Jailer

Irene Jones POV 

I jumped to my feet, heart hammering at the sound of a voice that didn’t belong to any of the men already inside my apartment.

“Young master,” they bowed in unison, heads lowered, and I turned sharply to see who they were talking about.

Albert stood near the doorway, pushing a wheelchair into the room. Seated in it was a man dressed in all black—lavish fabrics draped over his rigid frame, a black mask covering his face so completely I couldn’t even glimpse his eyes.

“Who are you?” The words slipped out, shaky, useless—but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Your husband. Theodore Myers.”

The voice came from him.

Goosebumps erupted across my skin. Fear coiled tight in my chest.

Even Cyril hadn’t scared me this much. But Theodore—my husband, a man I’d never even met—radiated something colder than anything I could explain.

"Mrs. Myers," Albert said, calm as ever, his polished tone steady, "I told you before—you needed to shift to the mansion. But you ran away. That’s why the master had to come himself. The guards are here to transfer your important belongings."

So all these men… they were Theodore’s guards.

The whole situation made my head spin.

"Ugh…" I tried to form words, but they stuck in my throat, useless.

I’d never heard much about Theodore. He was supposed to marry Misha, and even then, no one really knew anything beyond the rumor—he was a cripple.

And now, standing here as his substitute bride, seeing him in person—seeing nothing but masks, gloves, and layers of dark clothes—chilled the blood in my veins.

"Mrs. Myers, it would be better if you come with us. The guards will handle everything," Albert stated, pulling me back from my spiraling thoughts.

I blinked, fighting to find the courage buried somewhere inside me. "No. I will stay in my house."

At least my makeup still hid everything—and showed only the face I wanted people to see.

It had become a habit. Even after bathing, I made sure to paint myself into something unrecognizable. No one saw the real me. No one ever would.

"What did you say?" Theodore asked—low, dark, dangerous.

The apartment felt smaller with every second that passed.

Theodore didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t move. He didn’t have to.  

That single question—what did you say?—sank into my skin like ice water.

Albert shifted slightly, a glance passing between him and the guards, but no one else dared to speak.

I swallowed, tasting the sharp bitterness of fear on my tongue. "I said I’m staying here."

The words barely made it past my lips, weak and foolish sounding even to my own ears.

For a moment, there was only silence—the heavy, suffocating kind that made my knees lock and my palms sweat.

Then Theodore moved.

Only a little—a slow tilt of his head, the faintest shift of his gloved hand against the armrest.  

But it sent a ripple through the room. The guards straightened. Albert’s shoulders stiffened.

And me—  

My heart dropped into my stomach.

"You misunderstand, Mrs. Myers," Theodore said, voice like velvet stretched over a blade. "You are not being asked."

Something inside me—something fragile—cracked at the edges.

I forced myself to stand taller, even though my legs screamed to run. "You can’t just—force me."

The mask tilted again, just enough that I could feel his gaze, even if I couldn’t see it.

"You are my wife," he said simply. "You will live where I live."

The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like it was already written, already done—made it worse than if he had shouted.

Behind him, Albert gave a small nod, and two of the guards moved toward my bedroom without waiting for permission.

"No!" I lunged forward instinctively, but another guard blocked my path without touching me, a silent wall of muscle and black uniform.

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. "You can't just take my things—!"

"They are not just your things anymore," Theodore said, still seated, still unmoving, his voice a slow, deliberate threat. "Everything of yours belongs to me now."

The words hit harder than any physical blow.  

It wasn’t just the apartment, or my belongings. It was me.  

He meant me.

You can’t let them do this. Fight back. My head rang with it.

 

But the room spun, the ground tilting beneath my feet. My heart pounded against my ribs, desperate, trapped.

I didn’t move.  

I couldn’t.

One by one, the guards disappeared into my bedroom, carrying out suitcases and boxes I didn’t even realize they’d packed.  

My life, packed into pieces, stripped from the walls like I didn’t exist here at all.

Panic clawed its way up my throat, but I forced it down. Showing fear would only feed whatever this was.

Theodore stayed silent, watching. Or maybe not watching—but it felt like he was.  

Like even through the mask, he could see every thought, every trembling inch of me.

Albert approached quietly, hands folded behind his back like this was a business transaction, not the destruction of my entire world.  

“Mrs. Myers." His tone remained polite. "It would be best if you cooperated. Master is being patient... for now.”

Patient.

My chest ached with the effort not to scream.

"I didn't agree to this," I managed, though my voice cracked. "I never agreed to any of this."

"You did," Theodore answered, his voice low and unhurried. "When you signed the marriage contract."

"I was forced—" The words burst out of me before I could stop them.

His gloved fingers tapped once against the armrest, soft but final. "Irrelevant."

The coldness of it hit harder than any slap.

Irrelevant. 

My choice.  

My life.

None of it mattered to him.

The last of the guards reappeared, signaling silently to Albert.

"It is time, Mrs. Myers," Albert said.

I staggered back a step, every instinct in me screaming no.

But the guards closed in, not touching, just waiting—ready to act if I resisted.

Theodore remained seated, a king issuing silent orders without lifting a hand. 

He didn't have to.  

Everyone here moved for him. Everyone obeyed him.

Even me.

Because I had no choice.

I felt it in my bones—the inevitable, crushing truth. 

I could fight and be dragged out like a criminal.  

Or I could walk out on my own feet and pretend I still had some shred of dignity left.

My throat burned.  

Tears pressed hot behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

Without a word, I turned.

The guards stepped aside, creating a path.

My footsteps struck the floor, each one heavier than the last, as I walked out of the only home I'd ever known.

Behind me, Albert pushed the wheelchair where Theodore sat, silent and unmoving.

Was I really feeling sorry for this man? Thinking he was just a cripple, mistreated by his family, the way Cyril had made fun of him? But this man was worse than Cyril.

Or maybe the whole Myers family had this superiority complex, just like my own.

But hearing and seeing Theodore’s authority now, I only felt like the one who suffered—it was me—nothing more, nothing less.

He didn’t even hear me, didn’t even ask why I didn’t want to move.

It took me years to escape the Jones mansion, and now I was being dragged to some unknown place where I had to live with him—the man who felt no less than a jailer.

“Stop.”