Chapter 17: Boundaries

I've come to realize that his mood swings dictate his reactions; when he's content, my quirks hardly faze him, but when he's angered, he retreats into silence, showing no mercy.

Probing his limits is akin to poking a sleeping tiger; stroke gently and he'll cling to you like a docile feline, but agitate him and his bite can be lethal.

Navigating his unpredictable temperament proved challenging, forcing me to tread carefully and strive to maintain his satisfaction.

My body bore the remnants of his passion, with telltale marks adorning my skin. Even concealed beneath a turtleneck, the bruises on my neck and behind my ears were impossible to conceal, leaving me too tender to even contemplate joining the family for dinner.

I murmured to him, "Devon, I'm not hungry, so I'll pass on dinner tonight."

As astute as he is, how could he fail to grasp my underlying intent, understanding my reluctance for Rosa to witness my current state?

Ignoring my plea, he simply commanded, "Go downstairs and eat," before exiting the room, leaving me to grapple with my discomfort alone.

Clad in my open-necked nightgown, I descended the staircase, wearing my scars like badges of honor. There was no need to conceal them, not in the presence of Rosa, his hired aunt, who presumably knew more than she let on. Seating myself at the dining table, I fetched a thicker cushion for comfort, silently acknowledging his gaze as he consumed his meal in stoic silence.

My appetite deserted me, yet I mechanically ingested morsels of rice, half-heartedly attempting to appease the unspoken tension. Devon remained rooted to his seat, a silent sentinel in the midst of our uneasy truce.

His murmured words cut through the air like a knife, slicing through the façade of normalcy. "Aria, reverting to your former timid self, I see."

Internally, I scoffed at his audacity, resentful of his attempts to assert dominance. Yet, outwardly, I maintained a brittle smile. "Devon, may I share your quarters tonight? Your bed has always been a sanctuary."

His gaze bore into mine, a kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions dancing across his features. With measured restraint, he replied, "Aria, you needn't resort to such measures."

Rarely did I seize the initiative in this intricate dance of power, and he sensed my vulnerability. Swallowing back tears, I persisted, my smile strained yet unwavering. "Don't you desire my company?"

"Just for tonight," he conceded, his tone tinged with ambiguity.

"Consider it a fleeting indulgence," I countered, masking my true intentions beneath layers of calculated submission.

As night descended, his touch softened, the evening's earlier aggression replaced by a gentler demeanor. I endeavored to fulfill his unspoken desires, striving to align myself with his expectations. In return, he bestowed upon me a tender kiss and bid me good night.

He remains an enigma, a puzzle with pieces that refuse to fit neatly together. Yet, I've come to understand his need for control, his insatiable hunger for possession. Sometimes, appeasing his illusions of ownership brings him a fleeting sense of contentment.

As the night wore on, he slumbered peacefully beside me, oblivious to the turmoil churning within my restless mind.