Chapter 8 Tethered and Watched

The walls were whispering again.

Not with words.

But with the kind of silence that felt intentional.

Like someone was listening.

Like the air itself held secrets.

Isla sat at the edge of her bed, wrapped in a cashmere robe, hair still damp from her shower. The window let in a soft glow from the city skyline, but inside the penthouse, something darker stirred.

She'd been living in this glass prison long enough to know when something had shifted.

At first, it was the faint clicking she heard when she moved.

Then the way the lights flickered when she walked past them, like they were wired to her heartbeat.

She tested it the night before-stood perfectly still for an hour, then moved suddenly.

That's when she caught it.

A red dot.

Small. Blinking.

Hidden in the corner of the ceiling vent.

Her stomach dropped.

She stood beneath it, pretending not to notice, but inside her chest, a scream echoed louder than thunder.

She was being watched.

Not just protected.

Monitored.

Tracked like an animal in a gilded cage.

She didn't sleep that night. Instead, she lay in the bed, arms wrapped around her knees, heart pacing the floors of her ribcage.

Every shadow felt like him.

Every silence felt like a camera lens blinking.

What else had he seen?

Had he watched her cry? Bathe? Shiver under silk sheets because she missed the sound of her old apartment's creaky pipes?

Had he watched her stare at the stars and whisper her mother's name?

The thought alone made her sick.

---

By morning, she had a plan.

She dressed slowly-conservatively. No red lipstick. No high heels. No show.

Just herself.

She waited until Damien returned. He was never gone for long. Like a lion patrolling his kingdom, always returning to the den he claimed.

And he did.

The moment he walked in, she stood in the center of the living room like a loaded question.

He barely paused. "Something you need?"

"Yes." Her voice was steady, but inside, her pulse was a wildfire. "Tell me why there are cameras in my bedroom."

He didn't blink. Didn't frown.

Didn't even pretend to be surprised.

"So you found one."

Her heart skipped.

"That's your response?" she hissed.

"You live under my roof. I have the right to ensure you're safe."

"Safe?" She laughed, bitter. "No. This is control. Surveillance. Invasion."

"I prefer 'insurance.'"

"Against what?" she spat. "What exactly do you think I'll do?"

Damien stepped closer. Not threatening. Not gentle. Just inevitable.

"Run."

"I'm not running."

"You're thinking about it," he replied calmly. "Which is the same thing."

She took a step back. "You have no right to spy on me."

"You signed that right away," he said. "Page eleven. Paragraph six."

Her mouth went dry.

She remembered the contract.

She remembered flipping through it with trembling hands, blind with grief and rage, just trying to save her father.

She hadn't read it all.

And now she was paying the price.

Isla turned away, gripping the edge of the fireplace mantle until her knuckles turned white.

"I'm not her," she whispered.

"I know."

"I'm not going to disappear like Lena."

He stiffened, just slightly.

"I'm not her," she repeated, voice trembling. "You don't have to chain me to this place to keep me alive."

"I'm not trying to keep you alive," he said darkly. "I'm trying to keep you mine."

Her head snapped toward him.

He didn't say it like a declaration of love.

He said it like a warning.

Like a man who had lost everything once and decided he'd never lose again not even if it meant turning love into captivity.

"You don't own me," she said softly.

"But I do," he answered, just as soft.

Later that night, she stood once again in front of her mirror. The red dot was still there, blinking patiently like an ever-watchful eye.

But she didn't cower.

She didn't scream.

She stared into it.

Let it watch her.

Then, with careful hands, she slipped the robe from her shoulders and walked calmly into the bathroom.

She didn't cover herself.

Didn't flinch.

Let him see everything if he wanted to.

Because if Damien Blackwood wanted to watch her,then she'd make sure he saw exactly what he'd broken.

---

The next morning, the camera was gone.

The light, the lens, the blinking red eye-disappeared.

No one said a word.

No apology. No confrontation.

Just absence.

But that absence said more than any words could.

He'd been watching.

And she'd let him see her on her terms.

Not his.

For the first time in weeks, Isla smiled.

Small. Quiet. Dangerous.

Because in that moment, she realized something powerful-

Damien Blackwood wasn't the only one who could play this game.