CHAPTER 40: CHAPTER 40

The silence in his office stretched like a blade pressed against my throat. I sat frozen in the leather chair, my hands clamped together in my lap, willing my body not to shake. But it betrayed me anyway. My shoulders twitched with every breath, and my knees knocked faintly under the desk. He noticed. He always noticed. Those sharp eyes flicked up from the book he had so leisurely returned to. One glance, and it was enough to strip the air from my lungs.

Pathetic, his inner voice curled through me like smoke.

"Inner voice:Look at her. Shivering as if the chair beneath her is made of ice. Silly toad. A trembling little swamp ghost who doesn’t know if she belongs to the living or the dead. I bit my lip hard, trying to stop my chin from quivering. My eyes burned, but I refused to cry in front of him again. The crazy psycho leaned back in his chair, silent, watching. The weight of his gaze pinned me more tightly than chains could have.

"She thinks silence will save her. Silly. Every croak of her heartbeat is louder than her voice. A ghost rattling inside its coffin.

My throat ached from holding in the words that wanted to spill. I wanted to protest, to tell him I wasn’t a ghost, wasn’t a toad, wasn’t whatever cruel creature his imagination dug up. But my tongue was heavy, and my courage was thinner than paper. Then, at last, he moved. Slowly, deliberately, he set the book aside. The sound of it hitting the desk was quiet, but it made my body jolt as if someone had fired a gun. His fingers steepled, his gaze sharp enough to pierce my skin. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and commanding.

"Serve me water."

The words dropped like stones into the silence, and my whole body stiffened. My heart thundered in my chest. Water. He wanted water.

My eyes darted to the silver jug and crystal glass that sat neatly on a side table a few steps away. Such a simple task. A child could do it. But in his presence, with his eyes locked on me, it felt like being asked to carry a mountain.

Go on, his inner voice teased, thick with amusement. Watch her fumble. Her hands will shake so badly she’ll drown me before the glass reaches my lips. Silly little toad, croaking her fear into the jug.

My hands pressed against my knees, clammy and stiff. I tried to stand, but my legs resisted, as though they, too, feared his judgment. With a gulp of air, I forced myself upright. The room swayed slightly. His aura pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating, reminding me of the difference between us: Alpha and Omega. Predator and prey. I took one hesitant step, then another, each foot dragging as if through mud. My hands hovered uselessly in front of me until I forced one to reach for the jug. The silver was cool against my palm. Too cool. My grip was weak, slippery with sweat, and the jug nearly slid right back down.

"Inner voice: Her hands tremble like reeds in the wind, his inner voice chuckled. One wrong tilt, and she’ll spill it all over herself. Perhaps she’ll baptize her ghost body with it. A fitting ritual.

My teeth clenched, my cheeks flaming. He wasn’t wrong. My grip was terrible, my arms shaking as I lifted the jug. My other hand snatched at the glass, and I almost knocked it over before catching it by the rim.

He leaned back further, lounging in his chair as though this was entertainment, not service. His expression remained unreadable, but inside his voice was merciless.

"Inner voice: A jester in rags, performing her comedy with water. Pour, little toad. Let us see if ghosts can serve drinks without spilling their essence.

I swallowed hard and tilted the jug. The stream of water trickled out, but my hands shook so badly that it wavered dangerously near the rim of the glass.

"Inner voice: Closer, closer ah, too much. The ghost has no sense of measure. Soon she will drown me in her clumsy offering.

I jerked the jug upright just in time, water splashing over the rim and wetting my hand. My heart plummeted. The sound of water dripping onto the polished wood floor echoed in the silence. I froze, terrified to even breathe. His gaze followed the drops lazily, then lifted back to my face. His lips curved in the faintest smirk.

Predictable, his inner voice purred. A swamp ghost, forever spilling, forever trembling. My stomach twisted painfully. I wanted to sink into the floor, disappear, anything but stand there with my shame glistening on my hand.

"Bring it here," he said softly, his tone calm but carrying steel underneath.

I clutched the glass with both hands, as if afraid it would leap away from me. Step by shaky step, I crossed the space to his desk. My knees nearly gave out halfway, but somehow I reached him.

He extended a hand, long fingers curling with deliberate patience. His eyes stayed locked on my face as I bent to set the glass before him.

For one terrifying moment, my hand brushed his as I released the glass. His skin was warm, too warm, and it seared mine like fire.

"Inner voice: Her pulse stutters like a trapped bird’s wing. Silly toad, foolish ghost. Even water trembles in her grip.

I snatched my hand back, clutching it to my chest as though burned. My entire body shook now, worse than before. He lifted the glass, studied the water as though it held secrets. Then, slowly, he took a sip. The sound of him swallowing filled the silence, louder than thunder to my ears. When he lowered the glass, his gaze lingered on me, sharp and knowing.

"You call this serving?" His tone was mild, but his eyes glinted.

My mouth opened and closed, no words forming.

Pathetic, his voice cut through me. A toad croaking in defense, but no voice emerges. Ghost lips moving, but no sound. Always trembling, always small.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes. I-I-I’m sorry Alpha.

