the plate like a scolded child. My hand, moving on autopilot, reached for the silver fork. The metal was cold against my fingers.

I have come to know better than to defy him. 

I forced a bite, the food feeling like sawdust in my mouth. But I couldn’t swallow. I could feel his stare, a laser point burning into the top of my head. 

Unwavering. Relentless. 

It was a violation in its own right, this constant, heavy attention…it scares me. It really does. 

The thought: why is he looking at me like that? Why now that I have obediently followed his command? It scares me. 

I risked another glance, a quick, furtive look from under my lashes. His sharp eyes were still locked on me, watching me over the rim of his coffee cup. He was drinking, but he wasn’t looking at his drink. 

He was looking at me.

My breath hitched, and I quickly refocused on my plate, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Having him look at me like that is like…watching a predator observe its prey. As if he's reading me. As if he knows what's going inside my head. And he has no right to look through me like that. 

Not at all. 

The dining room was a tomb. The only sounds were the faint, muffled steps of the servers when they glided forward to refill a glass, the soft clink of silverware. Otherwise, it was a pin-drop silence. They stood along the walls, statues with slightly lowered heads, their very presence a part of the suffocating decor.

This atmosphere… this heavy, oppressive quiet where every breath feels too loud… it has always felt like a cage. And today, with his unblinking eyes on me, the walls felt closer than ever.