When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

The invisible leash

She wants to believe that giving me to Marcus is her way of finally being a good mother.

But if I tell her the truth—if I tell her what he really is—she won't be able to stop it. No one can.

Because Marcus... doesn't need permission.

He proved that the night he burned the contract.

He stood there in front of me, eyes cold, the paper that was meant for him, that contract legally gave him power, making him legally my husband fingers like it was a joke.

Last night, something inside me cracked. Not because he burned the copy of a legal document—but because he burned hope.

He was telling me—he can keep me even without it. And I believed him.

If I told my mom, he'd hurt her. Not physically—not yet or maybe even that. But he'd find a way to destroy her. Ruin her. Her relationship with me. And eventually, break her the way he's breaking me.

So I stayed silent

"We did Cat" Marcus cut in smoothly, finishing his coffee with a click of finality.

He rose, and so did I, like a shadow following its master.

"She won't be making that mistake again. Right, Red?"
His tone was light, but his eyes locked onto mine with a deadly grip.

Say it. Obey. Submit.

"I–I won't," I whispered.

Even now, the memory of last night clung to me like smoke. I didn't think I'd ever be clean again.

"Well that's good. Happy ending, huh?" my mom beamed, pulling me into a hug I didn't feel worthy of. Or safe in.

She pulled back. "Why don't you go and rest, you look so worn out."

I nodded, turning toward the stairs—but stopped halfway.

"Mom" I halted before the stair well

She looked up from her coffee, eyes kind.

"Yes, love?"

I turned back. Marcus was still watching me.

"Mom," I repeated, walking over to her. My voice wavered, but I kept going.

"You don't have to stop meeting William."

Her eyes widened. So did Marcus's.

"I know he stopped seeing you because of me. But I just... I want you to know I'm okay with it. If he makes you happy, if you both want to be together... as friends, or more... that's your choice. I don't want to take your freedom of choice away. Because I know what it feels like... when your freedom of choice is ripped away from you."

My throat tightened. "It is suffocating to live every day shaped by someone else's decisions. What to say, what to wear, who to love, when to breathe."

I swallowed, hard. "We don't understand how precious our choices are... not until someone takes them. And then every second without them feels like drowning in silence. I don't want that for you ever. I am sorry that in my anger I kept you away from what makes you happy. You're free, Mom. I love you"

She hugged me tight. I let her—for a moment, I pretended it was enough.

"Oh Myra," she breathed, pulling me into another hug, her voice thick with emotion. "I love you so much, baby."

Her tears soaked into my shoulder. Happy tears. Needed tears.
"I promise, I won't let you down. William and I are just—"

"It's okay," I cut her off gently. "I'm okay, Mom. Don't worry."

But then I saw him watching us from across the room. His arms folded. His expression unreadable.

"You will take care of her right?" I heard my Mom asking Marcus

"Always, I will never let her go" His words said, reassuring for her, warning for me. 

As I pulled away, his voice cut through the air, quiet but sharp as a blade.

"Red," he said, "a word."

I turned, heart skipping, and followed him into the foyer.

"You really think that speech was subtle?" he asked, voice low, teeth gritted. "Trying to be clever in front of her?"

"I wasn't—" I started, but he raised a finger.

"Don't. Lie." He stepped closer. "You're mine, Myra. You don't get to rewrite that."

I looked down.

"I let you speak because it made you feel noble. Like you were handing out freedom like a gift. But remember—you don't have any to give."

His hand came up, brushing my cheek. A false gentleness that made my skin crawl.

"You belong to me, Red," he whispered. "No matter what words you dress it up with. And if I hear anything like that again..."
He didn't finish. He didn't need to.

I nodded quickly, eyes lowered.

"I know... I wasn't trying to fight that. I wasn't denying it. I'm sorry."

My voice came out soft, rushed—like I was trying to stitch the wound before he could cut deeper.

He smiled. "Good girl."

And just like that, the foyer felt colder.