His lips curved in the faintest, cruelest smile. He leaned back in his chair, setting the glass down with deliberate care.

"Yes," he murmured, almost to himself. "You will."

Then silence fell again. Heavy, suffocating, endless.

I stood there, shaking in the center of his office, knowing that no matter how simple the task, no matter how small the demand, he would always find a way to strip me down with words sharp enough to scar.

The glass touched the desk with a soft clink. That was all. A sound so small, so ordinary, and yet it made my entire body seize up. He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long frame as though even gravity bent itself to him. His fingers tapped lazily against the armrest, his gaze fixed on me.

"Dance."

"Wha? I froze. My knees nearly buckled, my lungs burned, and my mind went blank. Surely I had misheard. Surely he hadn’t said

"Inner voice: Her eyes widen like a cornered rabbit’s, his inner voice slithered in, rich with dark humor. She wonders if her ears deceive her. No, little toad. I said dance. Let me see my swamp ghost flail its limbs in the name of art.

Heat shot up my neck, spreading to my ears. "I... I don’t..." My voice cracked like dry wood. "I don’t know how."

His lips curved faintly, but there was no kindness in it. Only sharp amusement.

"Inner voice: Ghosts do not know how to dance, he mocked. Toads know only how to hop. A broken puppet knows only how to dangle. Yes, this will be entertaining.

I swallowed hard, gripping the hem of my dress until my knuckles whitened. My feet felt glued to the polished floor. He couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t. But he was. He tilted his head, regarding me with that sharp, unblinking stare. "You heard me, Elie." His voice was calm, smooth, dangerous. "Dance."

My chest rose and fell too fast. My pulse thundered. I shook my head weakly, the tiniest refusal. "Please..."

The air shifted In an instant, the pressure in the room doubled, slamming against me like a wave. His Alpha aura coiled around my throat, pressing down, demanding obedience. My knees bent automatically, my head bowed lower, my body begging for submission even as my heart screamed no.

Pathetic, his voice curled in triumph. Even before the first step, she trembles as though she will break.

A whimper escaped me. I hated it. Hated how small I sounded, how weak I looked. But when his aura pressed harder, my body betrayed me. Slowly, woodenly, I forced myself upright again. My legs moved without grace, dragging me to the center of the office. Each step felt like walking barefoot across glass. My hands dangled uselessly, my breath shallow.

"Inner voice: Dance, little toad, Hop in your mud. Show me your ghostly waltz. He taunted me.

My vision blurred. Tears burned the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back. Crying wouldn’t save me. Nothing would. I closed my eyes for a heartbeat, pulling air into my lungs. Then I lifted one trembling arm, awkward and stiff, and swayed.

"Inner voice: The movement was pathetic I knew it. My body jerked like a puppet pulled by tangled strings. My feet scuffed the floor without rhythm. My arms twitched, trying to remember something resembling grace, but the effort only made me look more broken. As he watched.

"Inner voice: Her limbs creak like rotting wood, his inner voice purred. A puppet dancing at the end of frayed ropes. One arm flails, the other dangles. Silly toad, ghost marionette.

Heat surged up my face. Every nerve screamed with humiliation. I wanted the floor to split open and swallow me whole. But I kept moving. Because stopping was worse. Stopping meant defying him.

I swayed again, turned clumsily on one foot, my dress tangling around my legs. My arms lifted half-heartedly before dropping like heavy branches. I must have looked ridiculous.

"Inner voice: A ghost at its own funeral, swaying with the mourners. A toad doing a tragic ballet in the mud, his voice dripped with sarcasm. My own private performance.

My throat closed around a sob, but I forced it back. My hands shook so badly that I clasped them together and twirled if you could even call it that. The spin nearly made me topple.

The psycho Alpha chuckled. Out loud. The sound was soft, dangerous, but filled with genuine amusement. It cut sharper than his mockery.

My humiliation deepened. My face burned, my skin crawled. I wanted to scream, Stop looking at me! But my lips stayed sealed. I stumbled through another step, then another. My breath came ragged. The room tilted from my dizziness, but still I moved.

"Inner voice: Hop, little toad, his voice sneered. Spin, silly ghost. Dance until the grave calls you back.

Finally, my legs gave out. I crumpled to the floor, knees striking the polished wood. My chest heaved, tears spilling at last. My arms wrapped around me, as though I could shield myself from his eyes. Then, a glass clinked softly as he set it back down. His chair creaked. I dared to glance up through tear-blurred lashes. He hadn’t moved closer. He still sat there, calm as ever, his expression unreadable. But his voice inside me was sharp with satisfaction.

"Inner voice: Broken doll. Silly toad. My ghost. She dances, she falls, she weeps. And still, she obeys.

A sob tore from my throat. I pressed my face into my hands, shame burning me alive. He let me stay there. On the floor, crumpled and shaking, until the silence weighed too heavily to bear. And then, softly, his real voice cut through.

"Remember this, Elie. Every step you take, every tear you shed, every humiliation you endure—" His lips curved, cruel and calm. "—belongs to me." The echo inside me sealed the words like iron chains. Mine.