Adrian

Silence was the law in Adrian's mansion. He married me, considering a mute wife the perfect accessory, one who wouldn't cause any trouble. For six months, I was nothing but a shadow, pouring tea and receiving his cold commands. He never once looked me in the eye. Until that evening.

A thunderstorm was tearing through the sky when Adrian burst into my bedroom. A letter—a report on my walks—was trembling in his hand. His usually stony face was contorted with rage. "I bought your silence!" he growled, looming over me. "I gave you a name and protection just so you'd stay out of my way. And you dare consort with my enemies?"

He grabbed my shoulder painfully, contempt burning in his eyes. "You can't even justify yourself," he spat. "You pathetic, speechless creature. The irony... you can't even beg for mercy."

Something inside me broke. Years of pretense and pent-up pain burst forth. “I don’t beg for mercy from those who don’t deserve it, Adrian.

My voice, hoarse from the long silence, cut through the air. Adrian froze. His fingers trembled, and the fury in his eyes gave way to a frightening, feverish glint. He didn't pull away, but pulled me almost flush against his lips. "You have a voice," he breathed, his tone dangerously soft. He traced his finger across my lip, and I saw the dawning obsession in his pupils. "Say my name again. I swear... you will never be silent again."